Alduin Unbound

Alright, here's number eight. Apologies for the delay and hope everyone enjoys!

Two quick notes. The first is a heartfelt thank you to GiantMako, whose advice was invaluable in getting this chapter done. Credit him for what is done well.

Secondly, this chapter's a violent one. I don't feel it's severe enough to warrant a rating increase, but be aware, this one's gonna be messy.

Chapter 8- Aristeia

One fine day
In the middle of the night
Two dead boys
Got up to fight

-Anonymous

Sheogorath crashed through the wall of his palace and sailed into the courtyard. Striking the ground, he skidded and bounced over the stones in a lifeless heap. His ribcage had been crushed by the force of the twin punches, his spine broken by the collision with his throne and castle wall. Blood poured from a dozen cuts, punctures or gouges in his back, the marks of flying shards of stone and wood.

It was of no consequence. So long as the strike was not outwardly fatal, he could regenerate. He could already feel the wellspring of his world reaching out to his battered form. His body went rigid, power coursing through it. It was fire in the muscles, lightning in the blood. It was pure, unbridled energy that would have filled and ripped a lesser being apart at the seams.

The madgod’s ribs snapped back into place, his spine re-fused and every wound vanished with a steaming hiss. He struck the ground a final time and rolled to a stop. Acting on instinct, Sheogorath braced his arms against the ground and pushed, propelling himself away from the strike that would have severed his head.

Talons carved into the stone below where he previously lay, throwing sparks into the air. The Daedra gave no pause, rushing towards him and jabbing and lunging with blows strong enough to punch his heart straight out of his chest. Sheogorath ducked and weaved, looking for any weaknesses to exploit.

From the city below, he could hear voices raised in alarm. Must have heard the noise when he was knocked clear out of the castle.

He met the Daedra’s gaze as other noises rose over the confusion. Shouted commands, the rattle of weapons, the clatter of armoured feet. His enemy’s face set into a grim look, an urgent one.

It feinted left, and he dodged the following thrust, leapt over a sweeping kick at his leg, and finally jumped back, temporarily out of range of its claws. It was now that Sheogorath understood its haste, realized the depth of his options.

The arrival of his guards would pose no threat to the Daedra, but they would impede it. If it couldn’t reach him, it couldn’t obtain the knowledge it sought.

In that sense, there was little need to stand and fight. Time was on his side. He could flee with ease. The Daedra would follow, indeed, it would have no other choice. The wisest move would be to lead it straight into the blades of his troops before crushing it underfoot.

To hell with that. Sheogorath had no intentions of retreat, fleeing like some hunted fox with the Daedra snapping at his heels. Let his guards come to him, and he would gladly accept their aid… if there was enough of this bastard left for them to fight.

Setting his feet, Sheogorath stood fast against the onrushing Daedra.

The unstoppable force bearing down upon the immovable object.

The Daedra feinted with its right arm, bringing the left in an upward swing aiming to flay his chest open. Sheogorath blocked the feint with his forearm, his bones aching in protest as it struck. Planting his feet, he lashed out and checked the other blow, grasping hold of the Daedra’s wrist before its talons met his flesh. The force of that hit would have sent him flying, only the downward pressure of the other arm kept him in place.

Its right hand clamped down over his forearm, and then it began to lift. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he was raised bodily into the air, his torso exposed to his enemy’s fangs. Its mouth opened in a shark’s grin, teeth glistening and ready to lunge.

Sheogorath returned the smile, then swung his lower body back and down to plant both feet against the Daedra’s chest. Tearing himself from its grip, he kicked out with all the strength in his body.

He was launched backwards, and he could see the Daedra staggering, almost falling. But then its balance returned, and now it was leaping after him, arms opened wide as if for an embrace.

Perfect.

Sheogorath landed on his shoulder, rolled once, and flipped back onto his feet. Two orbs of light, one red, one violet formed in either hand. Snapping his arm behind him, he splayed his palm at the ground and flexed.

An orb of fire shot from his hand. It hit the ground and erupted in a burst of heat and flame. The blast flung him into the air, sending his burned and tattered body on a collision course with the still approaching Daedra. Its eyes widened in realization and it tried to bring in its claws to impale him. It moved far too slow. The two Daedric Princes slammed together explosively, sending them crashing to the ground with Sheogorath laying atop his dazed opponent.

A brief pause to catch his breath, and the madgod lifted his other hand, now cupping a sphere of lightning. Without hesitation, he drove it full-force into the Daedra’s gut.

The attack blew a gaping hole in its abdomen. Blood flashed into steam, organs charred, and the Daedra’s head snapped back as it shrieked. The sound was like some monstrous tea kettle, a shrill and deafening hiss that set Sheogorath’s teeth on edge and echoed between the palace walls.

He lifted his hand and invoked another shock spell, intending to drive this one in and through the monster’s skull. But a backhanded swing caught him in the temple, and he was sent tumbling away, his ears ringing from the blow.

They struggled to their feet, wounds already healing. The Daedra edged closer. It was cautious now, more respectful of the danger he posed. Sheogorath sidestepped to the left, his eyes darting from his opponent to their surroundings, looking for any obstacle that might impede and potentially trap him.

He used the brief lull to weigh the situation. The Daedra was stronger than him, of that he was certain. Its claws also gave it considerable reach, and would do a great deal more harm blow for blow.

It circled closer, its talons clicking against one another as it clenched its hands.

But this was his realm, and he still held the advantage. With his source of power so close, he could move faster, heal quicker, and outlast it by centuries. All he had to do was stay on the attack.

The Daedra seemed to have the same idea. It crouched low to the ground before dashing forwards, one arm raking across in a slash while the other drew back to stab. Sheogorath rolled under the slash, felt the talons whistling over his neck, and then he was on his feet, fist balled and arm cocked back. Stepping forwards, he swung; two hard and fast strikes to its jaw before smashing his fist directly into its face.

But he was in its reach, and its counterattack came swift. A backhanded strike that shredded his coat, a clawed uppercut that he barely evaded, and finally a quick snap of its wrist that caught him in the arm. Blood misted the air as he was sliced to the bone.

Sheogorath staggered back, and the claws flashed again. He knocked away a cutting strike at his ribs only to see its left claws going for his eyes. He ducked, but one talon dug across the top of his head, and he felt the skin peeling away from his scalp as blood poured down his face.

He batted away another slice and leapt backwards. He paused long enough to wipe blood away from his eyes before gathering magicka in his hand. A blue glow formed in his palm, and then he charged at the Daedra, arm back and ready.

The Daedra’s arms stretched, talons gleaming readily.

Sheogorath was insane. He was not stupid. Rather than rush into that embrace, he threw himself to the side and fired his spell at the ground. Before the Daedra could jump away, a stream of frost shot from his fingers and washed over its legs. The magical ice spread, winding from its feet to the stone and rooting it to the spot. Its arm snapped out to catch him, only to meet air less than inches from his face. Snarling in frustration, it struggled to wrench itself free, claws straining to reach him.

Seeing his chance, the madgod went on the attack. Lunging in, he looped one of his arms around the Daedra’s own, pinning it against his side. With his free hand, he began raining blows on its chest, drawing back his shoulder and throwing his entire body into the hit like a carpenter hammering in the world’s most homicidal nail.

*THUD*

*THUD*

*THUD*

The Daedra thrashed, its legs still fighting to break free of the ice, its arm writhing as it tried to escape his hold. Its free hand clawed and swung, but every strike was blocked or dodged. Sheogorath continued his assault.

*THUD*

*THUD*

*SNAP*

He grinned, feeling its sternum crack under a punch. Just a few more hits… he was going to cave in this thing’s chest and rip out its heart before sending the remains headlong into the Waters of Oblivion.

