The Path of Freedom

[A/N: I really hope it won't surprise anyone that the fight scene in this chapter is rough, and so I'm giving this chapter a soft M rating. You have been warned. Enjoy.]

Frea was still grieving.

Martin stood in the snow at the edge of Skaal Village, meek and anxious, holding Waking Dreams and steeling himself for the journey to come. No one spoke to him—why should they? He approached Frea, guilty. "Frea?"

She shook her head, somehow still confident enough in him to look him in the eye. "I do not blame you," she said. "I know he chose this. I just wish he had seen another way."

"So do I."

Frea turned to him, hard determination in her eyes. "Do not let his death be for nothing. Go and stop Miraak."

"Miraak is not coming back, not once I am through with him." Martin injected his voice with as much confidence as he could. "I bring all of Hermaeus Mora's knowledge with me. Miraak cannot escape me now."

The eyes, once bleached by falling stars of utmost revelation, will forever see the faint insight by the overwhelming question, as only the True Enquiry shapes the edge of thought. The rest is vulgar fiction, attempts to impose order on the consensus mantlings of an uncaring godhead. First,

Waking Dreams was brighter, quieter, and wider. Stagnant pools of water and iron-wrought paths, all leading deeper into the book, lay around him and a sickly green sky hung heavy overhead.

It didn't take him long to get lost. Dropping a scrye into its basin opened doors far behind, forcing him to backtrack and lose the way between endless pages and books. Seekers converged on him around a corner, catching him by surprise. They went up in flames, pages and books dropping from their fur as they fell.

The still waters surrounding Apocrypha forced him into dead ends made of books and pages, the odd table or even a chair abandoned in some of the more remote corners of the book. He lingered for a while, reading and remembering or learning lessons from long ago or yet to come. As time passed, the books became restless. So did he.

"There is nothing you have that I want," he said aloud, to no one around. "Nothing."

Apocrypha whispered incoherently in response, dragging him further into the maze of pages. He wandered without a goal, looking for something, anything, though he wasn't at all sure what.

"ZOOR!"

She came down from the clouds, in silent, living color, not moving, only watching. Martin stood quiet for a moment, not sure how to break her silence.

"I know you don't want to be here, but..." He broke off. She was quiet, watching him more closely than before. What was she waiting for? "What do you say we end this?" he said finally.

Amelie nodded.

The chapters were long and winding, around stacks of books and pools of water and always the seekers, the seekers of knowledge abandoned within the stacks. They always saw him, heard the whisperings of the books in his bag and in his soul, perhaps they heard him coming—

"Stop," he hissed.

Amelie did. "What is it?"

Confused for a moment, Martin shook his head. "Nothing. Forget it."

"Are you—"

"I'm fine." He kept walking, clamping his jaw shut, the better to keep himself from replying to what wasn't there. The whispers swirled around him, invisible and plaguing but as harmless as something so maniacally demented could be. She followed in silence, such that he often wondered if she was really following—her footsteps were drowned by the many voices.

"Are you really ready?" she asked, bringing his thoughts back down to earth with a final blast of lightning at a seeker. It let out a guttural grumble and dissolved into a pile of fur and pages on the ground. "If not—"

"I don't know." He pulled the Bible of the Deep Ones from a stack as they passed, adding the creaking of the books to the noise he heard. "I hope so."

"Do you think you can succeed?"

"It doesn't matter. All I want is to be done," he said honestly, flipping through the early study. "I want this to end, however it does. I want to be through with it all and be free again."

A pair of hands pulled the book from his grasp, closing it. Amelie stood in front of him, studying him closely with eyes as sad as they were tired, watching him stand still for her to inspect. It was a jarring change, from completely avoiding his gaze to actively seeking it. Martin fidgeted self-consciously beneath her impassive stare.

"...What?" he asked. Her brows knitted together in a frown, but she did not answer. She turned to put the book down on a table. "What, Ami?"

"I don't want to forget," she said.

"Forget me?"

"If it comes to that, I don't want to forget your face again." Amelie looked back at him, forcing a small smile. "I spent two hundred years slowly forgetting. I don't want that to happen again."

"I hope I leave you something pleasant to remember." Martin offered a strained smile in return, and turned to lead her down another path.

