Chapter 11
It had been hours since Miraak had gone to his chosen bed, what was little more than a fur-blanketed pallet supported by a precarious wooden frame (and the best the Windpeak Inn had to offer), and he still couldn't sleep.
He felt both tired and wide awake at the same time. He wasn't certain why, but these nearly two sleepless days in Nirn doing little beyond traveling and engaging in a few bouts of violence had managed to physically tax him—he, who had once battled his former mentor and a small army of dragons with spell, Thu'um and blade for three days straight.
His mind, on the other hand, seemed to run on its own endless supply of energy, cranking out thoughts with the unflagging persistence of a Dwemer machine—the same pointless, bitter and grieving thoughts that had been plaguing him since the loss of his power. Those were bad enough, but the worst of it, the greater cause of his insomnia, was the high probability that what had happened to him could not have been prevented, had been out of his control.
The logical part of him knew there was no point dwelling on it; it had happened and no amount of brooding would change it, but logic was overshadowed by the injustice of it all, by the outrage and anguish of it. He refused to accept it; he had been fighting too hard and too long to control his own life, he would not bow down now.
So much of it had been out of his hands already; his orphaning as a youngling, the numerous cruel hands that played some part in rearing him, his service to the dragons, his being Dragonborn—none of it had been his choice. He had been pushed and pulled toward some purpose or other that was always of someone else's making.
Until, that was, he'd decided no more; no more would his life be dictated by others, no more would he dance to another's tune. He had honed his inborn talents and expanded his knowledge to take back his own life, to rise above what others wanted and expected from him, to reach that position where there was no master but himself. So determine was he to achieve this goal that he knelt before a Daedric Prince and gave service in exchange for forbidden knowledge and power. Ironic perhaps, but he had never intended to serve Hermaeus Mora for long; the demon had merely been a means to an end, a way for him to get what he needed. If he had to play the servant then to become his own master later, so be it. Except it was never enough; Hermaeus Mora always had some other task waiting for him, always wanted more from him, but Miraak had already gotten what he'd needed and paid his due, so he saw no reason to keep serving him.
But when it was all said and done, he had gotten only a taste of the true power and control he'd sought before the Prince had wrested it away by imprisoning him in his realm for refusing to serve him any longer, and the Last Dragonborn's interference had ensured it was well out of his reach now.
She had asked him once if it had all been worth it in the end, and he, of course, had not hesitated to answer yes, but the truth of the matter was, he didn't know.
If there was any good to be taken from the whole fiasco, it was this: he was not the only one who had been thwarted. Despite all his scheming, Hermaeus Mora hadn't gotten what he wanted in the end either. He had been foiled by the very woman he'd sought to ensnare, and that was…
Miraak suddenly sat up in the bed as that thought led to a deeper realization: no, she had more than just foiled Mora's plans. With the single act of Shouting him from Apocrypha, she had defied, betrayed and cheated the Prince.
Yet, somehow, she managed to make it out of Apocrypha…
His brow furrowed.
…without a scratch.
Which should have been impossible, seeing as how Daedric Princes didn't exactly have a reputation for letting mortals get away with defying them—and he, of course, would know.
Damn it to Oblivion. He should have realized this anomaly sooner—he would have realized it if he hadn't been so caught up in his own misfortune, if he hadn't been wallowing in it like a damn fool.
How had she managed to escape Mora's wrath and his realm? How could she have done in a moment what he hadn't been able to accomplish in four millennia?
That she might have made some kind of deal with the Prince crossed his mind, but Miraak rejected it almost immediately; he doubted she had anything of worth to offer Hermaeus Mora in exchange for a pardon of her transgressions. Presumably she hadn't escaped using Tsun's Shout, either; she had told him it only worked on others, not oneself. And even if she had been lying about that, she was nowhere near powerful enough to Shout consecutively. It would've taken her a moment of respite before she could use it again after using it on him, and that would have given the Daedric Lord more than enough time to make her regret her actions.
This wasn't right. It didn't make sense.
The bed groaned ominously under Miraak's weight as he hauled himself from it. Since he couldn't sleep, he might as well get some answers. And if it required force, all the better. It was probably juvenile, but it infuriated him that she had somehow escaped punishment for her transgressions, where he had been made to suffer for his. It was tempting to punish her himself—for the satisfaction it would give him, if nothing else.
