//------------------------------// // Dinner with a mad god // Story: Changeling Escapades: Skyrim // by Erised the ink-moth //------------------------------// Stross and company were nearly back to the Blue Palace when Fenora pulled him aside. She waited until Lydia and Jordis had walked ahead a ways, out of hearing distance while they reminisced about their childhood years. “What’s up Fen?” Stross asked. “I’m not going.” Stross’s eyes widened in shock. “B-but Fenora…” he tried to say. They’d been invited to dinner with the Queen of Skyrim, who had been ecstatic to meet her and had extended the offer personally! The heck did she mean she wasn’t going!? “B-but what about Queen Elisif… I think she really wanted to get to know you. You saw how she reacted when she saw you,” Stross pointed out, “you’re like a living legend in her eyes, a regular folk hero!” “I don’t think I can.” Fenora admitted. “What would we even talk about anyway? I’m the dragonborn, but I’m just the dragonborn. Beyond that, I doubt we have anything in common. I’m not sure there’s anything about me that wouldn’t either horrify her or bore her to death.” “I know that’s not true. I think you’re a really interesting person, Fen. And anyway, it shouldn’t even matter; we don’t need you and the Queen to be instant besties. Just… talk with her.” Stross told her. “And don’t slurp your soup.” Fenora shifted in place, nervousness and doubt rolled off her like vapor. “I think you’d do a better job of that than me, Stross. You’re the one that always says things in just the right way, and not…” she trailed off. “Just make some excuse for why I’m not there. Please? Something that doesn’t sound horrible.” “You’re really not going?” Stross asked, a hint of disappointment creeping into his voice. Fenora looked off into the distance, back at the market, back towards the inn. “I’m going to hit the shops one last time before they close. I want to be ready for whatever it is Delphine has planned. We meet with her tomorrow, remember.” “Alright,” Stross relented, “I’ll think of something.” Fenora hugged him. “Thank you Stross. Meet me back at the Skeever when dinner’s over, kay?” Stross tried to get a read on her as she walked off, but her emotions were so tightly bundled it was impossible even with his changeling senses. She was like a lasagna of emotional turmoil. The changeling let out a sigh as red embers shifted over his form. "Wasn’t the whole point of today to relax and unwind?" Either way, he wasn’t going to let Fenora miss this dinner, even if he had to attend it for her. Stross’s disguise just finished forming when the changeling heard a voice. “Oh dear.” The hushed words came out of seemingly nowhere. Then the second Stross turned around, she was greeted by a peculiar sight: a man in a waistcoat wearing white bunny-ears on his head. “You’ll be tardy… for a very important party!” he told the changeling frantically, and held a pocketwatch towards her. “Our lord requires his entertainment. Take this quickly! Go! Go!” The second Stross took the watch, the bunny man ran off. The watch looked like any other, with nothing out of the ordinary. Just a simple metal pocket watch ticking away, only... to Stross’s knowledge, Skyrim didn’t have clocks of any kind. Stross arrived at the Palace to find Lydia and Jordis waiting for her. The freshly disguised changeling made her excuses, though Lydia could tell by her red tunic who she really was. She kept quiet about it though, and the group was led inside to the dining hall, where they received quite a warm reception. A long wooden table had been laid out with huge platters of food, meats and stews and sweets of all kinds. It seemed they didn’t know what the dragonborn liked to eat, and so they just made some of everything… or rather, a lot of everything. Queen Elisif sat at the head of the table, and stood to welcome them. Her advisors were seated to her right, starting with Falk Firebeard, her supportive steward, then her housecarl, and finally her court wizard. The chairs to her left were empty though, and it was clear that she wanted Fenora to sit closest to her. As Stross took the seat across from the steward, the significance wasn’t lost on the changeling; already Queen Elisif allowed her to be as close to her as her most trusted advisors and friends. Was it just because she was excited to meet the hero of Skyrim? Or maybe she was new to being a leader and didn’t know to be more cautious. If Stross were an assassin, the Queen had just invited her into stabbing distance, with a complimentary steak knife to boot. It seemed Stross wasn’t the only one who was aware of this either. Falk, as well as the queen's housecarl, Bolgeir sat tensed like a pair of springs, eyeing