The scope of Waking Dreams, he sensed, went far beyond any concept of what he thought was normal for a Black Book. The stacks contained books and arcane, ancient knowledge, but Waking Dreams itself felt somehow transcendental. There was a presence, perhaps not of gods or of daedra but of something greater. Something that did not follow, but simply watched from far away as they made their way further into the binding of the book.

"What do you think would have become of us?" he asked, if nothing else to breach the tide of whispers surrounding him. "If Oblivion hadn't...?"

Amelie shook her head, looking horrified by the thought. "Were that the case, Jean would have stolen half of Cyrodill and lost it, and Anna Marie would have died in an Arena match or out with the Fighters Guild. I likely would have spent my life in the Imperial Prison and died in there."

Martin bit his lip. Right... The Oblivion crisis had broken her out of jail. "I suppose I would have served in the Kvatch temple for the rest of my life. We would never have met, fate was cruel to us that way."

"But I think we are better for it." The ghost of a smile flitted across her face. "As it was, you and I would—"

"Especially since—"

"It wouldn't have—"

"No."

The pair of them went quiet, walking down the path and turning a lone Seeker into a pile of pages when it appeared before them.

"But what if things had been different?" Martin tried, kicking aside the dead seeker's fur.

"Nothing is different," she said.

"But what if it was?"

Amelie shook her head. "Things were not different, things are as they are and have always been. We cannot change the past now."

"And nor would I try, but what if..." He broke off. Amelie kept walking, her pace threatening to leave him behind. Martin sped up to match stride with her.

"If things had been different, we wouldn't be here now," she pointed out.

"What if it had ended differently?" he asked.

"How? If you had lived?" Amelie tried. "If you'd gone on to become Emperor and be assassinated instead of Ocato?"

Martin frowned. "Ocato was assassinated?"

"Ten years or so after." She scratched her staff on the ground, using it as a walking stick. "There were no good options back then, just as there are no good options now."

The glassy surface of the motionless waters reflected the stormy green sky, even as Apocrypha's millions of millions of pages rustled in a nonexistent breeze. While there were voices and whispers, none of them were guiding or leading him towards a destination. They all came from below or behind him, from within his bag and in the corners of his mind, leaving him to wander aimlessly through the stacks.

"What comes after this?" Amelie asked, after a long stretch of time with nothing but whispers and rustling.

Martin shrugged, shaking the noise from his ears. Apocrypha was eerily empty, but particularly noisy this time around. "Provided I survive?"

"Of course."

"I suppose we could always go home and kill some more dragons," he suggested. "Find Desmond again and head out to another barrow worth exploring. Or we could fix the house. Plant a garden, maybe—"

"Is that all?"

"I have no plans or anything, if that's what you mean." Martin turned to look at her. "Why?"

She said nothing, instead frowning down at the ground.

Martin's face fell. He dropped his gaze, rubbing his brows. "I know how this all looks, and I—!"

Amelie stepped in front of him, stopping him in his tracks. For a moment, time slowed and left him behind to look at her, to look her in the eye and feel peaceful. He saw her reach out to him, felt her fingers on his skin, bringing him closer to her as she went up on her toes.

He had seen it coming, even watched it happen, but still it took him a moment to completely register what she had done. Even after she had backed away, her fingertips still at the hinge of his jaw, he stood with his eyes closed, all but certain his heart had broken free from his chest.

A subtle scent of flowers lingered in the air, the rustling of pages and whisperings of books quieted to leave him in silence as he opened his eyes. She looked scared, uncertain, preemptively grieving his loss. "Please don't mess this up," she whispered. "Please. I cannot bear to lose you again."

Martin shook his head slowly, stunned. "You won't. Ami, you won't, I swear."

Her face lightened just a bit, daring to be hopeful. "You swear?"

"Yes." Martin reached out her, hesitant even now to touch her at all, to pull her towards him. His trembling hands found the curve of her waist and gently brought her closer, to kiss her again.

Her hands ran down his neck, tracing cursive lines on his chest and pulling the collar of his robes closer to her. He gathered her up in his arms, clinging to the moment and refusing to let it fade, sliding his hands around her waist to the small of her back and drawing her in. His fingers trailed up her spine, tousling the blue velvet of her dress. Her back arched, pressing them closer together as she tugged on his collar, keeping him close.