And he was going to enjoy every moment of it.

Claws darted out in a stab, and Sheogorath pulled back before they met his neck. Except that hadn’t been the Daedra’s target. Instead, the claws continued on to plunge into his shoulder. Sheogorath yelled out in pain, jerking away and pulling the claws loose.

And inadvertently freeing the Daedra’s arm.

With his opponent no longer restrained, Sheogorath leapt back and away from its claws, only to watch as it gave a powerful tug that finally tore its legs free from the ice.

Then it was charging at him, shards of ice still crumbling from its legs, and caught one of his hands with its own. It yanked him back, its free hand ready, talons splayed. They flashed down in a scything arc, carving across Sheogorath’s face. Streams of blood filled the air as his nose was nearly severed, his cheek split wide open and his lips cut to strips. It was only by luck that his eyes had been spared.

The Daedra slashed again, forcing Sheogorath to lean back and under its claws. But it still kept hold of his wrist, and so he was pulled back into range of those talons, forced to lean and duck while it swung relentlessly.

He had an idea, one that was just crazy enough to work. Or get him messily disemboweled. Regardless, it was his best option. Continuing to avoid the claws, Sheogorath moved his free hand behind his back, hurriedly creating another frost spell. Confident that the Daedra had not seen it, he pulled back as forcefully as he could, his arm stretched and taut in its grip.

Just as he expected, the Daedra gave a vicious yank, drawing him back towards it like a fish on a hook. Jaws opened to bite, and Sheogorath thrust his hand into its slavering maw. Before the teeth could tear off his wrist, he fired the spell, sending a thousand flechettes of ice through the base of its mouth.

The Daedra’s lower jaw was blown away, the jawbone torn apart in the spray of ice. The sheer force of the spell threw the Daedra back like an uncoiling spring. His hand still in its grip, Sheogorath was pulled along for the ride, dragged through the spray of blood, teeth and saliva that spattered over his chest and shoulders.

Knowing that this chance would not last, Sheogorath renewed his assault. His arm darted out, but the Daedra’s head angled to the left in avoidance. Aiming lower, he struck twice into its side, and he could hear the air being pushed out of its lungs. It staggered for a moment, grip finally loosening, and he swept his freed arm backhanded as though swinging a battle-axe. His fist slammed into the side of its head, and the noise of that hit rebounded through the empty courtyard.

The Daedra toppled over, fell onto its side. Its eyes were shut, moans of pain bubbling through its ruined jaw. This time, it made no attempt to rise.

A burst of euphoria ran through him. It was down! Now was his chance. He ran forwards, and in his haste, relaxed his guard.

A taloned foot swept up and around to kick him off his feet, and Sheogorath screamed half in rage and half in pain as the tendons in his ankle were severed.

He fell hard, and another foot lanced in and caught his chest. He could hear the ribs crack, and then the Daedra was throwing itself sideways, claws lunging for him in murderous glee. Sheogorath tried to roll away, blocked as many blows as he could, but still felt claws stab home into his chest, his arms, his belly. Half-blinded by pain, Sheogorath managed to catch its newly healed jaw in his hand before teeth could latch onto his neck. He struggled to push the snapping maw away before landing a punch into its throat. The Daedra collapsed back, choking and gasping for breath.

Sheogorath staggered to his feet, his breathing strained and painful. His injuries burned as they knitted shut. Before him, the Daedra stood. His blood coated its claws, and he could see the marks of crumpled bones and internal bleeding made by his fists. Its feral grin stretched wider.

Sheogorath smiled back, but not from arrogance or bloodthirsty glee. No, it was because of one simple realization.

The footfalls and clamoring of his approaching guards had ended several moments ago.

The Daedra took one readying step, and when it leaped the air was filled with a series of loud twangs as a hailstorm of arrows was released.

She was at a loss for words. It was almost absurd. Here was the moment she had anticipated for years, had imagined in so many wonderful ways. Why then did it seem so unbelievable? So impossible?

Because deep down, she had never truly believed it would happen. For all her outward serenity, Celestia had long considered herself a cursed mare. She had lost innumerable subjects, friends, to the slow ravages of time. She had lost her sister to madness and her own actions. Why then should this be any different, when fate seemed to delight in tearing away everything she loved.

That surety of failure, of disappointment had almost stayed her hoof, almost forced her to pass the egg on. But it was the thought of that un-hatched infant, so helpless, so vulnerable, that kindled the desires in her heart. That gave her hope for the first time in centuries.

It was as if the egg contained all of her greatest dreams: To have a child of her own, to regain her sister’s love, to escape from the downward spiral of immortal solitude and truly live again.

And now the first of those dreams had come true. Celestia was finally, truly a mother.

And she scarcely knew what to think.

The closest comparison was when she recalled her first time successfully raising the sun. The monumental buildup and release of tension, the indescribable glee that came from accomplishing such a herculean task, the literal rush of endorphins that had left her full of energy and excitement to spare.

This was a far greater feeling.

It was unending euphoria and relief so powerful it left her halfway dazed. It was the fulfillment of dreams, the refutation of nightmares, and the first beautiful moments of what she hoped would be a long and magical lifetime. Raise the sun? Hah. She felt like she could recreate it from scratch and still have the energy to build the moon alongside it!

She was suddenly brought out of her daze by the feeling of the baby dragon squirming against her. Alarmed, Celestia pulled back just enough to look down at the newborn. He had set both claws against her foreleg, and was attempting to push himself up and out of her hold. His face was scrunched up in displeasure… but there was something else. There was a sense of intelligence about him, as if he understood the situation and disapproved. But that made no sense. At his age, he couldn’t full notice what was going on, let alone be capable of comprehending it!

Still, something was upsetting him, and Celestia wracked her brain trying to think of the cause. When no solution came to mind, she remembered with some embarrassment that she had focused all of her study and attention solely on the hatching process. Anything pertaining to the care or needs of a hatched dragon had been passed over or forgotten.

‘Well, that’s what you get for being so singled-minded,’ she chided herself. As soon as the opportunity presented itself, she was definitely going to be hitting the books. She hadn’t come all this way to screw things up by being ignorant or negligent!

Now then, back to the matter at hoof. Taking a firm hold on the dragon, she held him up and began carefully inspecting his body. She was relieved to see no sign of injuries on his body, and he showed no discomfort or other reflexive action from her touch.

Alright, so that ruled out pain or any physical irritation. But what else? Was he hungry? She couldn’t honestly say how soon baby dragons needed to eat after being hatched. But that explanation didn’t seem quite right. He was acting far too subdued, since from her observations most babies tended to be extremely… vocal, when it came to voicing their needs.

An unpleasant possibility reared up in her mind, and she once again drew him back against her chest, completely missing the look of sheer embarrassment that swept over the dragon’s face.

Just as she feared, he once again began struggling against her. What was wrong? Was he afraid of her? Was it because she wasn’t a dragon? Could he tell she was not his biological mother? Desperately, she began rubbing a hoof in soft, slow circles across his back, trying to put all the love and protectiveness she had into her embrace.

To her relief, it seemed to work. She felt his body slacken as he nuzzled his face deeper into her coat. Letting out a glad but weary sigh, she spread her wings and glided back to the ground.

Her hooves had barely reached the floor when the other ponies surrounded her, each of them anxious to get their first look at the newest member of the royal family.

Celestia immediately shied back, reflexively moving the infant to her side and bringing a wing up to cover him. She didn’t know why, but all of her previous fears were resurfacing. That small part of her mind was terrified that she would lose him. To what? No idea. But after all the waiting and worrying, now was the perfect time for the universal bitch known as Irony to swoop down and steal him away. The sight of so many ponies pushing to get to him was enough of a threat in her eyes.

