Chapter Text
Before returning to Summerset, there’s at least one person I have to talk to who is still in Artaeum.
“Seht,” I say.
“Ah, I see you’re awake again, my old friend,” Sotha Sil says. “It would appear that you managed to pull off a miracle.”
“Seht, you sent us to Boethiah,” I say. “And I want to know if this was deliberate. Because if it was, I am going to kill you.”
Sotha Sil gets a pained expression on his face and sighs. “It was not. I must offer my profuse apologies. That even I was tricked like that… no, I should not overestimate myself so much. I thought I knew the future, but I failed to foresee any of this. How did I get everything so wrong?”
“To be fair, someone was meddling with destiny quite a bit,” I say.
I summarize the summary again. Seht repeats my summary to make sure he heard right.
“You put a lot of faith into the Madgod,” Seht says. “It seems that it was not unwarranted. How did you know?”
“I suppose there’s a reason why I kept getting weird hunches about things,” I say.
“How do you feel about having so much of your life manipulated by gods?”
I shrug. “I seem to have wound up better off for it than last time.”
“I will need to start making all my calculations again from scratch,” Seht says. “I need to check in on Clockwork City and see if it has been affected by these events. But…” He looks off at nothing, and makes a soft hmm sound. “A strange thing. Hope. I have long known that she would eventually kill me. I have made preparations for it as it was a future I could see no way to avoid. And yet, now…”
“She will not lay a finger on you,” I say firmly.
…
I head out toward the wayshrine to find that the Psijic woman Orry has brought Raz here. He was apparently in a hurry to speak with me but nobody wanted to interrupt my well-deserved nap. When he sees his sister with me, his eyes widen with surprise and relief and his tail says, “I can’t believe you pulled that off.”
“Ilara-daro,” Raz says, the first time he’s called her that in my hearing. “You had your big brother worried sick, but Raz hears we have you to thank for things not turning out much worse.”
“This one saw an opportunity and took it.”
“Maybe you could fill Raz in on what exactly happened,” Raz says.
We fill Raz in on what exactly happened, and his tail droops a bit.
“Raz wishes you had told him less.”
“Sorry,” I say. “I just felt that you should know it was entirely Sheogorath’s fault that when I escaped Coldharbour, I fell out of the sky directly in front of you.”
“That somehow makes perfect sense and yet it still makes Raz’s head hurt.” He sighs. “Raz only hopes that this is a sign that he will need to deal with fewer Daedric problems in the future rather than more. Zero would be a good number, but Raz will settle for only having to deal with common hedge cultists meeting in basem*nts on weekends, and not the potential end of reality.”
“Pretty sure we don’t need to worry about the potential end of reality any longer, but if we all suddenly cease to exist, I will be certain to lodge a complaint with Sheogorath.”
“Raz is not telling the Dominion that Sheogorath saved Summerset,” Raz says with a sigh. “Don’t get me wrong, Raz is grateful to have been saved, but I suppose now we will need to decide on a cover story.”
“We’re going to say it was Trinimac who saved them,” I say.
“Didn’t you say that was actually Boethiah you encountered?” Raz asks.
“Yeah, but they don’t need to know that. And we didn’t tell the tower sentinels that.”
“Raz is going to pretend he doesn’t know that, too.”
…
Summerset is… not f*cked. There’s even a party in Alinor to celebrate not being f*cked, which I obligatorily attend. (Rigurt the Brash even shows up to mention that he hopes I can get him that audience with the Proxy Queen now that the world has been saved, which I totally forgot about in the process of saving the world again.)
Something is different about Nirn in the aftermath of the crisis. People, buildings, and even entire swaths of countryside have been coming into existence, being seamlessly glued in and nobody seems the wiser. Nobody except those of us who were standing next to Transparent Law, at least.
“The world is… bigger,” Eran says quietly. “Is this what you always meant when you said the world felt wrong? That bits and pieces of Nirn had slowly been lost between the First Era and now?”
“There were times I wasn’t sure of it myself,” I say. “I don’t always have confidence in remembering things correctly.”
“You could walk across an island and never tell how much of it was torn apart by Dark Anchors and whatever else,” Eran says. “And nobody notices that the number of steps it takes to get from Alinor to Rellenthil has shrunk. It’s no wonder we could never get consistent reports on travel time. And yet nobody noticed, anymore than they’re noticing now that… entire pieces of the world that were torn away are now back. That’s somehow even worse than there being pieces of the world missing.”
“Well, I’m glad at least a few more people can see that,” I say.
“It’s no wonder you thought yourself mad for seeing things only you could see,” Eran says. “You’re still mad for plenty of other reasons, though.”
…
I wind up at an art showing for that one artist I… apparently accidentally drove mad.
The only colors on her palette are black, white, purple, and gold, and there’s a touch of madness in her eyes that gives me a hint to where she got that inspiration. I think my insanity is infectious. The painting depicts the Crystal Tower, shining in white with black and purple cracks as shadowy storm rages around it. At the top of the tower stand several figures wielding weapons, including a golden sword and a purple staff. Several crows circle the tower, and at the bottom of the painting stand the silhouettes of a spider and a dog.
