Whitney Writes…

She stared at the swirling purple vortex of light emitting from the monstrous doorway’s mouth. It was like a moth to a flame, Fadiya couldn’t stop looking at it. She wondered how Ralof was fairing. The others…

Her feet were aching from pacing back and forth across the stone floor. Her hands were beginning to grow raw from wringing them as she paced.

“They have to be back soon,” she said to herself. “They have to be, surely it’s nearly dawn.”

A wind blew through the monstrous doorway, chilling Fadiya’s skin. A voice whispered on the breeze. Daedric mutterings, it was inarticulate. She twitched her head to the side, attempting to distill the chill from her bones.

“The raven said when the blood moons come, the cows will rain… or was it reign?” Fadiya muttered. “What does the raven know? Cows can’t do either.”

“Fadiya…” a voice whispered.

She ignored it, walking faster. “But the raven was right about the weevils,” she muttered again. “It ate through all the limestone and built a shrine with bread…”

“Faaaaaaadiyaaaaaaaaaaa,” the voice called again, closer.

“No,” she said. “No, no, no.” She shook her head violently. “I already told you, I don’t have the guidebook.”

“FADIYA!” the voice screamed from behind her.

“I SAID DON’T YELL AT ME!!!!!!!” Fadiya shrieked, gripping her braids and pulling at them.

Shura and Melora exchanged looks with one another. Fear creeping into them as they watched their queen, their friend, slowly descending into madness.

Fadiya’s eyes strained to see through the darkness and the fog. She had no idea where she was. There were no distinguishable landmarks that she could make out, nor any familiar faces to inquire with. There were no faces, at all, in fact. She rubbed her upper arms to keep the chill, and fear, from creeping in.

But… hadn’t she been…. inside?

The last thing Fadiya could recall was being in she and Ralof’s bedroom… She had yelled… He had left… But to go where?

“Oh, I’m afraid you won’t find him here, my dear,” came a voice. It was a strange voice. One that was echoey, and yet flat, all at once. Low, and yet high. But with a strange underlying tone that indicated the speaker was on the verge of breaking out into maniacal laughter at any given moment…

Fadiya turned to find the speaker. It was not difficult. They stood out like a sore thumb against the dingy, murky landscape, their purple coat with the red embroidery glowing. A chill ran down her spine as they ran a hand through their elegantly mussed silver-white hair and smoothed their pointed beard with the other.

“That hubby of yours is off on a wild goose chase,” they continued, a grin spreading across their face. “And one of my best yet, if I do say so myself.” The grin spread from ear-to-ear and Fadiya could see everyone of their teeth. “And I do say so,” they growled.

“Who are you?” Fadiya demanded, finally finding her voice. Though… she knew the answer.

“Oh… oh, Queenie,” they shook their head, tutting, “we are off to a baaaad start, sweetheart, if you don’t recognize your dear old daddy.” Fadiya’s brow crinkled. They laughed wickedly, then stopped abruptly. “I jest, of course.” They smoothed the front of their gaudy jacket. “Really… I always think my colors should give me away, but then here we are: ‘Who are you, you foul demon!!!’“

“I… I didn’t call you a demon,” Fadiya said quickly.

“No,” they grinned that terrifying grin once more, “no, you didn’t. Which means you do know who I am.” They moved closer to Fadiya, so she could see the staining on their jacket. That which had appeared so gaudily elegant from affair, was grungy and dirty up close. They ran a finger along her cheek. “I want to hear you say it.”

Fadiya swallowed, the sound echoing so loudly in her ears she was certain they had heard it. Her eyes slid to theirs, the eyes of madness. “Sheogorath,” she whispered.

“Bingo, Queenie,” said the Mad God with a point of his index finger aggressively towards her. “I’ve had my eyes on you for a looooong, ol’ time,” he continued. “Ever since you were a small thing, writing in that journal of yours about the conspiracies of your mother’s death.” He paused his flouncing walk and turned back towards Fadia. “I don’t have her, by the way.” He winked. “It was that putrid little princeling your father banished back in the day, he murdered your mother in retaliation for your father being chosen king over himself.”

Fadiya felt like she was falling through the void, she had been wrong. Wrong. Wrong. All these years, she had been convinced she could find her mother and get her back. No wonder her father had never taken her seriously. He had known the truth. Had he ever tried to tell her? How could he have trusted her as his heir if he knew she had been so stupid?

Sheogorath was grinning that mad, menacing grin of his, watching her as though he could read the very thoughts rolling through her mind. And, of course, he could. He was a Daedric Prince, after all, the Mad God.

“Good, good,” he growled, “don’t resist the slide, Queenie. You don’t have far to go now.”

