Dorte stood on a rise over the village, watching things get accomplished with an expression of satisfaction on her face. Miraak observed her watching them for a few minutes, until the children just below them—the only people in earshot—ran off, lobbing ashy snow balls at each other. Only then did he walk up to gaze out over the village with her, still a tad behind the Nord woman. She had an impressive set of shoulders, and he thought she might be a craftswoman, judging from that and the careworn state of her skin. She stood on a little promontory, like a sabercat surveying her territory. The mental image elicited a quiet chuckle from him.

"Which one is yours?" he asked as she gazed after the little ones.

"I don't have one of my own," she replied. "My niece and I live over with the rest of the stonemasons, yonder," she waved a hand.

"Your niece…she is the one who wanted to come here?" he asked, making a mental note to discover which of the hundreds of masked figures claimed kinship with the woman.

The woman snorted affirmatively. "Foolish girl. Lost her entire family to dragons before she came to me, so it's really no surprise that she came here when she learned this Miraak could defeat them so easily. Like a dammed moth to a flame."

"She came for protection?" he asked. It had occurred to him that with the Dragon Crisis people would come for that reason, but this was the first time it had been confirmed. Most came for power, or for some unnamed reward. A few came out of simple fascination, and others came because they wanted a new start in what seemed to them to be something out of a tale; for the adventure. Now, of course, he was getting those who wished knowledge as well.

"And now, with some dammed walls in place, she might get it," the woman snorted, finally turning her head to see who she was talking to. She paled, staggering back a step, and Miraak actually had to reach out with a tendril of magic to push her forward and keep her from falling over the edge. "You…" she finally rasped out, eyes wide.

"You look as if you didn't really believe I existed," he replied, chuckling darkly at her reaction.

"I…" she stared for a moment, then straightened. "I was beginning to question," she had the unmitigated gall to say, "I've been here for two years, yet this is the first I've seen you."

"I will share a secret with you, Dorte," he said, putting his hands behind his back as he gazed out over the village, "Becoming a Daedric Prince takes some getting used to." It had taken him so long to heal from the wounds Mora had given him that he hadn't been entirely sure he would still have followers when he first ventured to emerge from Apocrypha, four years ago. It had come as quite a welcome shock to learn that they had not abandoned him, though he liked to tell himself that it wasn't all that surprising, given his displays of power before he had disappeared.

She scoffed, "What is this; an admission of weakness?"

He gazed at her coolly, unruffled, "Were I a weak man I would be dead. Were I a weaker man I would still be in Apocrypha, recovering. Even if I were simply a younger man, I would still be in Apocrypha. I still remain because I am Dragonborn, Dorte, and—as I believe you pointed out—I am older than the Empire. I have had a long time to grow in power and knowledge. You'd do well to remember that."

For a long moment, the middle-aged Nord just studied him, "How do you know my name?" she finally ventured.

He didn't bother to hide his chuckle. "You're the one who has been harassing my Steward; you tell me."

"What? Did he pray that I would stop?" she asked archly.

"Something along those lines," he admitted. "What I am interested in is how you knew the exact amount of time the builders would need to complete the village, down to the last piece of thatch."

"I'm a Master Stonemason, my lord," she said, stressing the last to be just a tad mocking, "just as my father before me, and his father before him. I helped draft this city, found the quarries where we mined rock, and dealt with what merchants would talk to us to get wood and straw. More than that, I talked to the others to find out exactly what we needed, and how much. They knew they could depend on my leadership, and that I would be here when they needed something."

Miraak tilted his head just a bit in response to the sullen anger that smoldered beneath her words. Blackness opened behind her, and she gasped in fright as tendrils shot out to encase her, a thick tentacle wrapping itself around her neck and choking off her air, lifting until her feet dangled just off the ground. The First Dragonborn watched her dispassionately for a few moments as she struggled, clawing and tugging at the slippery surface to no avail as her face turned red, then purple. "I find your audacity amusing, Dorte, but I will only tolerate so much disrespect. I'd caution you not to test the limits of my patience," he advised her ominously, releasing the spell.

The tendrils withdrew as abruptly as they had come, dropping the Nord to her knees before him. She gasped air into starved lungs for a moment, then glared up at him, a hint of fear behind her eyes that turned to surprise when she was pulled to her feet by unseen hands. Good; he wanted her wary, not frightened into uselessness. "You seem like the kind of woman who only believes what she sees, and therefore I am here. I want to be able to count you amongst the ranks of my followers, but for now having your attention will do."

"My attention for what?" she asked suspiciously, still rubbing at her neck. Realizing what she was doing, she grimaced and let her hands drop to her sides.

"Turinmar is overworked," he revealed. "He won't admit it to me, but it's fairly obvious. If his health isn't to suffer, he needs an assistant."

"The great Miraak, worried about the health of a single follower?" Dorte asked incredulously. Her words were mocking, but Miraak could see the memories pouring into her mind as she examined them and finally saw the same signs of wear in his Steward that he had. Concern rose in her eyes, and guilt.