The ponies backed away, mindful of their ruler’s sudden anxiety. She took in their concerned faces, recognized them as friends and loyal subjects. Was she truly worrying about them harming her baby? Ridiculous! She had seen this situation hundreds of times! It was only natural for ponies to want to meet and fawn over a newborn foal. And besides, she had already displayed him to half the city before he was hatched. Why should this be any different?

It was completely different, that tiny part of her wailed. He was safe inside his egg! It was solid as a rock, and had that barrier coating it! Now he was vulnerable, they could-

Pushing those thoughts aside, she lifted her wing and moved the dragon back into view. The ponies edged closer, and she felt the same voice of unease calling out in panic.

‘No,’ she thought. ‘Didn’t you just decide that you were finished with these childish worries? You are not hiding him away like some jealous nag. This is normal. This is what any parent would do. You can do this.’

Tucking her legs beneath her, Celestia lowered herself to eye-level with the others. Struggling to keep her voice level, she asked with a fragile smile, “Would you like to meet my son?”

Maybe it was the elation that came from speaking that word aloud for the first time. Maybe it was the excitement that spread over their faces as they crowded in for a look. Whatever the cause, Celestia felt her nervousness abating. Supporting him with a second hoof, she held the dragon out so he could be more easily seen.

“A fine, healthy looking colt,” one of the professors said. “And such wonderful coloration on his coat! It definitely…”

“You mean scales,” one of the other unicorns corrected him. “I don’t think you can really call him a colt, either. Drake, I believe, is the proper term.”

“You know what I meant!”

“Perhaps, but I hardly think it appropriate to address the young prince,” at this the unicorn turned her attention to Celestia, as if inquiring whether the title was appropriate. At the alicorn’s nod, she continued. “Yes, quite inappropriate to address him in such improper terms.”

The other unicorn sputtered. “I did NOT mean it disrespectfully! Surely you understand, your highness? I merely wanted to call attention to your son’s excellent features!”

Celestia bit her lip. “Umm, thank… you?” She wondered if that was the correct way to respond. After all, the compliments hadn’t been directed at her, but the baby certainly wasn’t able to acknowledge them. So did that make it alright? Should she say anything else?

Being a parent was turning out to be vastly more complicated than she’d thought!

Luckily she was saved when Twilight’s father interrupted. “So what was that you were saying about his color?”

The professor brightened up, presumably at seeing the chance to recover from his previous mistake. “Why, that it suits him perfectly! Purple, the color of royalty as a constant reminder of his station! And the mixture of red and blue? Warmth and courage alongside peace and comfort? What better traits for a ruler, not to mention a dragon? Just look at his scales! Regal, striking! Not to mention…”

“It also matches his mother’s eyes,” Twilight’s mother added slyly. “I wonder how else he’ll take after you, your majesty?”

Celestia felt her cheeks heat up, wondering why the observation affected her that much. It was only an indirect connection… and, and it wasn’t like she was responsible for his color. It didn’t mean a thing!

And yet, she couldn’t help but feel a rush of maternal pride as she looked over his vibrant scales. It was true, whatever the reason, and that seemed to make it that much more real for her. Casting a grateful smile at the other mare, she quickly pulled the dragon back against her chest, one hoof gently rubbing his spines.

Sensing that the impromptu show and tell was over, Sweet Grass pointedly cleared his throat to signal the other ponies to silence. “On behalf of everypony here, thank you for doing us the honor of meeting your child. I think I speak for all of us in attendance, and though presumptuous, for the entire kingdom when I say that congratulations are in order, princess. After so many years of waiting, you must be pleased to see the fruits of your labors.”

She couldn’t help but laugh. She still barely knew what to think! The myriad of emotions she had gone through in the past hour were making her dizzy and half-sick to her stomach. “Pleased isn’t quite the word I would use,” she said. “Overwhelmed is closer to the truth.”

“But still, to have it finally happen after such a long time,” Twilight’s mother exclaimed. “And to think! We were here when it happened!”

She turned to her husband and daughter, nearly hopping in glee. “Do you have any idea how lucky we are? The first ponies to see the new prince?! Oh, I cannot wait to tell dad about this!”

Sweet Grass’ jaw dropped. “Absolutely not!”

He seemed to realize just how forceful his outburst must have sounded when she turned to him with a rather incensed look. He hastened to elaborate. “I… I apologize, madam. But I must insist you not breathe a word of this to anypony else. The last things their highnesses need are rumors spreading through the streets.”

An icy wind seemed to blow through the room, making several ponies wonder if the unicorn mare was magically lowering the temperature. “Excuse me?” Her voice came out in a hiss, her glare almost predatory. “Are you saying that I’m some type of gossipmonger?”

The earth pony’s usual calm demeanor began to crumble as he saw just how far he had stuck his hoof in his mouth. “That wasn’t what I meant at all,” he stammered.

“Are you sure? Because it sounded like you accused me of being some loose-lipped blabbermouth! That I was going to march right out of this building and begin spouting lies around the city! Wasn’t THAT what you meant?!”

Backing away from the demon in mare’s clothing, Sweet Grass felt that there was something very familiar about this verbal whiplashing… and the sudden paling of his face showed that he remembered whose daughter he had insulted. And how it looked as though she’d inherited her father’s temper.

Yep. He was dead.

“Princess,” he nearly whimpered. “Help?”

Celestia gave him a mischievous smile. “Oh, I’m certain this was all just a misunderstanding,” she stated. “That is, if Sweet Grass can explain what he truly meant.”

It might have been sadistic, but she almost laughed at the betrayed look her councilor wore. In truth, she felt this was a rather just punishment for the momentary grief he had given her when they thought the egg was destroyed.

“Well, what I meant to say,” he said with all the care of a stallion walking through a booby-trapped cornfield. “Was that it would be better to spread the news of his birth via a public announcement, rather than simple word of mouth. Not to mention the timing would be quite inopportune, what with the recent disaster, and all.”

Many of the ponies reacted with confusion, giving Sweet Grass the opportunity to point out the rather large hole in the wall and the ring of damaged buildings below them. All in all, it was quite an effective diversionary tactic.

Twilight’s mother huffed. “All right, I suppose I did overreact back there. Please accept my apologies, councilor?”

He gave a thankful nod, only to throw her a rather sour look when she continued. “I guess all of dad’s complaints about you made me jump to conclusions.”

Rather than demanding to know just what Cascade had been saying about him, Sweet Grass turned back to Celestia.

“Now then, since that little ‘misunderstanding’ has been cleared up. Might I make a suggestion your majesty?” At this point, I would suggest that the prince’s existence be kept a secret, and any announcement should be postponed until we have fully dealt with both the damage and the aftermath of the day’s events. That would ensure that such happy news is not overshadowed by such unfortunate happenings. It would also help keep any malicious… connotations from forming.”

“That is an excellent point,” Celestia said. Now that she thought about it, there could be horrific consequences if word were to get out that he had been born in the midst of a magical meltdown. Goodness knows there were some fanatically superstitious ponies in Equestria. The last thing she wanted was for her son to be viewed as some harbinger of destruction.

Unbeknownst to her, Twilight was bouncing up and down in excitement, waving her hoof to try and get the alicorn’s attention.

“Then we agree,” Sweet Grass said. “Get things back to normal, and then start spreading the announcement. Just tell me what you need done, your majesty! Between the two of us, I think I’ve had quite enough of being an exam proctor.”

