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An Imperial man sits cross-legged before a fresh grave, slicing up an apple and making conversation with no one. Sheogorath tries to stay mostly out of view, but sometimes not even gods can get past a Grand Spymaster’s attention—especially young gods. Soon enough, he notices a shift in Caius’s posture. It is subtle, but Sheogorath knows him well enough to spot it. The man has finished his apple and looks like he’s about to put his dagger away, but then he pauses, keeping it in his hand. His grip is light and ready to move. Sheogorath figures that’s his cue.
“Talking to dirt?” He drops his cloaking effects and sits down next to the man, producing his own apple and blade. “May I join you?”
Caius is unsettled that anyone could evade his attention for long enough to get this close, but he hides that well enough, too. He looks Sheogorath up, down, and up again, and then turns back to face the grave.
“So it’s true, then,” he says, his face impassive.
“What, that Uri broke me out of prison and entrusted me with the Amulet of Kings, and then I fucked his son and went crazy?”
“Sure. Let’s go with that,” he says with a halfhearted chuckle. “You left your…Housekeeper in quite a pinch.” He uses the Dunmeris word that has never quite had a match in Cyrodilic. “I don’t think even Dark Elf House politics have a precedent for what to do when the head of a household becomes a god.”
Sheogorath brings a hand to his beard, narrowly avoiding slicing his own throat with the knife he’s forgotten about.
“When you put it that way, there must be something. It’s hardly the first time it’s happened.” He waves a hand dismissively. “I’ll send word through some followers to have them execute my will.” Then he pauses, furrowing his brow, and asks himself, “What has Will done to deserve execution?” before he remembers what started this. Lona! He sits bolt upright, pulling his knees to his chest and looking at Caius with bright eyes. “You’ve heard from Lona? How is she?”
“Not so much heard from, but she’s been managing your affairs as well as can be expected.”
“Good, good! Would you give her my love? Tell her I have a spot in my court with her name on it if she wants it. Ohoho, with her as the Duchess of Dementia…”
“I don’t think she’d let me so much as set foot on Vvardenfell after I hauled her lord away,” he says. “Not that I’d want to. The Ministry of Truth can’t possibly last much longer.”
Sheogorath tilts his head in question. “The who?”
“You know, the rock hanging over Vivec? I think you call it Baar Dau.”
“Never heard of it.”
“Forget it,” Caius sighs, and quick as a flash, he cuts a slice off of Sheogorath’s apple and eats it. Once he’s swallowed the bite, he asks, “What really happened to Jauffre?”
“Hm? Oh, I killed him.”
“Bastard.” He punches him in the arm. “They’re trying to get me to take over the Blades. Me. This…sinking ship in this Empire with no Emperor.”
“Want me to kill somebody else?” Sheogorath offers. “Or start a fire, or give someone a pat on the head—”
“Oh, fuck off.”
They sit in silence for a moment as the ants discover the wreath of apple slices Caius has placed down and begin to swarm their bounty. Sheogorath amuses himself by confusing a few of them, who lead their comrades astray in search of greater treasures over here—no! Over there!—that do not exist.
Eventually, Caius just sighs, but Sheogorath hears what he’s thinking.
“Say it.”
“Will you kill me?”
“Do you want me to?”
He shakes his head, though not exactly as an answer. “It’s just disappointing,” he mumbles. At Sheogorath’s unwavering look, he sighs again and clarifies, “You’re disappointing.”
“There it is.”
Caius turns all the way to face him for the first time. “You had so much promise, kid. You were an excellent spy—best I’d ever worked with. If you hadn’t defected, you’d surely have been Grand Spymaster instead of me. You had the best job in the Empire, and you betrayed Uriel for—what? A seat on some House Council in a dying province? And then, just when you’d practically gotten away with it, you went and killed Ereval, and threw the Council seat away too. And then, you got your job back and you were declared Champion of Cyrodiil, but you disappeared to become the god of insanity? What is wrong with you?”
Sheogorath gestures to his regalia. “Everything.”
Caius turns back toward the grave. “And now I have two friends to mourn. Give me that fucking apple if you’re not going to do anything with it.”
Sheogorath tosses it into Caius’s open hand, and the man takes a bite. With his other hand, he drives his dagger blade-first into the dirt and then stands up in one smooth motion, followed by Sheogorath. They give each other a friendly pat on the shoulder.
“Take care of yourself, old man,” Sheogorath says. “And if you’re ever ready to abandon your sinking ship, you know where to find me.” He bows with a flourish and begins to unravel, but pauses halfway through. “Oh, that rock!”
“Talos preserve us,” Caius mutters.
“Didn’t I get rid of that?”
“Not as far as I’ve heard.”
“Huh. Must have just dreamt it. Well, I’m sure I’ll get around to it. Ta, ta!”
He finishes fading away, leaving Caius alone at his liege’s grave.
“…and close that door in the Niben Bay, would you?”