He marched into the mostly empty common room; the only present body was that of the Dragonborn's brother, who was supposed to be keeping an eye on the health of that Redguard child—he had insisted on it, in fact, so his sister could rest after spending most of the night healing the wounded Stormcloaks. Instead, he sat at one of the tables outside the boy's room, head resting on his folded arms, sleeping through his self-appointed duty. Somehow, Miraak wasn't surprised.
He found the Dragonborn in the room neighboring the child's, awake and sitting at the edge of her bed. At some point she had taken her hair out of its braid (and Miraak was acutely aware that this should not have been the first thing he noticed; he should not have noticed at all) and it now flowed around her shoulders and down her back like a red-gold cloak. Absurdly and impractically long, but even still, maybe it didn't look unpleasant out of its plait. Maybe it even looked better that way…
But that was irrelevant.
Apparently he'd caught her in the middle of practicing her magic, as the next thing Miraak observed was the bedside table hovering about three feet off the floor, bound in a thin aura of reddish-orange energy. The woman held a hand toward it, that same red-orange light swirling around her fingers and palm. A little dent of concentration marred her brow.
"We must speak, Dragonborn," he commanded from the doorway.
She didn't startle or lose focus at his sudden appearance; the bedside table held firmly in the air. "Kinda busy at the moment, in case you hadn't noticed," she said without looking at him. "Whatever it is will have to wait."
Miraak felt his temper stir, his teeth clenching. Who in Oblivion did she think she was dismissing him as if he were a peasant she couldn't be bothered with? In three strides he towered over her like an angry giant. "It was not a request."
"You waited around in Apocrypha for four millennia…" She lifted her glowing hand higher. The nightstand rose with it, the lit candle and metal tankard on top barely wobbling. "I think you can wait a few more minutes for me to finish."
"I will not wait," he snarled, knocking her outstretched hand down and disrupting the spell.
The table banged down on the floor, wobbling a little before it settled on its legs. The candle and tankard, however, toppled over and onto the floor with a clatter, the room dimming as the candle flame went out. The only light now came in through the doorway from the common room.
Wordlessly, Liv picked up the overturned candle, relit it with a spark of mage fire and sat it back on the table.
Miraak felt her anger before he actually saw it, then she looked up and it was staring at him from her Stalhrim-blue eyes; not that vibrant anger she often exhibited, but an exasperation dulled by weariness. Perhaps sleep had not come for her either. Good, he thought, knowing it was petty and childish, and not caring.
"All right, Miraak," she said evenly. "You want to talk, let's talk. Have a seat."
Miraak tensed when that red-orange glow flared up in her hand again, fully expecting her—and with good reason—to inflict that spell on him.
"Do not—" he started to warn, but something smashed into the back of his legs, so hard it unhinged his knees. He sat down hard with a grunt; not on the floor, he realized with great relief a second later, but in the chair that had been up against the wall behind him only a moment ago—the one she had apparently manipulated with Telekinesis.
Liv looked mildly pleased with herself. "Comfortable?"
Miraak took a breath and held it for a moment in an attempt to curb his mounting fury, then released it slowly. "Keep testing me, Dragonborn, and I may do something we will both regret."
"Oh, stop being so dramatic. It was harmless; maybe not to your pride, but…" The creature trailed off, her eyes roaming his face as if she were only now seeing it for the first time. Her expression changed, a small furrow forming between her brows, her lips easing from that smirk. "Uh, you feeling okay? You look a little ragged around the edges."
Miraak frowned, taken aback by the unexpected question and the small measure of concern he sensed from her. "What?"
"Are you feeling okay?" she repeated slowly.
Perhaps the question shouldn't have surprised him. She did, after all, have an invested interest in his wellbeing, as he did in hers; if something was wrong with him and she didn't see to it, she risked the displeasure of her god. "I did not come to you to discuss how I'm feeling," he said, annoyed.
"Nevertheless, if something's wrong, I can help. Probably."
"You want to help?" Miraak snapped. "Then explain to me how you managed to get away with defying a Daedric Prince and escaping his realm. You should not be here; you never should have made it out of Apocrypha."
"So you finally stopped feeling sorry for yourself long enough to come to that conclusion," Liv said without a hint of malice, as if she were only acknowledging a fact. "A shame it's the wrong one."
"Is it?" he scoffed. "And yet you are here and don't appear to be suffering any consequences for your actions."
