Blackfeather Woods we could be immortals

He had heard that the second son of Meldresi, his second nephew, was named for two bastians of insanity; the (in)famous jester-assassin Cicero and the Daedric Prince Sheogorath, of madness. He supposed that it was in part due to his wild appearance: the mismatched eyes (what Melonii had orange eyes?), the dishevelled fur without true pattern. But in his personality? Miraak could have never guessed. He had seen the young man as quiet and intuitive, the smile that now spread across his face unnerving. He had expected a muted pride, not this sadistic glee he saw now.

The question of which of the four would inherit the throne Meldresi left behind arose, finally spoken. He had sensed it in Nemesis' mind constantly as his niece's stomach grew, it finally coming to a head with the four Melonii's birth. They will all inherit the Brotherhood. As for who would lead it? It remains to be seen, He doubted Meldresi would agree with all this petty squabbling that quietly took place between the two litters. She would have an answer for this, but he had no contact with the Void, and Potema was occupied. The position of Dark Master should not — is not — be a hereditary position. Whomever proves to be the best fit when the time comes will be chosen, The children should be let to grow first before they are shoved into leadership. Potema's litter had just been born.