Celestia smiled apologetically. “I do apologize if you found that task unpleasant. Let me see if I can think of anything more fitting.” She tapped a hoof to her cheek in thought, oblivious to the unicorn filly still hopping at her hooves. “Ah, I know! Right now, Stillwater is overseeing medical care and debris cleanup, but unfortunately he won’t have the time to soothe any frazzled nerves. I want you to assist me in reassuring the populace. Let them know that the storm has passed, we have the situation under control…”

Stepping away from the other ponies, she began leading Sweet Grass towards the door, only to be stopped by the unexpected, and very loud yell of a certain unicorn.

“Oh, princess! Princess! Wait!” All eyes turned to Twilight Sparkle, who was now sporting a wide grin as though she was on the verge of revealing some remarkable secret.

“You can’t leave yet,” she began in a confident voice. “You forgot something REALLY important!”

Finding the girl’s mood infectious, Celestia smirked back and asked, “Oh? And just what is that, my faithful student?”

Twilight seemed to puff up at the title, and she quickly raised a hoof and thrust it towards the infant drowsing in Celestia’s foreleg. “What are you going to name him?!”

And just like that, Celestia was bewildered once again. How could she have forgotten something as important as that? What was she going to call him? Much as she loved the sound of it, addressing him as ‘my baby’ for the rest of his life was not a sound plan.

Apparently, the dragon agreed, springing awake immediately after Twilight voiced her question. As he looked around with wide eyes, she was again struck by how aware he appeared. What almost looked like indignation passed over his face, and then he was wriggling his way out of her hold, popping his arms free and turning to face the others.

Much to everypony’s amusement, the dragon looked directly at Twilight and let out an unexpectedly loud squawk.

The assembled ponies laughed as the dragon started, apparently surprised by the force of his own voice. “It looks as though you’re not the only one who wants to know,” she said with a giggle.

But what name to choose? In the previous years, she had compiled a very extensive list of possibilities, but had never settled on any in particular. Well… there were two lists, but she didn’t think the female section was exactly relevant anymore.

Celestia tried to remember and narrow down some of the names she’d considered, but it was proving to be a difficult task. She’d created the list in leaps and bounds over the years, sometimes adding several possibilities before discarding them the following day.

Finally, she settled on one of her favorites. It was a traditional name, regal and commanding, with quite a bit of history in her own family.

Smiling, Celestia said, “Solaris. I think I’ll call him Solaris.”

Whatever reaction she’d been expecting, she didn’t get it.

Twilight made a face like she’d just bitten into something sour, and the infant let out another series of disgruntled cries. The adults responded more positively, smiling and quietly repeating the name to themselves… though she could tell their enthusiasm was rather forced.

“You disapprove?” she asked, beginning to feel apprehensive of her choice.

“Oh no, not at all milady,” one of the professors exclaimed. “It’s, well, very unique! And quite elegant!” He turned to the other ponies as if seeking agreement. The others nodded, their smiles a little too wide to be believed.

All in all, their evasiveness did little to ease Celestia’s self-consciousness. Was her choice really that bad? She might have been inexperienced in these matters, but she had always assumed that naming a child after another relative was a common practice, an honor.

Seeming to pick up on her confusion, the stallion continued. “It just… well… doesn’t seem to fit in this case. You see… it… oh, how can I put this?”

“Well?” Celestia prodded, mentally urging him to just spit it out.

“It’s stuffy,” Twilight said bluntly.

Any relief she might have felt at receiving a straight answer was smothered beneath a wave of bewilderment and indignation. ‘Stuffy?’ STUFFY? They thought that naming him after her father was a bad idea because the name was stuffy?!

Feeling thoroughly insulted, Celestia was tempted to simply dismiss Twilight’s words and the opinions of everypony else in the room. Stuffy, indeed! As if they were in any position to judge! These ignorant peasants wouldn’t know a good name if she wrote it down, rolled up the scroll and clocked them over the head with it!

Luckily, she was able to hold her tongue long enough to realize that she was overreacting. So they didn’t like the name; they were certainly entitled to their opinions. Besides, if the entire group was in agreement, maybe there was some truth to Twilight’s words. Maybe… maybe it really was ‘stuffy.’

And she had read that a child’s name was of great importance. A poorly chosen name could have severe consequences down the road. If nothing else, she at least owed it to her son to allow Twilight to explain her reasoning.

Inwardly counting down from ten, Celestia opened her eyes to a rather amusing sight.

After Twilight’s outburst, her mother had noticed the scandalized look on the alicorn’s face and hurried to clap a hoof over the filly’s mouth. While her daughter let out a string of muffled protests, she was quickly bowing her head and stammering out one apology after the other.

“There is no need for apologies,” she said. “In fact, I’m quite pleased with your honesty, Twilight Sparkle.”

Twilight ducked out of her mother’s grip and shot the older unicorn a victorious look.

“But,” Celestia continued, smiling as the filly’s expression turned from triumph to trepidation. “That by itself is not enough. As my student, I have very high expectations of you, one of which is that you have proof to back up your claims. So if you hope to convince me that Solaris is too… stuffy… of a name, you will have to explain why.”

“Well, I think what everypony else said is true,” she began. “I mean, it is unique, and fancy, but don’t you think that’s a bad thing this time? It’s the kind of name you’d read on a big statue, or a painting in a museum, not something you’d call a baby.”

Her father stepped up. “Princess, I think what my daughter is saying is that it’s a fine name, but that it does not suit our young prince. In a way it sounds cold, unwelcoming, even aloof.”

Celestia was taken aback. Did the name really create so many negative impressions? She whispered it to herself, trying to understand how.

Noticing her confusion, he switched tactics. “This might help; it’s how my wife and I decided on the names of our own children.”

“Try to imagine your son as he grows up. Think of the various ways the two of you will interact. Reading him a story, listening to him describe his day, teaching him something new, even scolding him for disobedience. Listen to how his name sounds when you say it in different conversations. Is it ideal? Is it what you want him to be called for the rest of his life?”

To be honest, Celestia thought the exercise to be rather silly. How could she know for sure what the dragon’s personality would be like later in life? Could she truly determine whether any one name would stay suitable over time?

Nonetheless, she complied. And to her surprise, she found that it worked. Whether her tone was one of affection or command, Solaris never seemed to fit. There was an inescapable feeling of sternness to it; a coldness and lack of familiarity that made it seem more a title than anything else.

It also didn’t help that there might be an unspoken pressure in being forced to live up to his namesake. That, she definitely did not want.

Looking back at the infant, she rubbed a hoof comfortingly over his spines. “I suppose that won’t do,” she admitted. “You don’t look much like a Solaris to me.”

“Princess? Are there any other names you liked,” Twilight asked. Celestia pretended to scowl and turned her nose up in the air.

“Perhaps, but I don’t know if I ought to share them with you. You seem to be quite the harsh critic! If you thought my first idea to be ‘stuffy,’ I’m afraid to know what you’ll think of any more.”

Twilight’s ears flattened against her head. “I’m, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to be rude! I just wasn’t thinking, please give me a second chance!”

The filly was literally begging by this point as her previous confidence eroded into something between terror and shame. Celestia frowned. She had known Twilight was a bit of a perfectionist, but had no idea it was this severe. She seemed convinced that the princess was going to revoke her studentship on the spot, all for one slip of the tongue.

Steadying the infant with one leg, Celestia pressed a hoof to her forehead and sighed. They were definitely going to have to work on this. She couldn’t have her student suffering mental breakdowns every time she made a simple error!

Celestia reached out to place a comforting hoof on the girl’s shoulder and said, “It’s quite alright, my dear. After all, mistakes are how we learn, are they not?”

Twilight’s expression made it clear that she didn’t believe in the educational value of mistakes, but Celestia pressed on.

“So then, would you like to help me with some other names? It’s quite helpful to have a second opinion.”