Her lips tasted of residual saltwater and ash, blood and soot as the pages of the Imperial City burned and turning the greenish sky red in his mind, bringing back the feel of a racing heart and impending doom. The racing heart never left, but the world around them no longer burned. Instead it was ink and paper, a breeze and stagnant water and creaking towers of books that resumed their whispering as, all too soon, he felt her sink back to the ground. Amelie still held tightly to his robes, leaning forward to rest her head on his chest. Martin kissed the top of her head, holding her close.

"I promise we'll get through this," he said quietly. "I give you my word, I swear on my life and all that comes after it—"

The instant he'd said it, he knew it was the wrong thing to say, that it was what she was afraid of. Amelie pushed away from him, the spark of hope gone from her eyes as she continued down the path.

"Right. All that comes after." She had turned around to walk away, and he could not see her face.

He sighed, hanging his head and following. Who was he to say what that might mean? They would both know soon enough, he supposed. "May I ask something?"

She kept walking. "You may always ask."

"Will you tell me what happened with Lex?"

He half-expected her to bristle or shy away, maybe even throw something at him. "Why does it matter?" she asked.

Incredulous, Martin tossed up a hand. "Because you—I mean—I'm curious," he said pointedly.

Amelie briefly turned, showing him her hand that no longer wore a ring. "Nothing happened, and that was the problem. It's no one's fault, things just... ended."

"What does that mean? How could things just end? You..." He swallowed hard. "You seemed happy with him."

"I was. And I am," she added. "We both are. It was there while we were married, but then after he died... and then losing Mari..." Amelie trailed off, drumming her fingers against her staff. "It was just too much to handle, I think. We wore each other out, and we moved on."

"You've just gotten rid of each other? It's that simple for you?" he asked bitterly.

"It's as I said." She shook her head, peeking around a corner. "It's not forgetting, it's accepting. It's moving on. I'm not rid of him, I still love him."

"Then what—"

"No, wait, I... Things have ended and changed, but I can still love the memories," Amelie corrected quickly. "I love what's left, what I still have, even if I can no longer love him with it. Just as I'll do with you."

Martin hesitantly reached out to take her hand. "But I am still here," he pointed out.

"But for how long?" She threaded her arm through the crook of his elbow, walking with him down the path. The tunnel before them shrank to bring the other side closer, bridging the gap to a new part of the book.

"What if—"

"No more what ifs," she said, her gaze fixed straight ahead. "Let's get through this and then we'll see about everything else."

He stayed silent for a time, following the path through the tunnel and pushing away the whispers from the books. "Do you trust me?"

She paused a split-second too long. "Of course I do."

By the sixth chapter, Martin had adjusted Apocrypha's strange, whispering vacancy. Nothing moved or waited to surprise them, all there was to it was to track down Miraak at the end of the book. A lonely wall stood opposite them, surrounded on all sides by water. There was no way to progress.

"What is it?"

Martin didn't bother to pull out his book. "This stone commemorates great Miraak," he read off. "Dragon Priest of great wisdom... servant of the... what's that... wyrm? Servant of the wyrm, and enemy of mankind."

Amelie leaned against her staff, looking at the words over his shoulder. "That sounds about right."

"He won't be an enemy for long," Martin declared.

A loud roar and the sound of wings beat down on them from overhead. A serpentine dragon landed behind them with a crash, frost gathering in its mouth.

Amelie raised her staff, but Martin herded her behind him, thinking fast. "GOL HAH DOV!"

The Shout dissolved on the dragon's face, its eyes dimming. Martin backed up closer to the wall, keeping Amelie behind him with an outstretched arm. The dragon had stopped advancing and merely watched them, still and docile.

"Hail, thuri."

Martin stood dumbfounded, not entirely sure what to do. "Hail."

"Your Thu'um has the mastery," the dragon said. "Climb aboard and I will carry you to Miraak."

"Aboard...?"

The dragon lowered its head to the ground, waiting. There was no other path, unless he wanted to swim to Miraak. Martin approached, uncertain at first if the dragon would simply snap him up in its jaws, but the dragon simply waited obediently for him to climb on. Martin latched onto a scale and pulled himself up, sitting comfortably astride the dragon's neck.