the disguised changeling’s every move. “I’m so pleased you could make it.” Elisif told her and ladled herself some of the soup. As she did, everyone else took her cue to start eating as well. “I wouldn’t miss it.” Stross gave her a smile, already walking the delicate lines of conversation, feeling everything out. “I was surprised when you offered, to be honest. It's not often we get the chance to dine with royalty.” “I couldn’t pass up the opportunity.” Elisif admitted. “So many fantastic tales about you get passed around in court, I’ve become quite enraptured by it all.” “So much that you begin to neglect your duties.” Her court wizard Sybille chimed in, drawing glares from the rest. No one challenged her comment, but they frowned nonetheless. “So… I was hoping perhaps you could tell us about some of your exploits.” Elisif picked up again, hopeful. "You must have quite a few tales to tell." “Well truthfully, I’ve only been at this for a bit over a week. But you're right, a lot has happened in that time.” Stross began, not knowing what stories had been told or how many of them were works of fiction. “I guess I could just start from the beginning, if that's alright…” With no objections, the changeling began. Over the next hour Stross gave them the highlights of their adventure. Soon enough, the Queen and the members of her counsel were barely touching their meals as Stross told the story of Fenora the Dragonborn in stunning, poetic detail. Although… she made certain to omit the number of times they nearly died. Additionally, their missteps and blunders were strategically downplayed. For example, their battle against the Hagraven at Orphan Rock, where they were beaten to an inch of their lives became, “Her disciples were no match for us, but that bird-woman was a challenge that took all of our strength to overcome.” Meanwhile their triumphs like defeating Movarth were embellished to the brink of absurdity: “…and then while Stross and Lydia held back wave after wave of his minions, I ripped his head off with my whip. Only that wasn’t even his final form! Then he turned into a giant bat monster that was like a hundred times stronger!” Some things were surprisingly easy to embellish. Scarcely, though it did happen, Stross would tell bits of the story differently if they didn't fit the heroic narrative he was telling. Like instead of abandoning him in Whiterun only to make a nick-of-time return later, Fenora had never left at all, and they boldly marched to face Mirmulnir together with Irileth and her men. Ironically, it was the things that actually happened that sounded made up, like Fenora mastering her thu’um powers in a matter of days, or healing from crippling injuries in a matter of hours. But Stross made excuses that were just plausible enough to seem real, and followed by saying that even she didn’t understand most of it. It worked in her favor, and in the end Fenora seemed even more like a hero pulled from a storybook, an infallible, noble warrior of justice. Stross took a break after she finished telling about Jurgen’s tomb, leaving out their meeting with Delphine, and choosing to say that Fenora had been the one gifted with dragon wings. Just by giving a cursory scan of the room, Stross could tell they were all quite impressed. “Is that true? Do you really have wings?” It was Queen Elisif who’d asked, the first time she’d truly spoken since the story began. She’d been so enthralled by it all until then, never interrupting, just listening with a smile everpresent on her face. Stross smirked and dissolved the illusion hiding her wings, making them visible in a flash of embers and giving them a tiny flap. Elisif gasped and brought a hand to her mouth. Reaching out cautiously, she asked, “C-can I touch them?” Stross held out a wing for her to grasp in the tips of her fingers, chuckling to herself as the Queen ran her hands over the leathery surface, much like someone would touch a fine article of clothing. “I can’t imagine living a life like yours Fenora.” Elisif said after a while. “It all sounds so… exciting.” “Really? From what I saw today, your life gets pretty exciting too.” Stross pointed out. “Though hardly in a pleasant way.” Elisif said, turning away to stare into her soup. “Just after you and your companions left, Viarmo came in requesting for the fifth time this month that I allow the Bard’s College to perform The Burning of King Olaf this year. He came up with this ridiculous rendition of the verse where Olaf was actually the dragon Numinex, and rose to power by sacking Solitude in dragon form! The nerve!” “I’m sorry, the what?” Stross cocked her head to the side. “Ah, The Burning of King Olaf.” Jordis piped in, “Long ago when dragons still lived in