Despite her obvious excitement, Twilight looked down at her hooves and mumbled, “I don’t know if I should. I don’t want to upset you again.”

“You needn’t ever worry about upsetting me, Twilight Sparkle,” she said, using the unicorn’s full name for emphasis. “Think of it as your first lesson, one that requires you to carefully choose and weigh your words.” She paused, and then continued with a playful grin. “Unless the name is exceptionally bad, then I give you permission to be as harsh as you please!”

Twilight visibly relaxed, though it was unclear whether this was due to Celestia’s reassurance or the challenge of the impromptu lesson she had been given. Lifting her head, she gave the princess a bright smile, her eyes narrowed in determination.

“Alright, I’m ready!”

“Then we’d better not waste time, I think our young friend is becoming restless.”

Indeed, the dragon’s struggles were making him much more difficult to hold, and he’d nearly fallen out of Celestia’s grip before she used her other hoof to steady him.

“Shh, calm down, little one. Don’t be afraid,” she said as she rocked him gently in her forelegs. “Everything’s alright. Mommy’s here.”

That seemed to do the trick. The dragon settled back into her embrace, seemingly calm.

She turned back to Twilight. “Now then, what do you think about…”

Off to the side, Sweet Grass was motioning the other adults to back away, maintaining the privacy between student and teacher. Left to their own devices, the two began working their way through what names Celestia could remember.

“I’ve always been partial to the name Hyperion. What do you think of it,” Celestia asked. Twilight mouthed the word silently, testing the sound of it.

“Uh-uh,” she finally said. “It sounds too formal, and it’s… kind of strange.”

“How so?”

Twilight paused as she tried to think of a suitable example. “Well, it doesn’t sound like a real name to me. I mean, if a colt came up to me on the street and introduced himself with it, I’d think he was making it up!”

“It doesn’t even seem recognizable?” Even though she believed Twilight’s words, Celestia couldn’t understand how the name could be unfamiliar. It may not have been especially common, but she remembered hearing it frequently in her childhood.

“Well, let’s try another one, shall we? What about…”

But nothing seemed to fit. Aither, Phaeton, Eosphoros, every suggestion was eventually rejected either by Twilight or the princess herself. Celestia was beginning to think she’d be forced to visit Cerridan again, if only to find any suitable draconic names!

Coming to the last name on her mental checklist, she asked, “What about Helios?”

Twilight repeated the name and smiled. “I like it!”

After testing it out herself, Celestia was surprised to discover that she did as well. Thrilled that neither of them had found any faults with the name, she lifted the dragon up to eye-level.

“What do you think, Helios? Do you like your new name?”

He gave no sign that he was even aware of her presence. Instead, his eyes were unfocused and staring into the distance, and she could see his mouth moving, as though trying to form words. Then he paused. His mouth opened and closed. Then an expression of loss and despair passed over his face, and he threw back his head and screamed.

It was loud, a far louder sound than she would have ever believed such a tiny creature could make, and it was nearly enough of a shock to make her drop him in her surprise.

“I don’t think he liked that one,” Twilight said weakly. The filly had jumped several inches back at the sudden noise, and was now eyeing the dragon cautiously in case he did so again.

Celestia wasn’t sure. That hadn’t seemed like a typical cry of discomfort or attention. There was something about this dragon that she just couldn’t put her hoof on. What that something was, however, she had no idea.

She waited, but no additional cries were voiced. In fact, after that last outburst, he completely relaxed, nuzzling into her chest and about to nod off. With a smile on his face, no less!

Though she still didn’t quite believe it… it looked like Twilight was correct. “Well then, we certainly can’t use that name,” she said morosely.

The other ponies had regrouped around them after the dragon’s cry, and now Sweet Grass spoke up.

“Begging your pardon, your majesty. But I think I may know the problem with the many names you’ve suggested.”

Twilight stared at him incredulously, and Celestia imagined that they were both wondering why he hadn’t shared this information a bit sooner. “You do? Well then, out with it!”

“Well, first I must ask a question of my own. The names you’d considered… were they ones you’d heard or known when you were a filly?”

Though confused, Celestia answered, “Why, almost all of them, though some were from the early years after my coronation. What difference does that make?”

“Forgive me for being blunt,” Sweet Grass said. “But don’t the records date your coronation as being a few thousand years in the past?”

“I don’t see how reminding me of my age is relevant to this discussion,” Celestia snapped.

“But it is,” he explained. “Or rather, the age of the names is relevant. You see, princess, the types of names you considered have become rather… archaic over the years. Many of them have a historic or even mythological sound to them. They are stately, to be sure, but they don’t quite fit with cultural norms.”

Now Celestia understood. The names she had picked might have worked perfectly in the early days of her and Luna’s reign, but would be severely dated in this day and age, even amongst the most noble ponies at court.

“So what would you suggest,” she asked.

The green stallion paused to think. “Hmm, I think something short would be best. Quick, easy to say and remember. A name that suits him, but only him.”

Celestia nodded, running a hoof slowly over the dragon’s spines. Twilight noticed the subtle movement, and her eyes lit up.

“Princess! I’ve got it! His name should be Spike!”

“Spike,” Celestia repeated dumbly, still surprised by the suggestion.

Twilight nodded. “Yea, just like the ones covering his back!”

Celestia looked down at the row of green spines. Spike… it was certainly… different from the ones she had suggested.

Seeing her teacher’s hesitance, Twilight began explaining. “It’s nice and short, just like Mister Sweet Grass said, so nopony would forget it or mess it up! And I bet there isn’t a pony in Equestria with that name, so it’d be just for him. It’s also a tough sounding name, like the nicknames my brother used for his friends, so I know he’ll like it!”

Celestia had to admit the girl had a point. Several, to be precise. It might not be the most regal name in the world, but there was a certain strength to it, and a uniqueness that set it apart from typical equine names. Simple, powerful, unforgettable. Yes, it was perfect. And maybe she could still use Helios for a middle name…

“Spike,” she murmured, testing the sound and feel of it. The baby nuzzled further into her coat, mumbling sleepily.

The princess smiled. It looked like he approved of this one. Looking back at Twilight, she nodded.

“I think you’ve found the right name, Twilight. And I think Spike would agree.”

As the unicorn beamed up at her, one of the professors asked, “Have you decided then, princess?”

“Indeed so. Thanks to the expert advice of my young student,” she said with a wink to Twilight. “I have decided that from this point on, my son will be named Spike.”

As the other ponies voiced their approval, none noticed the shimmering air over Spike’s head. Celestia felt the air around Spike raise slightly in temperature. It grew warmer and warmer, until it seemed like she was sitting directly before a bonfire. The heat was somehow comforting, protective, and the alicorn’s spine tingled as an unseen presence pulled itself free of the dragon’s body, its task complete and time short.

Taking one last look at his son, Akatosh placed an ethereal kiss to Spike’s forehead before departing for his own world.

The name suits him well, princess. Take care of him, this child who I love best.

As the air around her cooled, Celestia blinked. For a moment, she thought she had heard a voice whispering in her ear.

“I will,” she murmured, not even realizing she had spoken.

And so they went their separate ways, yet both the god of time and the goddess of the sun felt the same shared hope.

That from this point on… everything would be alright.

Arrows whistled through the air, their barbed tips seeking flesh.

The Daedra was already airborne, no time to move or guard its body. It tried throwing both arms up and in front of its face in an impromptu defense, but a half-score of ebony tipped arrows still peppered its body; pinpoint hits that splintered bone and punctured lungs, liver, heart and stomach. The force of so many shots reversed the Daedra’s momentum, tossing it back and to the ground. It forced itself to stand, eyes glazed in confusion.