"Shall we?" he asked, looking back down at Amelie.

Surprisingly, Amelie looked legitimately terrified, clinging so desperately to her staff that her knuckles had gone white. "Is this wise?"

"I've bent his will, he does as I say," Martin assured her. "Lacking a boat or wings of our own, this is the surest way there."

"What if we fall?"

"You cannot die here," he reminded her.

"What if you fall?"

Martin patted the top of the dragon's head. "What can I call you?"

"I am Sahrotaar, thuri."

"Sahrotaar will not let me fall," he said. "And I will not let you fall." Martin held out his hand for her. She stood stock still, glancing nervously between him and the dragon.

"You swear?"

"I swear," he told her, and left it at that.

Amelie took his hand, he pulled her up in front of him. "I've ridden a dragon before," he said. "This shouldn't be nearly as difficult." Amelie did not respond. Her face had gone alarmingly pale, her eyes watching the ground. "...Ami, are you afraid of heights?" Martin asked belatedly.

"N-No, it's not... If you spent two hundred years with Sheogorath, you would understand," she mumbled darkly. "Are you sure we cannot walk?"

"Bo pruzan," Sahrotaar said, rearing back to take off. "Better to fly."

Amelie squeaked in terror as the ground fell out from beneath them, Martin seized hold of her elbow with one hand and clutched onto a scale on Sahrotaar's neck with the other. Wind rushed past as Sahrotaar set the course for wherever Miraak was, racing towards what Martin hoped was a place to win his freedom.

Once Sahrotaar's rough takeoff had evened out, Martin grabbed hold of Amelie's staff and brought it around in front of her. He kept it pressed against Sahrotaar's neck with both hands and held it parallel to the ground far below, to give Amelie something to hold onto. As the flight went on, it handily doubled as a rudimentary steering mechanism, helpfully indicating to the dragon where they wanted to go.

"Beware," Sahrotaar warned them, heading towards a tall spire that served as an island, high above the rest of Apocrypha. "Miraak is strong."

"I will defeat him, no matter how strong he is," Martin said.

Sahrotaar banked a hard left to avoid acid from a lurker that had popped up from below. "He knew you would come here."

"Miraak does not know everything," Martin declared.

"Martin—"

"All I have to do is kill him," he told her. "It doesn't matter how."

"Of course it matters." Sahrotaar made a final pass over the island, bringing them over the flat top of the spire.

"Not at this point," Martin said.

"Sahrotaar, are you so easily swayed?" Miraak's voice called into the sky. Martin looked down to the ground. Miraak stood waiting, flanked by two snarling dragons. "No. Not yet. We should greet our guests first."

"Martin." Amelie's hand slid to the side, bumping into his. "Let me keep the dragon."

"What?"

"You've bent his will, he'll do as you say," she pointed out. "Right? Let me keep the dragon, at the very least we can keep those other two busy."

Martin patted the top of Sahrotaar's head again. "You'll be good to her?"

"Zu'u fen al."

He whacked Sahrotaar with an open palm as they touched down to the ground. "That's not what I asked! Obey her as you would me, understood?"

Sahrotaar bowed his head, bringing them closer to the ground. "As you command, thuri."

After a pause, Martin nodded and slid off the dragon to the ground. He looked back up at Amelie. "Be careful."

"None of that, I'm dead already." Amelie settled back on Sahrotaar's neck as the dragon sat up, surveying the island on top of the spire. She turned her gaze back down to him, conflicted. "Martin, you must win here," she said, her voice breaking.

Martin managed a small, partly false smile and a nod. "I will."

"And so the first Dragonborn meets the last Dragonborn at the summit of Apocrypha," Miraak's taunting voice announced from the other side of the island. "No doubt just as Hermaeus Mora intended."

Martin's stomach dropped. He turned to face down the tall man in heavy black robes adorned with dragon bones. That eerie bone mask reminiscent of a pair of eyes amid a mass of tentacles watched as Martin staunchly squared his shoulders to Miraak. "Hermaeus Mora is not the one I am here to kill."

"He is a fickle master, you know." Miraak had a sword in one hand, a staff at his back, and a palm full of flames in the other. "But now I will be free of him. My time in Apocrypha is over."