"Not everything is as it appears, Miraak. Who says those consequences aren't forthcoming? You assume I escaped Apocrypha, but who says Herma-Mora didn't let me?"
Miraak made a skeptical face. "You are suggesting it was intentional? He allowed you to escape?"
"So it would seem, but not without promising I hadn't seen the last of him, that my actions would inevitably reap great consequences."
"That makes no sense. What happened after you Shouted me out?"
"He was, as I'm sure you can imagine, quite furious, and I'm betting it wasn't just because I defied him. He didn't see it coming; for the Daedric Prince of fate and knowledge, I imagine that was like a sucker punch to his pride."
"So…?" He made an impatient gesture that told her to get to the important part.
"He grabbed me up in one of his—ugh—tentacles. I thought he would smash me to death on the ground or squeeze me until my guts squirted from every orifice, but no. He wanted the knowledge of Tsun's Shout, first—intended to literally rip it out of my mind, but I Shouted myself ethereal. I wasn't sure it would even work, but it did." She shrugged and crossed her arms under her breasts, unwittingly making them strain against the V-shaped collar of her vest. Miraak looked away awkwardly, his face warm. "Or maybe he allowed that, too. I opened the Black Book and got out with my arse intact, but the way he sounded just before I left, so sure that it was far from over…well, I think it's safe to assume he allowed it all to happen that way, that it plays some part in his plans. Maybe he still intends to get what he wants—you dead by my hand and me as his new Champion. Maybe he intends to punish me too, somehow, for going against him. He does nothing without reason."
Miraak tugged thoughtfully at the short, dark hairs on his chin and narrowed his eyes a little. Some of what she'd said didn't make much sense, but he didn't think she was wrong, either. There was no way she could've used the Book to escape unless the Prince wanted her to; they were, after all, bound to his will. "No, he does not. You know this, and yet you seem to be taking it all in stride."
Liv shrugged. "Well, how else should I take it? I suppose I could panic, but I really don't see how that's going to improve the situation."
Miraak stared at her with mingled exasperation and disbelief. She was either absurdly careless or dumb as a stump to have not planned this far ahead. He was betting on both. "I assumed you were wise enough to have a plan in place, to prepare yourself for this eventuality. I should have known better."
The creature said nothing for a long time, becoming distant, her eyes drifting from his to stare at some point on the floor.
Miraak watched her hand drift up to her neck from where three necklaces hung; an amulet of Akatosh, a silver medallion engraved with Atmoran runes, and a pair of gold rings on a silver chain. As she fingered the latter, he felt a surge of emotions from her, brief but potent enough to make him uncomfortable; a deep stab of grief, a clawing ache for something lost and...guilt. He didn't want to understand them, but it was his misfortune that he must; they were, after all, the same feelings he had for what was taken from him. Everything but the guilt, anyway; he had nothing to feel guilty about.
"You can plan for every eventuality you can think of," she finally said, her voice and face devoid of those emotions—clearly a façade to hide them, not that it did her any good. "But what good does that do you, when it's the one you can't foresee that comes to pass?"
Seeing as how he hadn't foreseen her Shouting him from Apocrypha at Akatosh's behest or losing all his power— the least likely things that could have happened—Miraak supposed she had a point, but that didn't mean he had to like it. "So, because the unforeseen might happen, why bother preparing for the things you can foresee? That is idiotic."
She dropped her hand from her necklace, and Miraak once again eyed the pair of golden rings, curious now. They were of different sizes, one large and one small; one for a man and one for a woman. He didn't have to exert much mental effort to figure out what they were: rings of matrimony. So, she was married—or had been in the past; there'd been no husband to greet her when she had returned to her home in Winterhold. Now that he thought about it, there had been a moment in Windhelm, when her brother had mentioned that he couldn't wait to see his wife again, and Miraak had sensed some small measure of envy from her.
That envy, the absence of her spouse, the fact that she wore both rings around her neck and the grief she felt in connection to them could mean only one of two things: the husband was dead or he had come to his senses and left her. Either way, Miraak had uncovered one of her weaknesses and therefore gained a weapon.
"I have an idea of what I need to do, and from there I improvise, let my instincts take the lead," the creature was saying. "I didn't have a plan going into Apocrypha to get you out and I succeeded. Remind me again how far all your meticulous planning and scheming got you."