Skyrim, there was a nord hero by the name of Olaf. As the legend goes, he did battle with a fearsome dragon by the name of Numinex at the peak of Mount Anthor. He defeated the beast and brought it back as his captive. The palace in Whiterun was used to hold Numinex, where the dragon stayed until it eventually perished.” “That’s where it got the name Dragonsreach.” Lydia added. “Olaf was crowned king for his heroic deeds, and went on to crush anyone who questioned his right to rule.” Jordis continued, “But there were many who questioned the legitimacy of his tale, mostly due to how all who supposedly witnessed the battle between Olaf and the dragon became ridiculously wealthy and powerful when Olaf was made king. Rumors began to spread about Olaf exaggerating his deeds to gain favor and glory. It all came to a head when one of Olaf’s bards wrote a particularly insulting and defaming poem that we now know as King Olaf’s verse. King Olaf was so offended by it that he ordered every copy destroyed, and the bard who wrote it sentenced to death. “Whether or not the rumors were true is still debated today, but the harshness King Olaf showed only cemented his image as a traitor and a fraud. And so every year we hold a festival where an effigy of King Olaf is set ablaze!” Jordis finished happily. “I’m pretty sure no one cares about the history behind it though.” Lydia shrugged. “Everyone attends for the dancing and the spiced wine, usually.” “Regardless… with things that have happened as of late…” Falk Firebeard said, treading carefully with his words. “You could see how a festival centered around burning a disgraced king would be a bit… distasteful. And with dragons returning to Skyrim, I doubt Viarmo’s newest ‘renditions’ will be well received either.” Stross could see Elisif curl her fingers, fighting the urge to scream. “I’ve told him once, and I’ll keep telling him.” she said in the most contained tone she could manage, “I’ll not allow that stupid festival to take place so soon after-” her breath hitched. “After my…” Stross placed a hand over Elisif’s and squeezed it gently. “I’ve… been meaning to tell you I’m sorry for your loss. I just didn’t know how to bring it up.” Elisif sniffed and wiped her eyes. “Everything has gotten worse since my Torygg was murdered by that monster Ulfric. Lately it seems like everyone is angry about something, and they expect me to be the one to fix it all.” “I've seen how things are. People are frustrated, and when they don’t know who else to turn to, they look to whoever they think will do what’s best for them." Stross told her. "I can tell they haven’t made a bad choice." Elisif wiped her eyes and composed herself, though Stross could tell it was mostly for show. "Thank you, Fenora. I... I really needed to hear that." Fenora really wished she had someone with her, someone to hold her and make her stop shaking, or at the very least tell the bard downstairs to play something else. ‘The Dragonborn comes’ had become her least favorite song the second she heard it. That one string of lyrics embodied everything she’d been coming to dread. It hammered home how much of a legend she was becoming in such a short amount of time, how much people expected of her… and how much she had to deliver on. ‘An end to the evil of all Skyrim’s woes’ Fenora practically tore off the masterfully tailored dress she was wearing and quickly slipped back into her sweatstained traveling clothes, forcing herself to breathe slower before her heart burst out of her chest. Comfortable but hardly at ease, Fenora then looked over the majority of her gear, all of it spread out on the floor so she could take stock of it all. She spent a good amount of her gold on new gear, prioritizing things that would give them an edge against giant flying lizards. And she didn’t mean Cliff Racers. Unfortunately, asking for dragon-slaying equipment led to quite a few sarcastic remarks from each of the merchants, especially from the fletcher. When asked if he had any arrows that could pierce dragon hide, he sarcastically asked that perhaps she’d also like the bow that shot rainbows, or the quiver that dispensed beer. Both of those sounded pretty rad, but sadly, it was not to be. As it was, she looked over what she did have, starting with a pair of taught-stringed hunting bows and matching quivers of steel-tipped arrows. She gripped the shaft of one, inspecting the tip. It was sharp… but still a slight tremor went through her fingers. Arrow after arrow she shot, each one missing its mark as the winged beast flew past, faster than she could blink. Her greatsword of dwarven metal, freshly sharpened and hammered into shape… She swung it with all her might, yet the blade bounced off the dragon’s