In the swirls and shades, I can glean echoes of imagery. Swirls that are almost faces, almost scenes. She could not have seen what actually happened on top of that tower. And yet, beneath the heroic depiction of light triumphing over darkness, there are hints in the details, and the storm is full of concept and emotion.
And if you look at it at just the right angle, the light shines upon butterflies that seem like the same colors they’re painted against until the light hits the canvas just right.
“Damn,” I say. “That’s divinely inspired.”
“What are you talking about?” says a snobby artist. “It makes no sense!”
“Haven’t you looked out a window lately?” Eran asks.
“It’s awfully simplistic,” says another snobby artist. “Only yellow and purple, really?”
“I’ll give you five million for it,” I say.
“That’s an awfully high price to hide something away in a closet.”
“It’s going in my conference room,” I say. “I may need to remind some visiting delegates that I’ve saved the world three damned times already.”
There’s a moment of silence before another couple voices pipe in requesting copies. No copies are going to get the details right, but let them have their cheap knockoffs.
…
I need a vacation, so I go to hang out in the Shivering Isles for a bit.
I have that nice (but weird, obviously) house in the Shivering Isles with the wayshrine Sheogorath plunked in front of me in the middle of a lovely walled garden. I plant a number of alchemically useful plants that are difficult to domesticate outside the Shivering Isles. I spend entirely too much time on interior decorating. It’s a pleasant vacation.
Eran comes to visit. He looks over the raised garden beds, and his eyes land on the one on the far left side that has been covered with tin foil.
“Neri, why is that garden bed covered in foil?” Eran asks. “Are you trying to capture more of the light from the weird things in the sky, or protecting it from something?”
“Nah,” I say. “It’s a sinister plot that I’ve foiled.”
Eran is silent for a long moment then just sighing. “I knew I shouldn’t have asked.”
“Let me give you a tour of the place!” I exclaim.
Eran politely follows along after me, asking no further questions that might result in bad jokes.
“And this is my secret war room!” I exclaim, leading him into another room.
“A secret war room. Of course,” Eran says. “And of course you put it here.”
“Of course,” I say. “What better way to keep it a secret when only people who know I’m a Daedra-worshipping lunatic are allowed in?”
“Okay then,” Eran says. “And I suppose I shouldn’t need to wonder why the appetizers table includes six different cheese platters in addition to the moon sugar biscuits, tiny sandwiches, and fruit bowl. Do you expect whoever visits here to need that many refreshments?”
“They’re not refreshments,” I say. “They’re offerings. The ceiling might exclaim ‘Cheese for no one!’ and make it all disappear.”
“Ah, I love what you’ve done with the place,” Sheogorath says, inviting himself in. (Although the cheese may have been an invitation itself.)
“Thank you,” I say. “It’s been a while since I had a breather.”
“Don’t forget to take care of those time breaches when you get the chance,” Sheogorath says. “They’re obnoxious. They’ll just keep getting worse if they’re not dealt with. All sorts of silly things will happen, like people coming back to life after you murder them as if nothing happened. Mind you, I’m mostly reminding Eran to remind you.”
“I will remind him,” Eran says with a smirk.
“Aside from the time breaches, is there something else I need to do now?” I ask.
“Nah, not really,” Sheogorath says. “I got the Tower. Everything else is just details. Try to have fun. And if you get bored of Nirn and want to check out something else, let me know! I can now send you aaaannyyyywhere in the multiverse.”
“Can you tell me about your adventures in the future?”
Sheogorath throws back his head and laughs. “Nahhhhhh. But if you really want to know, just close your eyes and dream and let the walls fall.”
“I’ll see the future, then?” I ask.
“Not the future,” Sheogorath says. “A future. A bunch of futures, actually. We f*cked up a lot. Anyway, it’s likely none of them will come to pass exactly the same way because we went and changed everything. Do you have any idea how hard it was to get you to stop being obsessed with revenge if we encouraged your association with Malacath?”
“Can I go kill Almalexia now?” I ask.
“Not while she’s still connected to that stupid Heart,” Sheogorath says. “Vivec was being overly dramatic and overstated his chances of actually dying from Chodala’s magic stick in order to garner sympathy from outlanders who might not actually give a f*ck about saving his two-toned ass. He pops, Lie Rock smashes into Vivec City, Red Mountain erupts, then he respawns and goes ‘Me-dammit’. We tapped Dulsha to get involved to keep Vvardenfell from going up in ash if that happened.”
“Kind of funny how you seem to have no problem working with Malacath when that triad we were just dealing with couldn’t stop from betraying one another for five minutes,” Eran says. “Though I’m still pissed about Boethiah.”
“Eh, at least you got a cool sword out of it,” Sheogorath says. “Good on you for not waving it at that shiny rock! As for me and Malacath… well, it’s not like either of us is strictly a Daedra.”
“You seem saner than I expected,” Eran says. “How much of that was an act?”
