A/N: Sorry, I haven't posted anything in elderscrolls for about 5 months. I was pretty busy with obsessively watching bleach (which I posted a fic for, if anyone cares. Its doing pretty good at racking in the follows… makes me happy.) Anyway, I might not finish anything for a while unless my interest in Skyrim is somehow rekindled. I'll post if I can get at least three reviews and four favorites, but this bleach fic is gonna devour the next two years of my life. Not kidding, I'm in love with it and will drag it on for as long as I , this chapter is strongly influenced by heavy metal, sugar, and violent/bloody shonen anime awesomeness… Enjoy!? …. maybe. Also i will re-upload everything I've posted thus far (having read them, severely disliking the whole lot.).
If you recognize it, its not mine… unless it is. meaning oc and crappy naming skills.
I found myself in familiar place. Sanguine was once again passed out on my floor, Sheogorath was running around like the crazed madman he was. Mikael was back, though Sven was still dead from last year's party.
Yes, a whole year later, and the same deal. Whatever thrice-forsaken idiot planned this must have been hitting the skooma. Hard. Again every Divine, Daedra, Jarl, and bard crammed in Breezehome? If they insisted on the party, they could've at least held it in Hjerchin Hall. More space to move would truly be amazingly refreshing right now, but someone had taken the liberty of setting up an anti-escape trap on my door. At least Francois and Hroar were safe in their room, by some miracle the room didn't allow entry. That pleased me, knowing my children were safe that is.
I once again made my way to the back, massaging my temples and my zygomatic process, as I silently prayed that Sanguine had left some of my mead untouched. One more difference made itself known to me, one that was less of a shock than the previous one.
Miraak was absent.
Obviously I had defeated him a week ago, so that wasn't even remotely a shock. Him manifesting beside me, however, was.
"Miss me?" His cocky sarcasm succeeded in overriding my shock with pure annoyance. I socked him roughly in the back of the neck, knowing full well the pain it would cause him.
"As if, you wish I did. Mind answering a riddle for me?" I countered, aware that he'd never turn it down. He looked at me, mocking.
"Can't solve it yourself?" All arrogance and contempt. Just like I remembered. I suppressed the urge to grab his head in a vice and snap his worthless neck.
"I know the answer. But i know you won't get it." He snorted his contempt and challenge as I said this. "What's the difference between a king and his horse(1)?" He snorted.
"Their species and the fact that the king rides the horse. Obviously." He snorted again, confident in his answer.
"Wrong. If they are the same in potential, shape, and strength why is one the leader and one the support?" He stared at me blankly.
"Are you just trying to change it so I can't come to the correct conclusion-" He started
"Instinct(2)."
Both our heads snapped to the direction of that familiar voice. The pitch was as deep as it was dark, and also one I knew well. Miraak backed away sneering, and I nodded to the new figure. He smirked at me, he was the one who taught me that very riddle.
"Drem Yol Lok, dovahkiin." He greeted, and I smiled in return. "I assume you don't plan on repeating last year." It wasn't a question, but more of a demand/statement.
I pointed at a glass vial in my sack, to his slight disappointment. Then I explained where it came from, eliciting a feral grin that graced his cruel features in a very imperious manner.
"Leftovers from a killing spree yesterday. I wiped out dawnstar." He chuckled and gave me a 'maybe there is hope for you' stare, caressing my chin lightly with his finger. He curled his hand around my jawline, the caress became a tight grip as he lifted my face, forcing me to look him in the eye. I suppressed a shiver that tried to ooze its way down my spine as I gazed into those crimson depths.
"You have officially cleared any doubts I may have had about whether or not we are truly related. I doubt you can fathom precisely how pleased I am with you at this very moment." I could no longer suppress the urge to shudder; and, if at all possible, he smiled even wider as he tightened his grip. "Los fin mal saviik nu dii(3)?" He asked, tone purely faltering patience, and possessive longing.
Before I could answer, Miraak cleared his throat rather loudly, and Sithis came to the back counter to ascertain that I was alright. Clearly neither could sense the fury that the world-eater was exuding from behind me, and continued to interrupt him. He eventually glared at them with enough intensity as to cause them both to squirm in discomfort, and leave.