hardened scales like a branch against a boulder. The remainder of her painkiller potions, now fully diluted and ready for use… They did nothing but numb the pain as the dragon tore her limb from limb with its jaws. The new shield she’d bought Lydia to replace her old, battered one... Her housecarl’s screams of agony were drowned out by the torrent of fire as she was reduced to ashes in an instant. Stross’s old cloak… still covered in the dried remains of his liquefied organs. Fenora found she was shaking uncontrollably again. Stross stared in confusion, as they all did, at their newest guest that had spontaneously joined them not thirty seconds ago. He was an elderly gentleman with greying hair, his suit was a mishmash of flamboyant oranges and yellows contrasted by dull and somber purple, and he had the most jubilant attitude set to a backdrop of insanity. “CHEESE FOR EVERYONE!” The second he screamed it, wedges of cheese started falling like rain. “Alright, that’s it!” Bolgeir yelled, unsheathing his sword and stomping over to the man. “This was a private dinner. Who are you and how did you get in here?” he demanded. The old man just looked quizzically at the blade pointed at him. He raised a finger and gingerly poked the length of sharpened steel. Then the sword was a live fish. “I…” the old man began dramatically as he leapt up onto the table, each foot landing in a soupbowl, “Am none other than SHEOGORATH! Daedric Prince of madness himself! Now the writer can stop referring to me as ‘the old man’. As for why I am here…” Sheogorath started walking down the table, kicking over plates of food as he went. “The last party I was at was getting dreadfully dull. Even a man like Pelagius can get boring after twenty some-odd years.” He informed them before muttering darkly, “With his sour attitude and ramblings and worries that just made me want to throttle him till he was purple.” The mad god snapped back to the looks he was getting and was instantly back to his blatant, happy-go-lucky self. “So! I’m starting a new get-together.” He announced, “And better yet, YOU’RE ALL INVITED!” Everyone looked at each other worriedly. Stross felt especially lost and confused by what was going on. Skyrim had its fair share of odd events, but they were always dark and filled with nefarious plots by evil bandits and mages and necromancers. Sheogorath felt powerful, threatening and uncertain, but also very… quirky. "Are you related to Discord?" Stross blurted before he could stop himself. Sheogorath took an an overly ponderous stance, thinking aloud, "Discord? Dis Cord... Ah! A-HAH! Ha ha ha ha HOO!" he laughed boisterously. "Why yes! Yes of course I know him! Or at least one of me did at some point. Though if memory serves we were forbidden from ever seeing each other again after we erased the mysticism school of magic and equipment durability from existence. Anyhoo... who wants to party with uncle Sheo?!" “We’ll do no such thing!” Falk Firebeard stood up, defiant. “I don’t care who you claim to be. You need to leave immediately, or we’ll make you leave!” To emphasize his point, a dozen and a half guards surrounded the table, finally called into action from the sidelines. They blocked off all the exits and all possibility of escape. Again, Sheogorath just looked quizzically at them all. Then casually, he raised his hands and clapped them twice. Every single one of the eighteen armored guards exploded into bloody giblets! Elisif screamed in horror. Stross was gaping. The rest nearly fell over in their seats. The mad god simply wagged a finger at Falk, like he was playfully scolding a child. “Silly mortal, I very much intend to leave!” Sheo told him with a smile, right before a shadow covered his face. “And you’re all coming with me. TO THE SHIVERING ISLES!” There was no flashy magic. No dramatic incantation. They were simply there one second, and gone the next. Among the bloody mess of a ruined dinner, a single paper note fluttered down. ‘Off to party with Lord Sheogorath. Back whenever.’ Stross staggered as she ‘landed’ in Sheogorath’s realm. The changeling was half expecting to be knocked out for some time only to awaken in some deadly or compromising position, but the transition was instant, faster than teleporting even. The first thing to catch Stross’s eye was a large stone banquet table with a chair for each of them. Indeed it seemed to be the only normal thing present in this place. The ground she was standing on at the moment seemed to have been ripped out of the ground and suspended high above the rest of Shivering Isles at a dizzying height. From this vantage point the changeling could see a great distance all around. The land seemed torn between a light and fantastic realm of dreamlike qualities, and a dark world of nightmarish hallucinations, with the borders of each in a constant flux. The ground seemed to be a sherbet mix of earthy greens and brown swirled in with sickly yellows and dark purple. Plants ranged from mundane with a twist, to outlandishly impossible; trees with faces and flowers that bloomed into cupcakes with eyeballs, mushrooms the size of towers with tentacles growing out of their caps. All manner of grand and curious structures and statues stood scattered about. Even the sky was a mess of stars and light, like day and night were put in a blender and spilt onto a canvas. Where the sun or moon would have been, there was instead an enormous tarot card that flipped over randomly, sometimes showing the joyous rays of the sun, other times the mysterious uncertainty of the moon. “HELLOOOOOO!” Stross nearly jumped out of her skin when the lord of madness suddenly appeared next to her. “Welcome to my home! Please, allow me to take your coat.” Sheogorath said and pulled off Stross’s disguise. “Gah! What the-?!” Stross yelped, seeing his illusion hanging limply from Sheo’s hands like a piece of cloth before it simply dissolved into a flush of embers. “Now then, won’t you please join me? I’ve had my cooks prepare a wondrous meal!” Sheogorath said and began marching towards the table. Possibly a thousand different things were racing through Stross’s head at the moment, all of them questions beginning with ‘who’ ‘what’ ‘when’ ‘where’ ‘why’ and especially ‘HOW’, but Stross shoved them all aside for now. “Hold it!” Stross jabbed a finger at the mad god, “Where are the others? What did you do with them?” Sheogorath looked around in exaggerated fashion, as if just now noticing the rest of his ‘guests’ were missing. “Hmm…” he tugged his chin and shrugged. “I dunno. They’re probably dead.” Stross’s eyes went wide and he opened his mouth to yell. “Or maybe they just got lost on the way here!” Sheo laughed heartily, clutching his chest. “Let’s see here…” Slowly, ripples began to form in the air around them, three in fact. They began to shape into pools that suddenly ripped open in a crystal clear display. What they showed horrified Stross: everyone was in danger! In the first portal the changeling saw Lydia and Jordis being crushed under massive piles of junk while shadowy warriors closed in on all sides, wielding jagged blades. In the next was Elisif, sobbing to herself as she stumbled through an pitch-dark landscape littered with pitfalls and spikes. A furious wind was blowing her to and fro as she tried to find her way, knocking her into obstacles that gouged her flesh. Finally were Elisif’s counsel, her friends and advisors. Bolgeir, Sybille and Falk were trapped in a burning house with timbers raining down on all sides. Desperately they pressed their own bodies against the burning wood of the walls, doing everything in their power to stop it from collapsing on top of them. While Stross frantically flicked between each scene, wondering who to save first, if he could even save any of them, Sheogorath spoke with a calm indifference. “Well this isn’t good. I can’t very well have a party with no guests.” Stross rounded on him, furious. “This is all your fault! Fix this!” he demanded. Sheo laughed like he was told a bad joke. “Me? My boy, you’d need more than the help of a god to help those basket cases.” He hiked a thumb at the portals. Stross grit his teeth as he shoved away from the lord of madness. He looked at each of the people in danger, his friends, trying to logically deduce which one to save first. Elisif was obviously a priority, being the Queen of Skyrim. But she was also just one person, and an inexperienced ruler at that. Her advisors might do more good for Skyrim if he chose them. He could save three people, but that meant letting three others die, among them was Lydia, who trusted him even knowing what he was. Stross let out a guttural, frustrated growl through his clenched teeth. “I can’t save them all. There’s just not enough time!” Sheogorath harrumphed behind him. “Is that what all the fuss is about? Oh fine… here.” Sheo reached his hand into Stross’s pocket and pulled out the pocketwatch, still ticking away, and smashed it on the table with an oversized wooden mallet. “There,” he said, sweeping up the shattered pieces, “now you have all the time in the world.” Stross jerked his head between Sheogorath and the portals, and, true to his word, time had completely frozen within them. “Why are you doing this?” he asked. It was clear any ignorance or incompetence from Sheogorath was just an act. “What’s your game?” The mad god chortled out his nose. “I’m Sheogorath, master of the uncanny, ruler of the dreams and madness! Do