Sheogorath throws back his head and cackles. “A bit, a bit. I like to play up the image, though I think I overdid it on the cheese and butterflies this time around. Don’t get me wrong, I’m completely batsh*t, and was completely batsh*t before I ever set foot in the Shivering Isles. I used to get the rages whenever anyone suggested madness is silly, but I haven’t ripped out anyone’s entrails for that recently! I’ve been good!”
“If you’ve been retrieving lost things from the Void, how do you feel about the Dark Brotherhood?” I have to ask.
“Heh,” Sheogorath says. “I joined them once, actually. Lucien Lachance’s voice was to die for, or to kill for, one or both of those. As for sending souls to the Void… eh, some souls the world is better off without. Don’t worry about it. I can keep things in equilibrium. Like juggling planets! Hah! In any case, it’s not like Sithis cares one way or another what we do.”
“Good to know,” I say. “So, how much of me taking over Tamriel and marrying several devoted wives did you manipulate?”
“You usually lose your sh*t if you find out your destiny is being manipulated and it not being in your favor,” Sheogorath says. “If anyone you like betrays you or you’re forced to kill someone you care about, you tend to go on a roaring rampage of revenge. Malacath’s usually happy about that, but that doesn’t help me. I needed you mad, not mad. If I let you have fun and keep you happy, you’ll usually do whatever I want.”
“Only usually?”
“Sometimes you’re as unpredictable as me,” Sheogorath laughs. “But that doesn’t matter anymore. You did the one thing I really needed you to do. So! Hey, how about a boon? That deserves a reward of some sort, right? What do you want, Nerevar? What’s your greatest wish that you will never hope to achieve on your own?”
“Another boon?” I ask.
“Yep! You can never have enough boons, am I right?”
“Did any of my companions get any boons?” I ask. “Or my wives?”
“Nope!” Sheogorath says with a broad grin. “Do you want to spend your boon on offering them boons? Are you feeling altruistic today?”
“I wouldn’t have gotten this far without them,” I say. “Yes, I would.”
“Alrighty then! Since you’re feeling so altruistic, I shall grant a small boon to anyone who knew you were a complete lunatic and went along with your lunacy anyway.” Sheogorath turns his grin to Eran. “So. Eranamo! What do you say? What’s your heart’s desire?”
Eran’s eyes widen. “Um… Do I have to answer right away?”
Sheogorath laughs. “Not at all! And don’t worry, I’m not going to be a jackass about it thinking I’m being ‘clever’ with twisting a request to mean whatever I want it to. That’s lazy and boring. It’s much more fun to give people exactly what they want.”
“Somehow that’s even more terrifying,” Eran says. “I’ll think of something.”
“So, you were mortal before you were a Daedric Prince, yeah?” I say. “And that you were in the Dark Brotherhood. I’m curious now. What were you called? Where were you from?”
“I would have thought getting answers to burning questions would have been a boon you might want!” Sheogorath exclaims with a cackle. “No, no, I’m just kidding. I do that a lot. It’s kind of my thing.”
“Were you actually a Breton or whatever sort of human it is you look like?” I ask.
Sheogorath shakes his head. “I claimed to be a Breton from Daggerfall. Didn’t want people going after my family even when I was traveling in places that didn’t care what I was. No, I was actually a Reachman from Karthwasten. My name was—I suppose still is—Rhion. Do with that knowledge what you will.”
“So, you say you can send me to other places… can you elaborate on that? What sort of places?”
“Anyplace you can imagine,” Sheogorath says. “The Crystal Tower touches upon many more realms than just Nirn, the Shivering Isles, and Evergloam. Many more than the realms of Oblivion. Some of them might feel very familiar, while others very alien, much as the realms of Oblivion that know of. But there are planes that are further than that, so to speak. I like to think of them as different ‘dreams’. They also have the peculiar property of sometimes showing up in other realms’ fiction. I never have figured out whether people travel the planes and write books about their adventures disguised as fiction, or people dream about other worlds, or people’s dreams actively create other universes. Maybe that other me knew. That me who was me before he became he. And Jyggalag got shunted over to another version of reality and left in the future.”
“What happened to the Sheogorath who was already here when you came back in time?” I ask.
Sheogorath chuckles. “Nothing. I was always me. I just knew a few more things than before. Or do you mean him? Seeing as he’s not me, as soon as I came to now, he reverted to him. And gave me his full support.”
“Why?” I ask.
“Because he became me because he saw the future and no way to change it. And I knew how to change it. Hope is that form of madness where you can look into the face of certain doom and believe that fate can be changed. And it takes a special form of madness to actually change it. He’s now free to be Order again.”
“I don’t think I fully understand but I don’t need further elaboration,” I say. “And I don’t really want to go exploring the multiverse or whatever you call it while there’s still so much of Nirn and Oblivion left to explore and hit. I want to spend more time with my family for the moment. Maybe in a few decades.”
“Family’s a fine thing,” Sheogorath says. “Go enjoy your Orc harem. Adventure will still be here for you once you’ve taken over the rest of Nirn and raised a dozen or two green kids.”