Miraak glared at her. "Your instincts had nothing to do with your success. You were only fortunate enough to have a Shout Hermaeus Mora didn't know existed. You tricked him once, but now you are all out of tricks. If you think you are going to thwart him a second time and with little more than your instinct and improvising, you're a fool."
"What's the worst he can do? He can only manage a partial physical manifestation from his gods-forsaken Books, and only if you're dumb enough to open them. Otherwise he appears as a harmless but exceedingly disgusting blob of tentacles. So, he has to rely on his followers to do the brunt of his bidding."
"To whom he can grant as much power as he wishes," Miraak pointed out. "It may be a single individual or two, or more, and we have no means of predicting whom it will be or when and how they will strike. He now has the advantage that you did—the unknowable, the element of surprise. If we are to have any chance we must be better prepared."
Liv raised her brows in surprise and put her hands out, palms forward. "Whoa, hold on—we? You're considering yourself part of a 'we', now—a 'we' that includes me? Well, that's it, then. Mammoths are assuredly flying the skies, the End Times are upon us again and all the planes of Oblivion have officially frozen over. Does this mean you're going to stop being a pain in the arse, now?"
Miraak sighed forcefully and squeezed the bridge of his nose with a thumb and middle finger. She was giving him a headache. "It means we have a greater enemy than each other, and it would be mutually beneficial—"
He didn't get to finish.
There was a soft thump from the next room, followed by a loud bang, as if something heavy had fallen to the floor.
The Dragonborn jumped to her feet, shock magic crackling to life in her hands, and then sped through the door to investigate.
A moment later, her voice sounded from Alesan's room, "He's awake! Leif, get your arse up! He's awake!"
This was soon followed by a shriek of terror that might have been a woman's, or possibly a child's.
With another sigh, Miraak arose from his seat, deciding he might as well see what was going on.
It took some time and a little patience, but Liv was finally able to coax Alesan out from under his bed. The boy was badly frightened and disoriented upon waking, almost as if he still lived in whatever terrifying moment he'd experienced in the Iron-Breaker mine. He had apparently knocked a book off the bedside table and then knocked over the table itself trying to get out of his bed, and when he had seen Liv standing in the doorway of his room, he was still too disoriented to recognize her as anything but a danger. It didn't help that she had also had Lightning Bolts ready in both hands, only adding to his sense of peril. He had shrieked and crawled under his bed to hide. Leif, groggy from his nap, had come into the room wanting to help, but Liv had quickly shooed him out. One person was scary enough for the child to deal with, he didn't need another.
Liv had sat beside the boy's bed on the floor and muttered soothing and reassuring words to ease him, but to no avail. Miraak, who had at some point appeared in the doorway, suggested she use the Bend Will Shout on the 'weakling boy' if she wished to calm him and learn what he had witnessed. There was a brief moment where Liv seriously considered kneeing him in the crotch—let's see who the weakling is, then—before simply rejecting his horrible suggestion. She tried, instead, to evoke Alesan's memories of her so he would understand he was in the presence of a friend and not an enemy. It had worked, thankfully, and now the boy lay on his bed, a little calmer but worn out from the excitement.
Liv sat near him at the edge of the bed, rummaging through her knapsack. She produced a red vial and held it out to him. "Here, drink this."
Alesan eyed it warily. "W-what is it?"
"A health draught; it'll make you feel better." Liv popped the cork from the bottle, took a sip to show him it was okay and then urged it on him, smiling for further encouragement.
Alesan took the bottle, frowned at it and then sat up just enough to take a drink. He grimaced and thrust the bottle back at her. "Blegh! It's gross!"
"Health potions aren't supposed to taste good," Liv told him. "The nastier they are, the better they work." That wasn't necessarily true, but it was something her father used to tell her when she was ill as a child and unwilling to take her own disgusting medicine, a trick that had worked most of the time. "Down the hatch, now," Liv said, pushing the bottle back toward the boy.
Alesan moaned but did as she bade. When the potion was gone, Liv took the empty bottle back and stuffed it into her pack. She reached out and pressed the back of her hand to Alesan's forehead, then his cheek. His skin felt warm now, a good deal warmer than it had been when she found him in the mine. Nevertheless, she asked, "Are you feeling cold?"
Alesan shook his head as he settled back into his pillow.
"Good. All right, now, can you make a pair of fists for me?" Liv asked. She had found all ten fingers and all ten toes frostbitten earlier when she'd examined him. She had healed them, but her basic knowledge of Restoration spells could only do so much good. She was concerned with whether or not there was damage to the function and sensation in his hands and feet.