I need a reason?” “I…” Stross tried to say something. He felt conflicted; people he cared about were in danger because of the being before him, and he wasn’t even given an answer as for why. Yet he also had a chance to save them now. Perhaps this was all just a sick game to Sheo, a god’s entertainment. He wanted to vent his anger at the unfairness of it all, demand answers. But all that came out was a sigh. “Well, thanks I guess.” And then Stross was off through the first portal. He had a chance now, and that felt like enough. Sheogorath pulled out a lawnchair and opened a paper bag full of creamed corn. “No, little changeling. Thank you.” he said, and started munching noisily. “Mmm, good.” The land was dark and desolate, a landscape of greyscale shadows and silhouettes. The ground was like taffy and sagged under his feet. As Stross walked through the howling gale, struggling to stand against the strength of the wind, there was only one thing he could clearly see, something that seemed so out of place in this place. “Elisif!” he called out to the stumbling figure so far away from him. “Elisif!” She must not have been able to hear him over the wind, and kept traveling, directionless and limping. Shadowy spikes kept jutting from the ground in her path to block her way, and thorny vines appeared from nowhere to grab at her ankles and trip her up. Continuing to call out to her and sprinting for all he was worth, the changeling finally reached the queen right as she was about to take a tumble off a perilously tall cliff. “Elisif!” Finally hearing his voice, the young queen turned around, and her eyes widened in shock. “T-Torygg?” Confused, Stross checked himself. Much to his surprise, he had assumed a form unknown to him, and trying to shift back yielded no results. “Elisif, I’m not-“ Stross tried to say as Elisif reached out to him, but her hand simply passed through him, like his body were no different than the wind whipping around them. Elisif began to panic, and she tried again. “No… no please, no!” tears flowed more and more freely every time her arms failed to wrap around him. “Torygg, I need you!” “Elisif please, calm down.” Stross begged her, trying to take hold of her himself, but meeting the same result. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.” “No it won’t.” Elisif hugged herself, unable to hold onto him. “Everything has been horrible since you died. I tried to take your place and lead the people, but I’m not cut out for life in court, I can’t rule a nation or fight a war, I can’t respond to a crisis… I can barely keep everyone happy. Everyone is suffering and I can’t do a thing about any of it. All I can do is sit on that throne and tell everyone it’ll be alright, when even I don’t know that for sure.” she looked up at him and tried to brush her hand against his cheek, “You were always the king we needed, the king we deserved. I wish you were back. I… I really wish you were back with me.” "And you could be." The single thought came unbidden to Stross’s mind. It was true though. He had Torygg’s form now. Thoughts flashed through Stross’s mind of him stepping up as Torygg, Skyrim’s true king returned from the dead. He thought of ending the Ulfric’s rebellion, of uniting Skyrim against Alduin and his dragons, and saving everyone! Then when all was said and done he could live his life as royalty, with Elisif at his side sustaining him with her love, and- And the more he thought about it the more horrible he felt. Stross was a changeling, and this was what they did. But it wasn’t what he wanted. It never was. Skyrim wasn’t his to rule, and he wasn’t the man Elisif loved. Stross could easily make it all his, but it wouldn’t feel right. The truth would always be eating away at him if he did, every time someone addressed him by the name he’d stolen, every time Elisif looked at him like he were Torygg. “I can’t Elisif. I’m sorry.” He told her. Skyrim was full of rebellion and dragons. It needed someone to take charge, and Elisif seemed so inexperienced and overwhelmed. But Stross knew he could help. “I know it’s hard for you, my love.” He told her, Torygg’s gentle voice reaching her ears. “But you need to be strong for your people, our people. And you are strong.” “But the choices I make are never the right ones. I nearly sent an entire battalion to clear Wolf Skull Cave because someone’d been hearing loud noises in the night.” Elisif recalled, chiding herself in the process. Stross remembered defeating a small army of necromancers at that cave using Dawnbreaker just a night ago. A battalion might not have been so excessive. But he could see her point. Elisif went on to tell him things he’d already heard about at dinner, or that were obvious to any