Melora could no longer sit by and watch her queen floundering. “Shura, go fetch Murdyn and Murdan, we need to get her out of here,” she said, taking Fadiya’s arm and attempting to guide her away from the portal. Her friend fought her, twisting and turning to wrench herself from Melora’s grip, straining to go back near the portal. “Please, Fadiya,” Melora whispered, tightening her grip, “please come away, I do not want to have to hurt you.”

On top of the fearful uncertainty of watching one’s sovereign falling into insanity, Melora had the heartache of watching the little girl she had once minded fall. She could remember it like yesterday, when Melora’s own father was king, and Fadiya had been just a little fiery wisp of a girl. She had always wanted to explore and discover things within the castle. She had told Melora that one day she would be a great explorer and cartographer of Tamriel. How had that sweet little thing so lost her way? To become this misguided and terrible queen. Arguments could be said that Fadiya could have been a far worse ruler, like that of what Melora’s elder brother would have been if he had been crowned instead of Fadiya’s father. Fadiya had never been a malicious ruler, just… ineffectual. Misguided. Too concerned with preserving legacies that did not matter.

Suddenly, Fadiya went limp against Melora, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Melora barely caught her, guiding her as gently as she could to the stone floor. She whispered for Shura to hurry up. What was…

When Shura finally returned with Murdyn, Melora’s own husband, and Murdan, Fadiya’s step-father, Melora quickly instructed them to get the queen to her bed as quickly and unnoticeably as possible. She didn’t want anyone to see Fadiya like this…

Just as Melora was about to follow them from the chamber, Ulfric, Zamarak, and Ralof came strolling out through the cursed doorway. They did not look any worse for wear…

When Ralof saw Melora’s face he demanded: “What’s happened?”

“It’s the queen,” Melora said, pointing to the stairs, “my husband and Murdan are taking her to your rooms now.” Ralof rushed past her, his armor clanking raucously down the staircase as he charged after them. “What happened in there?” Melora asked, turning to Ulfric and Zamarak.

“Nothing,” Ulfric shrugged, “there was nothing in there. What’s happened here?”

“There was… nothing?” Melora asked, her gaze looking past him to the gateway to the Mad God’s realm.

“Not a daedra in sight,” Zamarak grumbled, “this one has never been so disappointed.”

The hairs on the back of Melora’s neck began to stand on-end. There was something bigger at play here, something else driving all of this. Some other agenda. She looked again to doorway to the Mad God’s realm, what was his play in all of this?

They all stood around the royal bed, silence overhanging them. Ralof was stroking the queen’s damp brow, tears in his eyes. Melora had summoned Meena, who was on Fadiya’s other side, looking defeated. One clawed hand was rubbing the ridge of her brows, anxious by the situation. The Argonian woman had done all she could for the ailing queen, which had not been much. A hard truth was hanging over them: their queen was dying, and would be gone by dawn.

“I just don’t understand what happened,” Ralof said for the hundredth time. “She was fine when we left; angry, yes, but healthy, sound mind.” He gestured wildly at Melora. “You saying you watched her slip into madness is utterly baffling!”

“Watch your tone, friend,” Murdyn said sternly.

Melora waved down her husband for rising to Ralof’s bait for the hundredth time. She had had her time to think, to piece together the pieces of this maddening puzzle. Maddening…

“Ralof,” Melora started gently, “would you not say Fadiya has… not been herself of late?”

“What? Of course she has!” He sounded insulted, as though Melora had suggested his children, the heirs, were not legitimate.

“So, you would not say the queen had been prone to boughts of melancholia and paranoia recently?” Ralof was about to argue, but thought better of it and remained silent. “I think the Mad God has been after her for sometime, she used to talk about that chamber non-stop after her father’s anniversary ball.” She looked to Murdyn, “You remember the one, my love, where he officially named her his heir?”

Murdyn chuckled. “The one she disappeared from thinking no one would notice…” Her husband grinned, it had been a fond memory for them all.

“She was fixated on that place, convinced her mother had been taken by it,” Melora continued. “But we all knew the truth… that it had been Jofarr. Fadiya had just never accepted that.” She swallowed. “Until this mission of hers, no one had ever seen it in the palace before. I think it was all an elaborate ruse to get Fadiya where Sheogorath could easily, and possibly unhindered, take her.” Ralof began to protest, but Melora cut him off. “You yourself said there were no Daedra through his portal. How strange do you think that is? That the Mad God has no pets in the Shivering Isles? No guards? No traps? You really think you lot are all just that good that you slipped in undetected? No, that’s what he wanted.

Melora’s gaze turned back to her old friend. Remembering watching her as a small child. Mentoring her at the Sewing Table. “And now he has her,” she finished.