The boy held his hands up and clenched them into tight fists.
"Now unclench them—slowly."
As he did so, Liv noticed that his fingers moved a bit stiffly, but that was normal. She took one of his hands, turned it over and ran her thumbnail along the length of each finger. "You feel that?"
"Yeah."
Liv performed the same tests on his toes next, and all was well with them too. She covered up his little piggies with the fur blanket and said: "Your fingers and toes are going to feel stiff, but that should go away in a day or two. You seemed to have recovered well and fast to boot. A little more rest, I think, and then you'll be good as new."
Alesan said nothing for a while, picking at the fur of his blanket. His brow was furrowed, and he kept gnawing on his bottom lip. At last he said: "They're dead, aren't they? Karl and everyone else. They're dead because of me."
Liv frowned and reached for his hand again, but Alesan drew it back. "We know that Karl and a few of the town guardsmen died, but we don't know that everyone did; actually, we think they might have been taken. And no, Alesan, it certainly wasn't because of you."
"You don't know that; you weren't there!" Alesan cried angrily. "Why weren't you there? You're the Dragonborn; you're supposed to help people when they're in trouble!"
"I wasn't here, Alesan, because I was helping people in Solstheim," Liv said calmly. "I'm only one person; I can't be in two places at once, you know? Otherwise, I would have been here."
"Why are you explaining yourself to this child?" Miraak demanded from the doorway, wearing a look of utmost disapproval.
Liv ignored him. He could take his disapproval and cram it.
"I'm sorry," Alesan muttered. His eyes were cast down, his shoulders tight. "I shouldn't have said that. It's my fault, not yours. It's my fault…my fault Karl died." Now his shoulders started shaking, and when he spoke his voice warbled with grief. "I should've helped him; I wanted to help him, but I hid. He told me to hide, but I shouldn't have listened." His small hands curled into the blanket, as if he meant to rend it in his grief and anger at himself, but the best he could do in his condition was twist it. "I should've helped!"
Liv put a hand on his shoulder, squeezed. "Look at me, Alesan."
But the child wouldn't; he ducked his head low, so low his chin pressed into his chest, his shoulders hunched up near his ears.
Gently, gently, Liv cupped the boy's face and lifted it. His hazel eyes, so full of sorrow and shame, went straight to her heart, already aching for him. "Nothing that happened was your fault, little cub. Nothing," she told him, thumbing through one of the wet streams on his cheeks. "You did exactly as you were supposed to do."
Alesan shook his head. "It doesn't feel like it."
"I know, but you did. If you had helped Karl, you might have been killed and then no one would be able to tell us what happened. You're the only one who wasn't taken."
Alesan ran the back of his hand under his runny nose, then wiped his snot on the blanket. Liv refrained from making a face. "I want to help. What can I do to make it right?"
"You did nothing wrong." And she would keep telling him that until he believed it, because it was true. If she had been Karl, she would've told Alesan to hide as well. Children should never have to be responsible for their adults. "But if you want to help, if you're ready to talk about it, can you tell me what you saw?"
The boy dropped his eyes from hers and was silent for a while. Liv began to suspect he wasn't ready after all, but then he started speaking, his eyes still cast down at his blanket. She took one of his hands in hers as he did, and he let her this time.
"They came at night," Alesan began. "I was taking supper to Karl and the other miners at Iron-Breaker because Beitild was making them work longer again. They came from everywhere—the road into town and down from the cliffs and from around the shore."
"Who came?"
His hazel eyes lifted to meet hers, horror welling up inside them. "Monsters. They looked kinda like goblins; small and ugly, with pointy ears like an elf's, and something was wrong with their eyes, like they were all shriveled up. They were wearing weird armor, too; it looked like it was made from parts of bugs."
Liv frowned. If that isn't an accurate description of the Falmer, I don't know what is, she thought. "Were the monsters alone?"
Alesan shook his head. "There were people too, and they had weapons and rusty armor. Some of them used magic—the goblins did, too. They even had staves. And there were metal things that moved. Two of them were the size of a man and the other one was little and looked like a spider. Only the guards were outside—because it was night, like I said and most everyone else was at home or at the inn. But the goblins used magic on some of the guards so they couldn't fight; they just stood there like statues. A couple other guards were lucky, though, and didn't get hit by the magic. They tried to fight them, but one of the goblins cast lightning and the metal things shot arrows at them. That's when I ran into the mine, to tell Karl and the others."