onlooker attending her court during the day. She told Stross about her plans, like stockpiling food and water in case the city came under siege, sending more soldiers to patrol the roads for dangers around the hold, or even throwing a parade to raise the spirits of her people. All of these things were made virtually impossible because of the war, and the war effort. At some point while she was telling him this, Stross saw Elisif in a different way, and the shadowy realm they were in now took a new meaning. She wasn’t some inexperienced child stumbling blindly through the dark; Elisif was a woman that cared very deeply and passionately about her people, but was stuck in a place where she was left with no options, no clear way forward and being deterred at every turn. Quite simply, she was hurting and getting nowhere for it. “Elisif,” Stross said, bringing himself close, “Does supporting the war mean more to you than supporting your people?” Elisif’s eyes hardened with determination. “Ulfric took you away from me. Bringing that traitorous filth to justice means more to me than anything.” She told him. Stross suddenly felt like an idiot. Of course it did. Winning the war likely meant killing Ulfric Stormcloak in the most horrible way possible. Why wouldn’t she want that after everything he’d done? “That doesn’t sound like you Elisif.” Stross quickly switched tactics. “Where’s that girl that cared about her friends and her home more than anything? What happened to the girl I fell in love with?” Elisif sniffled, “Maybe she died with you.” "Wow. Dark much?" “Now don’t say that. I think my heart would break to think Ulfric killed us both that day.” Stross tried to reassure her, “He’ll get what’s coming to him, I’m sure of it. But until then, don’t let what he’s done break you down more than it already has. The next time you’re forced to choose between fighting his rebels, and doing what you feel is right for your people- for our people, and our city… choose what you truly think is best.” Elisif nodded, but still looked unsure. “But what if this is a mistake? What if we lose the war and the city falls to Ulfric and his army? What if it’s all for nothing?” “It won’t come to that, not if you follow your heart and do everything you can.” Stross told her. “You’re a wonderful woman Elisif, I’ve always believed this. I know you’ll be a great queen, especially once this war finally comes to an end.” Elisif smiled, the darkness slowly fading away as her confidence grew, the once insurmountable obstacles within looking almost insignificant now. Stross hated giving non-answers, but it seemed to do the trick, or was at least what the queen of Skyrim needed to hear. Soon the light was growing brighter, and the last thing Stross saw before it flared and took everything away was Elisif grasping his hands. Stross blinked several times as the dreamlike world came back into view. He looked down to notice Elisif was still holding his hands. His scaly, crumbly hands. ‘Uh oh.’ Before he could redisguise himself, Elisif had already come around. “AAAAAAAAHHHH!” “Wait! This isn’t what it looks like- It’s okay- I’m not gonna- Can you stop screaming please?!” “AAAAAAAAA-mmmmmmmphh!” “Okay, Elisif… your majesty, please. I need you to listen to me, okay?” Stross said while firmly holding Elisif’s mouth shut with his magic. Elisif nodded fearfully. “I’m not going to hurt you.” Stross told her sincerely, “Or eat you. Or lay eggs in you. Or anything else that doesn’t feel good. …I will give you hugs if you like. But first I need to rescue the others so we can all have a nice dinner with Sheo-oooooooh what the buck?” Stross trailed off when he turned back to the banquet table. Daedric Prince of Madness sat at the head of the table with his feet up while more than half a dozen voluptuous, scantily clad women (and a frost troll in a thong) were poledancing for his amusement. “Oh fantabulous, you’ve returned!” Sheogorath called to them as they hesitantly approached. “You’re just in time to help sample some mods. I believe this one was called Bijin NPCs, along with a wonderful little poledance mod I forget the name of. Care to join me, your highness?” Elisif turned away from the dancers in disgust and stomped her foot down. “No! I don’t know what’s going on here, but I demand that you release us all immediately.” “Hmm, this one’s just labeled ‘expansion pack’.” Sheo said absently as he looked over a mod scroll, ignoring Elisif’s demand. “I wonder what it does.” Suddenly the scroll fizzled in his fingers and Elisif’s milk jugs went from pints, to gallon size. Stross’s wings sprang straight up with a leathery *fwap*. Then the High Queen of passed out and faceplanted into her newly supersized chest-pillows.