As the two of them walked away, I felt his hand on my shoulder and turned back to face him. He left the earlier question unanswered, and began to discuss politics and religion as if they were the weather. Slowly the discussion escalated to a debate, then an argument that grew ated and one sided. I had debated with Jarls and Thanes and even the newly appointed High Queen. This argument exceeded all my past experience, and I had argued with age-old assassins, and even some of the daedra. I Held to my beliefs firmly, planting doubts in their minds with evidence and support that broke their opinions apart seamlessly. And now, he was doing that very thing to me, and with such a complicated and intricate web of proof that My head was spinning. I felt like we'd been standing on opposing ends of a fence, and at his beckoning and goading, I had crossed under to meet him on the other end.
Once he became particularly engrossed in the argument, it turned into shouting match (which I lost without him even trying.) We had been so caught up in our fight, we never noticed that the other occupants of the small, crowded room were staring at us. Wide, curious eyes, and slatted, calculating eyes gazed intensely, unblinkingly at us. He glared back through horrifyingly cold slots of crimson, and growled, warning them that the attention was unwanted. They awkwardly shuffled back to the party, and we glanced back at each other. He all but purred at my obvious acceptance of my defeat.
I rested my head on the counter, and opened a bottle of mead, praying for relief from the massive pressure collecting in the front of my skull. My whole head felt like an ore mine being hacked at with sharp needle-like axes. I closed my tortured eyes, the blinding light having become more than my abused retinas could handle. Suddenly, a cool hand pressed against my fore head, and three words were whispered; it was a shout that targeted pain, and lessened the dreaded sensation to a tolerable degree. I mumbled my thanks, and drank the vial of blood, watching his fascination with the idea of me doing something so wrong, so immoral and taboo. I realized, with no small portion of amusement, that I'd spent my birthday with my sworn enemy two years in a row. Even worse, I enjoyed it. And let him see me at my worst. I suppressed a shudder once again, knowing he was waiting for the smallest sign of weakness. He noticed, to my immediate dismay, and moved his hand to its previous position on my chin, lifting my head to trap me beneath his penetrating gaze. I felt like I was staring straight into a vortex of unending darkness that pulled me down into its depths with crushing, overpowering force that overwhelmed my senses. My mind, already confused and inverted from the earlier debate, was twisting and flipping in my skull. Or, at least, that's how I felt. The vortex wasn't just a vortex, but an all consuming cloud of malice that came forward to engulf my soul in its depths. All of this was portrayed to me within those smug slits of deadly crimson. I was falling, breaking, losing my very will; all because my enemy looked me in the eye. Come to think of it, we never acted like enemies normally do. I was still stuck at him saving my neck from the headsman's axe. I never thought of fighting against him until Delphine contacted me, and even then I was skeptical. Thinking back on it, that may have been his plan; to slowly deteriorate my resistance by pretending to care, and then turning my heart against all the things I once held dear. Maybe he was playing me into his hand, just to crush and break me in his palm. And I followed along, naive and helpless against his cunning, and now it was too late. I was lost...
I was called back to my senses by a warm hand on my back, and the sensation of someone wrenching my head out of the vortex that was Alduin's eyes. I instantly searched for that hypnotic gaze, it's spell already worked on my mind, and found his infuriated glare fixated on something behind me. He saw my expression, and his fury changed to victorious glee, and smug pleasure. I was vaguely aware of two sets of hands holding me down, but payed them no mind as he beckoned me forward. The arms tightened their separate holds, not permitting my obedience. I struggled violently, and spewed out a plethora of threats and insults, demanding to be let go of. The arms ignored my desperate protestations, and I went limp in the hopes of lulling them into a state of relaxation. It worked, and I wrenched free in a sudden thrust of my upper body. I dashed away like a madman, right into the grip of the world-eater (who by now had a victorious smirk dominating his features), and turned my gaze to discover who had been trying to hold me back. My eyes fell on two very familiar entities, and I glared and backed furthur into Alduin's grasp. They stared, eyes wide with shock and dulled with disappointment. To my heavily confused mind, all I felt in that single moment; whatever it truly was, it conputed to my brain and my heart as warmth and safety. I hissed at them, and upon doing so I felt Alduin pet my head in approval. I wondered if this was because of my mother being half kahjit, but didn't bother to ask. I didn't really want to know. All I knew was that I was content, and didn't want to move. I didn't even care that my bottle of mead was laying there, unfinished and unattended.
Cicero was in my room, making out voraciously with a very drunk Brelyna. Sanguine and Sheogorath were pulling practical jokes on Hermaes Mora. But inspite of all that, only one thing had my attention. And I was content like that.