"And Karl told you to stay in the mine?" Liv guessed.
Alesan nodded. "But I watched from the door after Karl and the rest of the miners left to help the guards." He shivered under his blanket. "The goblins and the bad people and the metal things were all over the town, breaking into the houses and dragging people out. Something was wrong with them, though—the townspeople, I mean. They didn't fight back, just like those guards. Maybe the goblins used magic on them too."
"What did they do with the people once they took them from their houses?"
"Got them together in a big group. I thought…I thought the goblins and bad people were going to kill them, but I didn't see what happened next. One of those metal things saw me and was going to shoot an arrow at me, but I ran back into the mine."
"And it followed you," Liv guessed again.
"Yeah, and almost stabbed me good. I jumped out of the way when it attacked, but it still got me. That's how I got this gash," Alesan said, pressing a hand against his left side, where the wound had once been. He seemed to only realize just then that the pain was gone, his eyes going wide. He shoved his blanket down and dragged up his worn tunic to look at his side, the skin smooth and unmarred. "Whoa, it's not there anymore!"
"I healed it earlier," Liv said. She smiled, held up her right hand, wiggled the fingers. "With magic."
"Oh." Alesan tried for a sheepish smile, but it was half-hearted at best. "I knew that. Thanks for healing me."
"It wasn't too bad a wound, although it would have been worse if you hadn't jumped out of the way in time. It was the cold that almost got you."
Alesan nodded. "I thought the metal thing was going to kill me for sure, though, but Karl came in and hit it with his pickaxe and yelled at me to run and hide. And I did." Tears came at his eyes again. "I wanted to come out and help, honest, but I was hurt and so scared. I could hear Karl hitting the metal thing over and over, and then it got quiet. I thought Karl would come and get me, but he didn't and I didn't know what to do. I was scared the thing was still there, so I just stayed hidden."
Liv saw his face start to crumple and chucked him gently under the chin. "No more tears, now. You survived where others your age might not have, and the information you've given will help me save the people of Dawnstar."
Alesan stared at her, blinking away his tears. "You really think so?"
Liv nodded firmly. "I know so. Is there anything else you can tell me?"
He shook his head. "That's all I remember. What's going to happen to me now? Do I have stay here by myself?"
"No. You're going to stay with a friend of mine at my home in Winterhold," Liv said, feeling that it was the right thing to do. The boy had no one else to care for him, now. Ralof and his lot certainly couldn't do it; they would have their hands full keeping the town under Stormcloak control. And the orphanage in Riften was too far away; they didn't have the time to travel there. Liv just hoped Lydia wouldn't mind. The woman seemed to like children well enough, and it was only temporary, just until they could resolve this problem with the missing townsfolk.
Alesan stared at her with wide, hopeful but cautious eyes. "Really? You mean it?"
"Aye, but only for now. Once the people of Dawnstar have been found...well, we'll have to see."
That seemed fair enough to Alesan, who launched himself at Liv, hugging her with surprising strength. "Thank you! I promise I won't be any trouble for your friend and I'll do tons of chores and help protect your house and—"
"I'm fine with you just minding my friend and doing some chores," Liv laughed, hugging him back. "For now, why don't you lie back down and try to get some more rest, okay? It'll be a few hours yet before we leave for Winterhold."
"Okay," Alesan agreed, releasing her.
"That's a good lad."
Liv tucked the fur blanket in around him once he was settled and wished him pleasant dreams. As she moved to get up, the boy grabbed her wrist. Liv looked down at him, and he stared back with a beseeching expression. He was still scared.
"Can you stay with me, just until I fall asleep?"
"Of course."
Liv sat back down on the bed. She ran a hand through his short, dark, tightly curled hair and sang to him in a soft voice an old song Leif used to sing to her when she was little and too afraid to go back to sleep for the nightmares that had awakened her; nightmares of red eyes glaring at her through the dark, of people burning, reaching out to her and begging her to save them; nightmares that had turned out to be premonitions of a sort.