Responding to some unspoken command, a golden-skinned woman raced across the courtyard and slammed headlong into the Daedra’s side, her axe buried up to the haft in its shoulder.

The Daedra snarled, more out of annoyance than pain. Its head darted out, jaws snapping at air as the Aureal danced back, abandoning her weapon. The Daedra tensed for a leap.

A second woman, this one clad in armour only a touch darker than her skin, charged in from its other side and clubbed it square in the back with a two-handed swing of her mace. It stumbled forwards, and the Aureal was there to meet it, pulling her axe free before clipping it across the chest with another slash.

Sheogorath stood and watched as the two forced the Daedra away from him. All across the courtyard, more of his troops were coming into view. Golden Saints and Dark Seducers alike. Archers stood ready atop the walls, foot soldiers were streaming out from both entrances to the city, and even the oft-scorned males of their races were swarming it, looking for an opening.

A part of him was pleased that his girls had performed such an expansive flanking maneuver. Another part of him was incensed that they had taken so long while he was fighting for his life.

A platoon of Mazken approached, their black armour looking insect-like in the afternoon sun. Though unarmed, the males carried massive, rectangular shields. Without speaking, they formed a half-circle and planted their shields into the ground, forming a literal wall of metal and flesh between the Daedra and their lord. Females crouched in the gaps between the men, bows at half draw, maces clutched tightly.

Their captain prowled up and down the ranks, barking commands when the formation failed to meet her approval. Only when she appeared satisfied with her troops did she turn and give the madgod her attention.

He dismissed her initial concerns as to his health, as well as her assurance that messengers had been sent to Brellach and Pinnacle Rock. True, it would be a tremendous boon to have the whole of their forces arrive in full, but he was confident the fight would be over soon enough. There was one thing that bothered him though…

“Jansa!”

The Seducer turned back, the smallest bit of apprehension in her eyes. “My lord?”

“While I do appreciate this fine display of military might you’ve produced on my behalf, I have to wonder why it’s only arriving now? And why, pray tell, it wasn’t there when our uninvited guest decided to PUNCH ME STRAIGHT THROUGH A WALL!?”

Jansa winced, and he could see the tenseness in her face before she answered. “We withdrew to the city, as we were ordered. Upon his arrival, he declared his business was with you alone, and bade us remove ourselves from the castle.”

Sheogorath was incredulous. “And you listened? Why? Who in the name of Nocturnal thought that letting him run around unobserved was sound judgment?”

She bowed her head in apology. “You did, or rather, your predecessor.” Before he could respond, she continued. “The first Sheogorath had little quarrel with his fellow princes. He had long since declared the Isles open to their visitations, and you did nothing to refute him. We assumed the old law held true.”

The madgod blanched in embarrassment. Now that she mentioned it… he did recall hearing something along those lines from Haskill a half-dozen decades ago. Righteous anger slipped into awkward silence as he realized that most of this situation was his fault in one way or another.

He sighed. “Alright, soon as this is over that law’s going to change, and I’m having a talk with you girls about inviting enemies in without asking first. What would your mother think?”

Thoroughly confused, the Mazken asked, “Our mother?”

Sheogorath shook his head. “Never mind.” He was preparing to move through the line of shields and rejoin the fight when all went silent. Or rather, the sounds of combat ceased, dying down to nothing amid two other noises.

The first was a terrible ripping that sounded like a great sheet of fabric pulled in two. The second was the noise of blades driving through flesh and piercing metal. Sheogorath strode forward, hastily pushing aside the raised shields.

His troops were arrayed in a widening circle, each woman backing away, weapons raised and cautious. At the circle’s center was the Daedra, along with the Mazken and Aureal that first joined the attack.

The Aureal lay at its feet in a growing puddle of blood. Her skin was pale and breathing shallow as she pressed a hand over the ragged, bleeding hole where her left arm had been. The Daedra stood over her, one hand still clutching the arm it had torn away, the second buried in the Mazken’s chest. Its eyes never leaving Sheogorath, it threw the arm aside and lifted the dark-skinned woman into the air. He could see the muscles in its arm as it clenched its fist.

The Mazken vomited blood over its arm as her body fell limp, heart pulped in the Daedra’s grip. Stepping to the side, it stomped down on the Aureal, crushing her skull before dropping the Mazken’s body beside her.

It was still staring him down, seemingly unfazed by the two score enemies that surrounded it. In truth, it may not have even noticed, deaf to all but its own rage. Talons unfolded, and its legs bent into a crouch.

Sheogorath knew what was coming. “EVERYONE GET READY,” he roared out in warning. “IT’S GOING TO…”

The Daedra was already leaping, claws glinting in the sunlight. They slammed home in the shoulders of an Aureal, and the Daedra planted its legs into her still falling body and kicked off like a springboard. It hit the ground running, too far for any of the soldiers to catch as it sprinted towards him.

Three of the male Mazken lifted their shields, and the crouched archers loosed a series of fast, low shots. Barbed arrows struck its legs, stomach, groin. It neither slowed nor faltered.

More shields lifted, and the foot soldiers dashed out of the line, the metal barriers slamming back into the ground behind them. Though running full-speed, to Sheogorath they seemed sluggish, as though moving underwater. Grimly, he realized that it would look the same to the Daedra.

It swept through the attack like a sickle through wheat. Never losing pace, it broke one woman’s back, swerved aside to plunge talons into the neck of a second, crushed the larynx of a third, and leapt over the top of a shield before kicking its bearer’s spine out through his chest.

Reaching its target, it lifted an arm high over Sheogorath’s head for a killing strike.

But Sheogorath was ready. The Daedra had expected him to dodge backwards, had angled its blow to catch him in retreat. Instead, he stepped inside and past the arc of its claws and hit it in the chest with a shoulder tackle. The hit drove both princes into the line of shieldmen. The Daedra snarled and drew back for another strike, only to have its arm gripped and held fast. Its head swiveled to see several Seducers pinning its arms, legs, and waist, trying to hold it still long enough for a fatal blow to be dealt.

Sheogorath backed away as several Aureals joined the grapple, attempting to restrain it by sheer weight and numbers. The Daedra roared in anger and managed to rip one arm loose. It tore and swung with its free arm, chopping at the hands that continued to grasp for it. Their arms drew back, blood pouring from numerous cuts. From there, it turned its claws on those who sought to trap it, gouging swaths of flesh from their bodies and forcing them to release their holds.

Once freed, the Daedra leapt up, arms stretched high over its head. A flickering red light formed above its hands, grew into a roaring orb of fire.

Sheogorath felt his mouth go dry, his gut clenching at the sight. The crackling fire was still growing, seeming to gorge itself on the air around it. It was then he saw that was exactly the case. Pure streams of magicka flashed into existence as the Daedra called more and more power from its own realm. The fire’s glow was deepening, forming into a fierce and violent blue.

“RUN!” Sheogorath screamed over the sound of the flames. “For your lives, run now! Don’t look back!”

The crowd of soldiers turned to flee, and Sheogorath was already sprinting back into the fray, already knowing he’d be far too slow to stop it.

The Daedra gave a furious bellow and flung the sphere to the ground.

The flash of light was monstrous, dazzling the onlookers and throwing their shadows out a hundred feet behind them. The shockwave followed, kicking up hurricane winds and bringing enough force and pressure to snap trees in half and shake the palace to its foundations. Sheogorath found himself being flung across the courtyard for the second time that day, and the dozen Mazken and Aureals at the blast’s epicenter burst into flame and were thrown far into the sky, their ashes raining down over the courtyard.