Martin dearly wished for a mask of his own to hide behind, but settled for glaring as ferociously as he could at Miraak with his bow at the ready. "You're mistaken," he declared. "You will never leave this wretched place."

"You are here in your full power, and thus subject to my full power. You will die," Miraak said simply. "And with the power of your soul, I will return to Solstheim and be master of my own fate once again."

"You're a fool if you think I'm not fighting for the same thing." Martin drew his bow, hearing Sahrotaar take off from behind him over the faint whispers plaguing his every thought. "I have brought all of Hermaeus Mora's knowledge with me. Let us see whose fate is stronger."

He was trying to convince himself that Miraak was just another dragon—maybe smaller, wingless, and incapable of swallowing a man whole, but just another dragon. Any words from Miraak's mouth could spell disaster in flames, frost, or raw power—but the same was true of Martin. They stood waiting for the other to make the first move and end the whispering silence.

"YOL TOOR SHUL!"

Martin dove out of the way, loosing an arrow in the split-second before the flames reached him. Roars from dragons echoed around the skies as Miraak's two dragons took off. Sahrotaar and Amelie soared overhead, clashing with the other two. Miraak hurled sparks across the island to scorch Martin's arm and throw off his aim. His arrow glanced off a pillar as Martin threw a ball of fire in its stead towards Miraak.

"You should not have come here!" Miraak shouted, another jet of sparks searing Martin's fingers and forcing him to drop his arrow.

"Then you should have killed me before I got here!" Martin shot back, pitching another fireball. Miraak threw up a ward spell to knock it aside. "No one else was going to put a stop to you!"

"Hermaeus Mora is laughing at us, you know."

"FUS RO DAH!" Martin sent Miraak staggering backward, skidding back into a pillar. "My anger with Hermaeus Mora can wait!" he snapped.

Before he could fire an arrow or spell, a stream of dragonfire blasted down from above and cut him off from Miraak. One of the dragons had made a valiant attempt to burn him to a crisp, only to be bodily cut off by Amelie and Sahrotaar. It seemed Amelie had given up trying to tell Sahrotaar where to go. She opted to use her staff for magic rather than steering, momentarily burying Miraak in a hail of lightning as Sahrotaar bit down on another dragon's neck, sending both dragons spinning off-course. Martin sprinted to get to Miraak before the latter could catch his breath as the dragons sailed away, screeching at one another in pain and in anger.

"WULD NA KEST!"

Miraak dashed out of the way, past Martin and into a shallow pool of water. Martin turned and fired an arrow, but it passed straight through the mass of tentacles that had appeared to pull Miraak under the water. He wheeled around, scanning the island for any sign of where Miraak had gone.

"Kruziikrel!" Miraak had reappeared in the well of water in the center of the island, calling one of the dragons down. "Ziil los dii du!" One of the dragons came crashing to the ground, howling. Its soul rose from the smoke and bones, restoring an ethereal, transparent Miraak. "Fate decreed that you had to die so I could win my freedom," Miraak said, drawing his sword and turning on Martin. "This is the only way, Dragonborn. The only way I can be free!"

"Then you know why I must win!" Martin instinctively threw up a hand to shield his head. A tentacle erupted from the blade of the sword, whipping through Martin's robes and several layers of flesh on his arm, winding around and holding his arm fast. He lashed out at Miraak with a surge of lightning, forcing his release and sending Miraak backwards, giving himself space to recover. Martin vaulted over the dead dragon, dropping to the ground and out of Miraak's line of sight.

"You could have been mighty, if fate had decreed otherwise. Hiding is beneath you, Dragonborn!" Miraak laughed, retaliating with his own stream of sparks as Martin took cover behind the dragon skull. "Felling Alduin was a mighty deed, and I thank you for it. He would have proved troublesome to me."

"You would have fallen to Alduin," Martin shouted, frenetically casting spells and stemming the flow of blood enough to be able to use his hand. "Just as you will fall to me, today!"

"No! I am done being Hermaeus Mora's pawn! FO KRAH DIIN!"

Martin tore out of the way as Miraak rounded the corner and Shouted a gust of icy wind at him. He turned around, firing into Miraak's leg to force him to the ground. "You cannot escape from me here," Martin told him, advancing and drawing another arrow. Miraak swung out with his sword, sending another tentacle to seize Martin's bow, forcing it from his grip into the shallow water. Caught off-guard, Martin considered going after it for half a second too long: Miraak had shoved himself up.