Her voice wasn't that good, but it seemed to soothe the boy well enough, for his breathing soon deepened with sleep. Liv sat there a moment and just looked at him, thinking on the other Redguard who had called Dawnstar home. Seren, pregnant wife of the town's blacksmith. Liv thanked the Nine Divines that Rustleif had finally agreed to that move to Hammerfell Seren had kept insisting on. She had wanted her child to know as much about their Redguard heritage as their Nord heritage, and the only proper way to do that was to visit the motherland. The pair had left months ago after getting their travel permits and before Seren became too pregnant to travel, and planned on staying in Hammerfell until the child was suitably immersed in Redguard culture, then they would move back to Skyrim. If they hadn't left when they did….well, Liv didn't want to think about what might have happened to them and their baby. Seren had probably given birth by now. Liv hoped they were all doing good.
Someone cleared their throat from the doorway, bringing Liv out of her thoughts. She looked in the direction of the noise, where Leif and Miraak were waiting and watching. Leif lifted his brows inquiringly.
Liv stood up and left the room, motioning for Leif to follow. Once they were in the common room and she was sure they wouldn't disturb Alesan, she sighed and said, "I know what you're going to say, but I couldn't just leave the boy here by himself. Ralof can't spare the men to look after him and we don't have time to travel down to Riften to take him to the orphanage. I—"
"Relax," Leif cut her off. "I get it."
Liv gaped with surprise. "What? I just made a big decision that will affect Lydia and without even consulting you, and you're not mad? Mammoths must be flying the skies!"
Leif gave her a strange look and then just shook his head. "I might have been mad if I thought Lydia wouldn't like it, but I think she'll be thrilled. What I'm mad about is that." He pointed a finger at the gladius sheathed at Miraak's left hip. "Why the fuck does he still have it?"
Liv winced. When Leif had noticed the weapon earlier, he'd nearly given birth to a mammoth. She had explained the man had looted it off a dead Legionnaire and had promised she'd get it from him once the Stormcloaks had been healed, but it had been a long night and she'd forgotten. She was surprised Leif hadn't taken it from him himself, but perhaps he had forgotten too. He had been busy all night as well, helping Ralof and some of the uninjured Stormcloaks collect the dead and prepare them for burial or pyre.
"If my having it displeases you, you are more than welcome to try to take it from me," Miraak challenged.
Leif gave him a look that could have curdled a vat of milk. He reached behind himself, gripping his greatsword, started to pull it from its sheath.
Liv grabbed his shoulder before the weapon was fully drawn. Curiously, Miraak hadn't even reached for his own sword. He merely stood there with his arms folded at his chest, an almost imperceptible smirk on his face. "Both of you cut it out. And I just forgot, Leif. I had a long night—we both did."
Leif kept his hand on his weapon and his hate-filled eyes on Miraak. "So what's stopping you from dealing with it now?"
Liv sighed. It's inevitable, brother, she thought. And perhaps she had only been delaying it by trying to make the man earn a weapon. Much as she hated to admit it, Miraak might have made a few good points earlier. It was admittedly easier and safer to not trust him, but with the advantage Hermaeus Mora had over them, perhaps it was wiser to set aside their differences and work as one. Besides, if Akatosh could give him a chance, she should as well; she could at least try, anyway. Leif wasn't going to like it—he was going to hate it, actually—but he would just have to accept it, same as her.
"I'd rather he was useful than useless, for one thing," she said to her brother. "I particularly don't want to have to constantly defend him every time we come under attack, for another, and I suspect we're going to be seeing quite a bit of fighting soon, and not just with the ones who took Dawnstar's citizens, but…with whoever Hermaeus Mora decides to throw at us."
Leif took his hand from his greatsword and dragged it down his face, sighing. "Is this coming from you...or him?"
Liv felt a flood of anger at that. She knew he was just trying to look out for her, but sometimes that resorted in him treating her like a child. It was infuriating. "We had a talk, aye, and as much as I hate to admit it, he made some good points."
Leif did not look convinced. "Did he?"
"He thinks Mora has a big advantage over us, seeing as how we don't know when he will strike at us, how, or through whom. Do you think he's wrong, Leif? Do you think Mora's just going to forgive and forget that I cheated him? Do you think he doesn't have some revenge planned or that he's not going to still try to get what he wants? You think he's going to allow us to see it coming?"
By the grudging look on Leif's face and the way he hesitated to reply, Liv knew she had gotten through to him. "I guess not," he grumbled.
"Miraak doesn't have to be our enemy, and we don't have to be his. We can't afford to be each other's enemies when we have a bigger threat hanging over our heads. Besides, Akatosh saw fit to give him another chance, so perhaps it's time we did too." Liv raised her brows. "Unless you think your judgment is better than a god's?"