When the dust cleared, the Daedra stood alone in the scorched crater made by the fireball. It was hunched over; eyes squeezed shut and painfully gasping for breath. Its forearms had been blown off halfway to the elbows, and the entire front of its body was charred to a sickening black. It swayed unsteadily and fell to its knees, letting out a raw hiss of pain as its burned skin hit the ground. Slumping forwards, it curled up further and waited for its body to heal.

It would have been the perfect time to attack, if Sheogorath had been in any condition to do so. As it was, the god of madness was currently sprawled out on the ground, too preoccupied with the ringing in his ears and the aching in his bones to do anything else. All around, his soldiers were in a similar state, lying about haphazardly, their bodies sprawled across one another like the aftermath of the world’s worst bachelor party.

‘Ught, what in the world WAS that,’ Sheogorath wondered, trying to blink the afterimage out of his eyes. ‘Did we finally get him so angry he decided to blow himself up? And I thought I was supposed to be the crazy one!’

By the time he’d regained his bearings, the Daedra was fully healed, its arms rebuilt, its skin glistening, looking soft and almost tender where it had re-grown.

‘Still alive. Should’ve known it was too much to hope for…’ Biting back a groan, Sheogorath managed to stand, brushing ashes off of his clothes and out of his hair. Ashes that had once been his soldiers, he realized with a grimace.

Despite the heavy price of that attack, Sheogorath couldn’t help but feel relieved. He knew that destruction spells were not the Daedra’s strong suit, and judging by how badly it had weathered the backlash, it certainly wouldn’t be trying that little trick again.

It was difficult to be optimistic in a situation like this, but Sheogorath allowed himself to believe that the strain of loosing and healing from that last attack had wearied the Daedra enough that he could put an end to all this.

He moved past his soldiers, tersely ordering the squadrons to follow. Carefully stepping over the bodies of the dead, he advanced on the Daedra. It scrambled to its feet, eyes narrowed and sweeping over the crowd, as if finally noticing the increase in numbers. The pain from that explosion must have finally pushed the rage and adrenaline out of its system. Looking back, it focused on him and spoke for the first time since their fight began.

“Call them off, madgod,” it demanded. “Your pawns have no place in our battle. Rein in your cowardice, and face me fairly!”

Sheogorath paused, his own adrenaline seeming to falter at the Daedra’s words. There was something utterly ridiculous about them, whether it be the timing or just the nature of the demand. It wasn’t that it was trying to make a civil request so soon after their attempts to kill each other. It wasn’t that he was being asked to abandon a clear and tangible advantage. No, it was the fact that this Daedra, of all people, was all but calling him a cheater!

His laugh was harsh, derisive. “Fair? I’m shocked your forked tongue even knows the word! You who came to me yearning for blood and murder, you who attacked without warning or decorum, YOU WHO HAVE FOUGHT AND SLAIN WITH THE SHIELD OF IMMORTALITY EVER SHELTERING YOU, YOU WHO ENSNARE MORTALS WITH LIES AND DECEIT! YOU DARE CHALLENGE MY HONOR?!”

Sheogorath paused and drew in a breath. When he continued, his voice had lowered to a whisper, its soft tone somehow more terrible than a roar. “No, there will be no concessions for you. You butcher of children, you shackler of souls. I will use every power I wield, every being I command if it means killing you. Nothing will keep me from that.”

Instead of being insulted or angered, the Daedra smiled wickedly. “Not even the lives of your subjects?”

Sheogorath scowled, though a sliver of doubt crept into his mind. “That is a serious threat. One I would not suffer lightly.”

It nodded. “As I would expect from one so attached to his… pets,” it spat the last word mockingly. “So I say again, call off these pawns. Fight me alone, or watch your world die with you.”

He scoffed. “Bold claims, but you’ll forgive my skepticism. You’re not exactly prepared to fight an army.”

It raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And when did I claim to be unprepared?”

It lifted an arm, hand limp and pointing to the ground. A black glow formed over the fingers and grew to envelope its palm. A flick of the wrist, and the light vanished with a rush of air.

When nothing happened, Sheogorath signaled his troops to advance. “Not a particularly damaging counterattack,” he taunted.

As if in reply, the ground began to shake beneath them. The tremor forced the lesser Daedra to one knee, and even Sheogorath found himself setting his feet to keep balance.

The rumbling ceased, and the Daedra lifted a finger. “That,” it said. “Is one.”

‘One,’ Sheogorath wondered. ‘One what?’ He searched for some sign of the Daedra’s attack, but the skies above them were as clear as before, and the only sound was of footsteps racing up from the city.

“Lord Sheogorath!” He turned to see Haskill hurrying towards them, the man’s bald head damp with sweat.

“Haskill! About time you showed up! Can’t say you’re fashionably late though, hell, can’t even say you’re unfashionably late! Of all the crises you could have napped through, this is probably the worst!”

“Forgive me, milord,” he panted. “But… have to… tell you… quickly…”

“Ah, ah, ah,” Sheogorath said, hiking a thumb at the still-grinning Daedra. “I’m a tad preoccupied as it is. Whatever news you have, it needs to wait.”

“But, milord,” Haskill protested. “This is an emergency!”

“Then come back when it’s a catastrophe!”

The ground rumbled once again. This time, the stones beneath their feet began to crack, and Sheogorath’s castle shook on its foundations, walls shaking and windows shattering.

The Daedra lifted a second finger. “That makes two.”

The connections began to form in Sheogorath’s mind, and he looked down at Haskill and asked, “Where?”

“The Fringe,” his servant replied.

Stepping back into the midst of his troops, Sheogorath closed his eyes and raised a hand to his temple. A vision of the Shivering Isles appeared as though he were flying miles above them. The view spiraled down towards the western coastline, until finally he was looking down on the village of Passwall.

The town was in ruins. Buildings aflame, inhabitants either fleeing for their lives or motionless in their own blood. Dark shapes moved across the scene; massive, crocodilian beasts and black-skinned demons in full armour. They continued their rampage, but Sheogorath’s attention had moved on, to the two identical objects that rose up from the ground outside.

Each was surrounded by four barbed spires of rock growing out of the earth. In their midst rose a massive structure of bone and rock that took the shape of an inverted U. A veil of fire filled the interior, flames darting and licking out as though trying to escape. From inside the fire, another world could be seen, a terrible landscape filled with monstrous creatures, each one awaiting its turn to pass through.

Rather than feel the rumble of the third quake, Sheogorath watched as its source emerged. The spires erupted from the ground; columns grew out of the dust, bridged together, and then another veil of fire flickering into life.

Sheogorath ended the spell and opened his eyes, his angry glare fixed on the smiling Daedra.

“Oblivion Gates?!” He demanded.

“I thought you might appreciate the nostalgia. In truth, I had prepared these legions some time ago, to be used when my plans for Tamriel reached fruition. Now, however, they will serve equally well in hastening your death.”

“Why there,” Sheogorath asked, though he had already guessed the answer. “You had the time. Why not place the gate marks here in this courtyard? You could have easily flooded us with your troops, gained the advantage in an instant.”

It chuckled. “That should be obvious. It places them at the greatest possible distance from you. While your armies march to this city, they will pour into your world like water from a breached floodgate.”

It waved a hand dismissively towards the west. “By the time you have mustered a defense, organized a counterattack? They will have burned their way east, destroying all you have created. Your subjects, those mortals who you love best? They will be slaughtered wholesale, die screaming for mercy, their pleas unanswered. They will know, in their grief, that Sheogorath has betrayed them. That he held more love for a world not his own, than for those he called his people.”

Sheogorath cursed inwardly. It was right, of course. There was too much distance between himself and the Fringe. What could they do? His mind raced, weighing options, knowing that every second counted.

Perhaps he could get a message to the reinforcements, get them marching westward immediately?

No good; that would still give the invaders plenty of time to organize and further build their numbers. He needed to hit them while they were still vulnerable, and he had to do it now!