"WULD NA KEST!" Miraak disappeared into another mass of tentacles, pulling him back into the center well. "Relonikiv!"

"Ami!" Martin yelled, looking up to the two remaining dragons still locked in combat as he made a mad dash for his bow.

Amelie was just barely visible from so far away, the bulb of her staff sending a violent storm after the dragon Miraak called for. Sahrotaar's wing now sported several gruesome tears, both dragon and rider sending fire at their opponent. Amelie's lightning shot through Relonikiv's wing, the dragon's flight faltering as the wing crumpled a bit from the pain and the damage. Relonikiv bit down on Sahrotaar's wounded wing and a voluminous shriek went through the air as both dragons went hurtling downwards.

Martin leapt out of the way as both dragons crashed down into the shallow water of the island, roaring and screeching. Sahrotaar had slammed into the edge of the island and tumbled down, out of sight with Amelie in tow, while Relonikiv struggled to get back up. "Amelie!"

"Ziil los dii du!"

Behind him, Relonikiv burst into flames with a final soul-tearing howl, crashing to the ground beside Kruziikrel's skeleton. Miraak absorbed the dragon's soul, yanking Martin's arrow out of his leg.

"Do you ever wonder if it hurts?" Miraak asked. "To have one's soul ripped out like that?"

He had no time to panic. Martin had drawn his bow again, aiming for Miraak's head. "Soon enough, I suppose you'll know for certain."

"You fight valiantly against fate, but I am stronger here." Miraak turned back to face him as Martin let the arrow fly and followed it with a blast of chill wind. Miraak threw himself out of the way, lashing out with his sword and hurling another tentacle in Martin's direction that ripped through the collar and shoulder on his robes, tearing deep gashes into his skin and leaving him in searing pain.

"ZUN HAAL VIIK!" Martin Shouted, sending Miraak's sword flying out of his hand and into the water. He sprinted behind a pillar in the brief respite, his hands glowing with healing magic.

"The Greybeards have taught you well," Miraak's voice admitted from the other side of the pillar. "But I know things the Greybeards will never teach you."

"And I know things you can never be taught," Martin spat, pressing his hand over the worst of the damage on the side of his neck and relying on restoration to see him through.

"I am master of my own fate!"

"We'll see about that," Martin mumbled, hearing a staff bang against the ground.

Whispering tentacles rose up from the ground, seizing Martin and sending poison through his body. He choked on pain and shock, unable to move for Miraak's magic that held him firmly in place. His feet left the ground, Mora's agony lifting him into the air as it had with Storn. Blood and poison dripped down, soaking through his clothes and trickling to stain the ground.

"Hermaeus Mora will betray you," Miraak told him, walking calmly around the pillar to face Martin. He bent to pick his sword up off the ground, shaking the water off it. Martin felt a shivering, sludgy tentacle slither around his throat, keeping him silent as the white-hot poison sank into his skin. "As he has me. He is a fickle master, but he will not have that chance once you are dead."

Martin's fingertips sparked feebly, but would not catch fire to aid him. He gasped for air against the burning poison, helplessly watching Miraak stand before him.

A savage river of flames from above drove Miraak down, releasing Mora's grip on Martin. Martin crashed back to the ground, coughing and fighting for air as Sahrotaar came screaming out of the sky, setting half the island on fire. The dragon sped overhead, Amelie's staff slung bolt after bolt of ice and lightning towards Miraak, sending him reeling backwards with a spear of ice impaled through his shoulder.

"VEN GAAR NOS!" Miraak Shouted, sending a vicious cyclone to intercept Sahrotaar as he turned around to make a second pass over the island. The dragon went careening to the side, crashing into one of the dragon skeletons and skidding to the ground. "WULD NA KEST!"

Martin staggered to his feet, pushing back against the whispers, one hand clamped over the wound on his shoulder and the other clutching onto one of the dragon's skulls to support himself. Miraak reappeared in the center well, turning on the dragon. Sahrotaar flailed on broken wings in a weak attempt to fly, to escape, anything to get away from Miraak.

"I always knew you were weak-minded, Sahrotaar," Miraak spat, clanging his staff against the ground. "Ziil los dii du!"