Leif made a face. "Of course not, but I won't pretend I understand it either. I know you're doing what you think is right, what you think Akatosh wants, and I'll respect that, but I can't follow you in this, Liv. I can't trust him; I won't take that risk."
Liv heaved out another sigh and rubbed at her forehead with the heel of her palm. "All I'm asking is that we try to work together against our mutual enemy. Can you do that?"
Leif looked like he'd just taken a bite out of a rotten tomato, but nonetheless he agreed. Sort of. "I guess I don't have much of a choice, do I? Fine."
That was going to have to be good enough. Liv looked at the other man. "Miraak?"
"I have even less of a choice than he does."
Liv took that for an affirmative. "Wonderful. Now that we've all come to some understanding..." She looked at her brother, smiling a little. "You really think Lydia won't mind taking care of Alesan?"
"I really think she won't mind. She'll have company and she loves children. In fact, she keeps mentioning how nice it would be, not having to take certain preventive measures anymore, if you catch my meaning. She might be trying to tell me something."
"Ya think?" Liv laughed. "Might be time to start considering it more seriously, brother. I for one can't wait to have a litter of nieces and nephews to spoil. I hope you're planning on naming one after me."
Leif rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. "Not everything is about you, Ego."
"The child has served his purpose," Miraak said, making that disapproving face again. "I see no reason why you should concern yourself with what becomes of him."
Liv scowled at him. "Is that because you have a piece of stone in place of a heart? He's a boy, not a tool."
"And you are unwisely letting your emotions make your decisions," he shot back. "The child is not in any immediate danger. Your missing people are; you have no idea where they have been taken, what is being done with them or if time is running out for them. They should be the bigger priority. Instead, you would waste time better suited to searching for them to ensure some worthless boy has a minder."
Liv balled her hand into a fist. That boy has done more good in the last ten minutes than you have in your four thousand years of existence. If anyone is worthless, it's you. That was what she wanted to say, but proving him wrong was more important right now than insulting his worth. "Actually, I do know where they've been taken—or at least I have an idea."
"Blackreach," Leif said.
Liv blinked at him, surprised. "Aye. How'd you guess?"
"I saw the same shit you did when we went down there to retrieve that Elder Scroll. The 'goblins' the lad described sounded exactly like Falmer, but it was also something else he saw that made me think of Blackreach: the people that came with them."
"What are you talking about?" Miraak said, sounding irritated.
"They were likely thralls, Falmer slaves," Liv explained. "We came across some of them before, in Blackreach. Actually, Blackreach is the only place we ever came across the Falmer having slaves and we've explored dozens of their caves and every Dwemer ruin in Skyrim and Solstheim."
Leif nodded. "Exactly. Chances are they all came up to the surface from either Mzinchuleft or Alftand; they're both near Dawnstar and they're both gateways to Blackreach. I'd put my septims on Mzinchuleft; it's closer to town and the shortest distance is always the safer one. Less hassle and less chance of mishaps. And a shorter distance would be better if you're relying on magic to control a lot of people and not be seen, as well. A longer distance would require more magic, so there's the risk of running out, whether it's the magic in a staff or in oneself. Or even running out of potions, if they were using them."
"Makes sense," Liv said, nodding.
"Is it not also plausible they simply took them to either of these ruins and not Blackreach itself?" Miraak questioned.
Liv shrugged. "I suppose it's possible, but my gut says Blackreach and my gut is rarely wrong. We can always search the ruins if it is; they're simple to access from Blackreach." She clapped her hands once, then rubbed them together. "Okay, so we'll drop Alesan off in Winterhold then begin our search in Blackreach. Any objections from anyone whose name doesn't start with an M?"
Miraak rolled his eyes.
"No objections, but I have a suggestion," Leif said. "We should go through Alftand to get to Blackreach; it's closer to Winterhold, so we'll save a little time."
Liv nodded. "Good thinking. We'll leave at first light. I don't want to travel at night with a child; it's dangerous enough when you can see what's coming for you."
A/N: So, you might have noticed some things in this story don't agree with what the game tells us about Miraak. Just so there's no confusion, that's wholly intentional. I've brazenly twisted some things to coincide with the backstory I've created for him. I'm also aware the pacing of the story is practically at a snail's crawl right now, but I expect it to pick up in the next two chapters.