But how, when the Daedra would be on his heels from the moment he left? He would have to buy some time, get it off his back…

His eyes flicked to the broken wall of his palace.

It stepped forward as if reading his thoughts. “You’re plotting some devious act, are you not? Try, if you must. But know that if one of these children make to leave this courtyard, I will first cut their legs from under them and let them crawl off on the bloody stumps. And should you attempt to interfere with my forces, I will follow, teeth gnashing for blood like the cruelest of Hircine’s hounds.”

It stopped a few paces from Sheogorath, and its voice softened. No less cold, but now lacking malice. “There is, however, one option left to you. Let it not be said that I am without mercy.” Its arm lifted, and it extended its hand towards him. “You need only give me what I want, and I will stay my hand.”

Sheogorath stood frozen, his eyes fixed on the offered hand. The Daedra merely waited.

“The choice is yours, madgod. As it always has been. Tell me. Is the life of one dragon worth more than your own realm?”

Sheogorath seemed to deflate, his shoulders sagging, his head drooped. When he spoke, his voice was weary, as though the weight of centuries had finally caught up to him.

“There is truth in what you say. What manner of king trades the lives of his people for others? Who treats his realm to war and death when the means exist to prevent it? Nothing more than a fool, who must be taught to more carefully choose his battles.”

He sighed, slowly lifting his hand. “I suppose that the greatest lessons must be learned harshly.”

He reached out and clasped the Daedra’s hand. “In that, my friend, you are an excellent teacher.”

The Daedra smiled and opened its mouth to speak, but Sheogorath gave a monstrous pull, dragging it close before grasping its throat in a vice-grip.

“Too bad I’m a lousy student!” Sheogorath yelled before smashing his forehead into the Daedra’s face. It reeled back from the head butt, and Sheogorath used the opportunity to loop his arm around a leg. Still gripping its neck, he strained to lift it into the air and turned to the hole in his castle.

With all the strength he possessed, Sheogorath threw the Daedra back into the deserted throne room. It struck one of the stone pillars and crumpled to the floor in a daze.

Gritting his teeth, Sheogorath cupped his hands and drew deep from the source of his power. His shoulder began to burn, but he ignored the pain and concentrated on the ball of electricity that crackled between his palms. Once he deemed the spell ready, he threw out his hands and fired a beam of lightning, not at the Daedra, but at the palace roof. The blast brought down half the ceiling, and the Daedra looked up in time to see several tons of stone and wood crashing down on its head.

For good measure, Sheogorath blasted away the rest of the support columns, collapsing the entire wing of his palace down around it. Once he was sure the Daedra was well and buried, he turned back to his troops. Power coursed through him, manifesting as visible waves of magicka that flowed over the god’s body.

“Nelrene, Staada,” he addressed the captains of the two races. “Send out your swiftest runners, have them seek out the reinforcements. Their orders have changed. They are to make for the Fringe with all possible speed. The women and men, alike.”

His body was beginning to grow, his voice deepening to an amplified roar. “Spread this message to each and every soldier. We are not defending our realm. We are attacking, striking back at this invasion until it falls, routed, back to the pits from whence it crawled! We will push them out of our realm, and dam up the gates with the bodies of their dead!”

Sheogorath, now over twelve feet in height, pointed west and bellowed. “These bloodthirsty fools want war? THE GOD OF MADNESS WILL SHOW THEM WAR!”

The Saints and Seducers gave a unified cheer before racing for the stairways. Soon, the courtyard was empty but for Sheogorath and Haskill. The smaller man looked up and asked, “A fine speech, milord, but can they truly drive back the invasion?”

Sheogorath smiled mirthlessly. “If he was speaking the truth, if his forces have indeed been preparing for war these many years? Likely not. But then, I don’t require them to.”

He cast a look back at the collapsed throne room. “If he takes his time digging himself out, and if my girls can hold their ground for a few short hours, we can stop this invasion in its tracks.”

Haskill remained unconvinced. “But how?”

“Come now, Haskill. Have you forgotten who I am? The Hero of Kvatch? I’m probably the last person in Mundus you’d want to use Oblivion Gates against; I can tear them down in my sleep!”

Finally understanding, Haskill found himself grinning back. “Quite so, milord. Though I have to wonder if you’ve grown rusty after so many years?”

“Only one way to find out,” Sheogorath said. “Of course, I’ll be needing your help.”

The smile vanished from Haskill’s face. “But, but my lord,” he sputtered. “You must be joking! I’ve no skill at battle! I’ve never even held a sword!”

“That might be true,” Sheogorath conceded. “But it’s not you that’s going to help me. I don’t need Haskill,” he lifted his hand and summoned the Wabbajack. The other man’s eyes widened.

“I need Heyvkahsil.” Leveling the staff, Sheogorath fired.

The blast struck Haskill in the chest, expanding in a spider web pattern up the man’s torso. For the briefest of instants, his body seemed to fight the change, and then his human form trembled and dissolved.

And what appeared was a dragon.

Sunlight glinted off of violet grey scales. Wings like sails beat the air, as if yearning to take flight. A long, serpentine tail swept across the ground, and a great, fanged maw lifted to the sky.

Heyvkahsil roared, his voice thundering across the Isles.

Sheogorath watched with a smile, their situation momentarily set aside as he watched his friend’s joy at returning to his true form. It was ironic that he had returned this dragon’s body after so recently stealing that of his brother’s. He thought of Alduin, the one who, however indirectly, started all this. He tried to think of what grievance the Daedra held, why it would spare or slay an entire world to pursue him.

He thought of the bargain it had proposed.

He was not afraid to admit that he had been tempted. When the Daedra had stretched forth its hand, he had considered its offer. And really, who wouldn’t? Any who said otherwise were lying through their teeth. Sheogorath knew that there was no god, no king, no man who was so righteous and self-assured that they would not, at least for a moment, consider sacrificing an innocent life if it meant saving others.

But by far the worst part of this already horrendous situation was that no matter the outcome, he would be there to witness the consequences. Whichever world burned, however many people died, he would be left standing over the ashes. The responsibility his. The failure… his.

And so there had been two paths before him. One, where the inhabitants of a single world would certainly die. The other, where the inhabitants of two worlds shared a chance for survival or destruction.

And he chose the lesser of two evils, though the path was steep and difficult, the fall that much more painful.

He had chosen his path. Now, it was time to walk it.

Forcing a grin to hide his unease, he stepped closer. “So, this is what you used to look like, eh? Impressive, I admit! And quite an improvement over the bald head and potbelly. I wonder if my predecessor was just jealous of not having wings?”

Heyvkahsil looked down, tears shining in his eyes. “Thank you, Lord Sheogorath. Truly, my deepest thanks.”

“Your real name and your real shape,” Sheogorath said. “I’m only sorry it took something as tragic as the end of the world for me to return them.”

The dragon laid himself prone on the ground, his wings sweeping back. With a nod of his head, he beckoned Sheogorath to climb onto his back.

“Then I believe I should put your gift to use.”

The madgod laughed. “An excellent plan! But, do you remember how to fly? After all these years, you might’ve gotten… rusty,” he prodded, turning Heyvkahsil’s earlier taunt back at him.

“I have remembered and dreamt of this for millennia,” was the dragon’s short reply.

“Works for me.” Sheogorath leapt onto the dragon and seated himself at the base of his neck, feeling as if the weight of the world had lifted from his shoulders. No more hesitation. No more worries. There was nothing left but to do or die.

“Let’s get to it, then! We have some gates to crash!”

Heyvkahsil roared and took to the air.

And that's that. Thanks much for reading, and hope to see you back for chapter 9!