Sahrotaar went up in flames and Amelie screamed, falling from the bones licked clean by dragonfire. The icicle through Miraak's shoulder evaporated and closed, leaving him completely renewed. Amelie fell to the ground, scorched and wheezing and swearing in more colorful a tongue than Martin had ever heard from her before.

"You are a fool to come here with him," Miraak told her, planting his staff on her neck to pin her to the ground. "Join the Last Dragonborn in his destruction."

"I cannot be killed," Amelie coughed out.

"Then I can make you suffer."

Miraak slammed his staff to the ground beside her, Martin saw her flinch and try to push herself up. Whispering tentacles rose from the ground before she could vanish, telling of the fate worse than death that Apocrypha could bring, binding Amelie and bringing her into the air. They threaded around her arms and legs, seizing her and holding her to Apocrypha. Her eyes went wide as she struggled, trapped.

His eyes met hers for a fraction of a second, his hands covered in blood, ghoulish trails of red swirling in cursive lines down his chest. Martin drew his bow and fired, barely even hesitating. The arrow found its mark, striking her dead in the chest to free her. Amelie vanished with a gasp and a puff of smoke, leaving only the two Dragonborn on the island.

Miraak turned back, tapping his staff on the ground. "It's just as well," he said, the tentacles receding into the ground. The whispers stayed, berating him for forsaking an open shot. "Dead women are such a distraction, aren't they."

Martin drew another arrow, ready to end the fight. "This is between you and I."

"It was never just between you and I," Miraak corrected, lazily casting a bolt of lightning in Martin's direction. Martin sidestepped and fired, causing Miraak to duck out of the way. "You must hear him too, by now."

"Hear—"

"The many volumes of Hermaeus Mora." Miraak pitched a stream of sparks at Martin's bow arm, Martin narrowly dodged and retaliated with a ball of fire. "Speaking to you through Apocrypha. You are his slave, no matter what you may think!"

"I do not serve Hermaeus Mora!" Martin hollered, letting fly a stream of fire. "YOL TOOR SHUL!" Miraak hid behind a ward and laughed, lashing out with his sword and sending another poisonous tentacle to rip into Martin's skin. Martin recoiled, biting back black curses and drawing an arrow instead, firing into Miraak's shoulder.

"You cannot fight against your fate," Miraak told him, taking the hit and slashing at Martin again. "One of us is fated to die here, and it will not be me."

"I have too many others besides myself to think of, I will not give in to fate," Martin snapped. "I am the Last Dragonborn and I have survived far worse than you!"

"Should I be impressed?" Miraak snapped, slashing again to whip a poisonous gash into Martin's chest. "That while I have been here, building my power, you have been killing bandits and dragons for the doomed people of Solstheim?"

"I have slain Princes and gods in my time!" Martin realized too late what Miraak was doing, driving him backwards into one of the pillars surrounded by dragon bones. He was pinned against the stone, trapped.

"You mean Alduin." Miraak forced the tip of his sword against Martin's neck, tracing the deeper of the two gashes and setting his nerves on fire. "You know, they wanted to use me to deal with Alduin—Hakon on the rest. I chose otherwise."

"You chose cowardice," Martin spat.

"I chose power!" Miraak roared. "The likes of which you will never know!"

Out of breath but not ideas, Martin sent all his magicka into one last burst of flames at Miraak's chest. Miraak stumbled backwards, giving Martin space.

"ZOOR!"

He heard her before he saw her. A shockwave of lightning shot out from the other side of the summit, pitching Miraak off-balance. She was sprinting towards them, fire and lightning bursting from her staff. As Miraak turned, Martin drew and fired, planting an arrow squarely in Miraak's neck. Amelie swung her staff, it collided with a crack against the back of Miraak's knees. Miraak hit the ground, pivoting to slash at her with his sword. There was a rip and a yell as the tentacle tore through her sleeve, forcing her to drop her staff. She buried Miraak in a hailstorm of ice, freezing his feet to the ground.

"ZUN HAAL VIIK!" Martin Shouted, once again sending the sword flying into the water. Undeterred, Miraak hurled lightning at them both from the ground. Martin drew and fired again, cautiously advancing on the trapped Miraak.

"WULD NA KEST!" Miraak's Shout broke through the ice with ease. He dashed past them both, vanishing again into a mass of tentacles that dragged him beneath the shallow pool of water.

Amelie ran to Martin, confused. "Are you all right? Where does he go?"

Out of breath, Martin nodded to the center well, frowning as he approached it, bow drawn. The water was still and murky, betraying nothing of what might come next. "But he's out of dragons."

She followed him to the well, her hands still sparking. "Have you won, then?"

He shook his head, watching as dark, writhing clouds formed in the sky over the well. "No. No, this isn't over until I see smoke and bones."

"Then—"

The stillness of the water broke, Miraak rising into the air. Martin instinctively aimed an arrow, but soon realized that it wouldn't be necessary.

"Did you think to escape me, Miraak?" asked a booming, threatening voice. A tentacle impaled Miraak through the chest as they watched in horror. A mass of bulbous eyes appeared within one of the writhing clouds. "You can hide nothing from me here!"

Martin swept Amelie behind him again, his terrified gaze connecting with the doomed Dragonborn.

"No matter," said Hermaeus Mora. "I have found a new Dragonborn to serve me."

"May he be rewarded for his service as I am," Miraak spat viciously, staring straight at him.

Miraak's body went up in flames as the tentacles dropped him. Skin disintegrated off his bones and went up in smoke and magic, leaving nothing behind. The skeleton slid down, clattering to the ground. Martin breathed deeply, taking in Miraak's soul and the souls of all the dragons Miraak had stolen from him.

"It's done." Her voice made her sound almost surprised. "It's over!"

"It's over," he confirmed, turning and beaming at her. She laughed and hugged him tightly, her face joyful. Martin kissed the top of her head and held her close. "We're finally done."

"Let's go—"

"Not yet."

She pulled slightly away from him, her brilliant smile fading. "What?"

"There's something I need to see to," he said.

"But we're through here," she pointed out.

"Well—er." He searched for words to make her stay, and found none that would work. "Ami—"

"There's nothing else to be done!"

"I know what you're thinking, and I need you to stay," Martin said. "Please—"

"We've been over this!" she snapped. She shoved him away, turning to search for her staff. "I am not staying in Apocrypha, and—"

"Amelie, I just need to—"

"—I hoped and prayed and wished you wouldn't—"

"—no, please, just hear me out, I never—"

"—but I will not stay here!"

"Amelie!"

She picked up her staff from where it had fallen. She was no longer angry, only upset, she was moving quickly, she would leave any moment—

"STOP!" Martin threw out a hand, sending Mora's Grasp to seize and hold her before she could vanish. He heard a gentle puff, like an inhalation of breath, and saw her turn transparent—but she did not leave. She was caught between here and there, seized by Mora and held to Apocrypha. She was still, paralyzed, and no tentacles or poison found her. But her face—her betrayed, panicked, terrified face—watched his every move.

"I..." Horrified, Martin approached her with small, hesitant steps, reaching out to her, feeling as though he might be sick. "This isn't..."

Amelie was silent.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, love, I'm sorry, I need you here. Please, I need you to see—"

Whispering magic surrounded his body, healing his wounds and repairing—no, replacing his robes. They were heavy and black, adorned with dragon bones and golden accents. A bone mask materialized over his face. As he reached up and touched it, he recognized its eerie tendrils as the face he knew only as Miraak. Martin reluctantly tore his gaze away from the frozen Amelie, back towards Hermaeus Mora. There was something else that desperately needed doing.

"Miraak harbored fantasies of rebellion against me," Hermaeus Mora's voice told him. "Learn from his example."

Out of the center well rose a pedestal with Waking Dreams resting upon it. It flew open as he watched, bursts of light and magic flying from it and filling the summit of Apocrypha with more secrets, more knowledge, more power than he could ever hope to master in a single lifetime.

Martin quickly checked to make sure he still had everything—his bow and his bag were untouched. Nothing had changed. Nothing was different; not even now as the eyes of Mora watched his every move. "Serve me faithfully, and you will continue to be richly rewarded," said the voice from the clouds. "Learn, and remember—or choose to disappoint me."

Martin opened his bag, the whispers flowing forth in full force. All the Black Books he had collected were safely nestled inside with the Oghma Infinium.

"I will."