"I concern myself with those that distinguish themselves," he replied dismissively, and saw anger rise in her again. She was so volatile, this Nord, so easy to goad. She would prove most entertaining if she decided to stay. If not…well, perhaps he would seek out her niece and see if competency was a family trait. "Turinmar has served me faithfully for longer than you have been alive, by concerning himself with those who were unable or did not bother to bring attention to themselves. Now, he needs help to continue to give my followers the care they deserve. You seem quite concerned with them, and your skill has distinguished you. Therefore, I want you to present yourself to Turinmar tomorrow as his new assistant."

He spoke so confidently, as if he knew she would do so now that he had decreed it, and Dorte gritted her teeth at the assumption, looking away and about to retort, but the memories of the elf's haggard face kept intruding. For a long while Dorte was silent, pondering this as guilt warred with pride for supremacy. "I wasn't aware Daedra delegated," she finally said, looking at him dubiously.

"I was not always a Daedra," Miraak countered. "I was once a man who ruled over a city very like this one, and I did it very well. I could run things by poking into people's minds and hearts, if I wanted to, but I think that would be uncomfortable to my subjects, and tiresome for me."

"That's…probably true," she admitted, finding it hard to look at him directly after this revelation, wondering what he was gathering from her thoughts. Miraak smiled as she unwittingly went over every scathing, ill opinion she had of him and winced, glancing around for a second portal to open and swallow her up.

"You don't trust me, and you don't like me," he answered the unspoken question after a moment. "You think I find myself too high and mighty to deal with the everyday details of a city. In a way you are correct, but answer me this; do your jarls personally deal with every village feud or skinned knee? Why should you expect from me more than you expect from them, when I have more people and two realms to look after? This is no longer the extent of my followers, either, Dorte. There are men, mer, and beast folk all over Nirn seeking knowledge only I can grant them. Should I leave their summons unanswered while I personally see to every petty problem of this settlement?" he finished scornfully.

Anger rose again to dominate her expression, but just this morning she had used many of the same words to admonish her apprentices. It was why he had chosen this argument. It was interesting, this method of rule by persuasion, and he could not say whether or not he liked it better than the iron fist wielded by the Dragon Priests. He could easily fall back into those ways of dominance, but in this day and age, when autonomy and freedom were so sought after people would rebel a at hint of tyranny, it would quickly loose him what foothold he had gained.

The woman groaned, "I see your point," she finally conceded, and Miraak smirked behind his mask as her reservations strained and collapsed under the weight of this new consideration. "I'll talk to Turinmar, but," she added, pointing at him, "I am not going to don a mask."

"I never asked that my followers don a mask," he told her indifferently, "only that they serve me faithfully. I do not need your belief or your undying devotion. I want your service." He paused, glancing upward as he heard a small, faraway voice, and smiled. "Now," he said pleasantly, unable to keep all the joy from his voice, visibly taking the woman aback more than any other part of this conversation, "I am being summoned elsewhere. I will see you again, Dorte," he said, half threating, before he vanished.

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"Sen, kroson veyn rok vust, nuz til lost nid staad fah mok," Darva read slowly, struggling with the words, which translated roughly to "The boy wandered, working where he could, but there was no place for him." She stopped, taking a drink of the water Bormah handed her. They sat on a padded bench that had appeared here one day with him. She wasn't sure how he had brought it, and didn't ask, because it seemed more magical that way. Sometimes, she liked to imagine he would bring her a pony.

Gazing down at the book for a long moment, she finally ventured what she was thinking. "My brothers and sisters were like this," she finally told Bormah. "They lost their families, and made do with what they could."

Bormah tilted his head, interested in spite of himself. "What did they do to get by?" he asked.

Darva shrugged. "Blaise and Sofie lost their parents in the war. He worked and slept in a stable, and she would get up at dawn to go pick flowers, then sell them in the town. Lucia begged outside the Temple of Kynareth. Alesan delivered food to miners in the town where he and his sick father were dumped." She nibbled her lip in thought, exactly how her mother did, "Aventus and Runa were from an orphanage. There's more to it than that, only no one will tell me what it is."

"And Ys—your mother just picked them up and took them home?" he ventured.

"Uh-huh," she nodded, curls bobbing in exactly the same way his mother's had. His had grown out as he got older, thank the Divines, but he suspected Darva's would stay. "I bet," she continued, "that if Momma had met the boy in the book, she would have taken him home too."

"I don't doubt it," he replied dryly. She looked at him questioningly, and he smiled reassuringly. "Go on."

She took another sip of water before continuing. "Rok bahzim amativ, erei gein sul, peh naal redenteyk, rok ruund soven Raald do Kaan," she stopped again, confused. "Secret temple? Why was the temple secret? And who is Kaan?"

"Kynareth," he supplied, watching the falls. "Kaan means Kyne, which is an old name for Kynareth."

Darva beamed. "You're so smart, Bormah. I wish I could know as much as you do."

"I have read an awful amount of books," he replied, tone loaded with irony. "There wasn't much else to do, for a long while."

"Was the boy in the book Dovahkiin?" she asked guilelessly.

The man twitched a little at the unexpected question. "Yes, though it was not called that yet. There had never been a Dovahkiin before," he revealed.

She gawped in surprise, "This must be a really old book!"

"No. I copied down a much older story for you," he temporized. "Children and old things do not mix well," he halted when he realized just what he had said, for he was perhaps the very definition of an "old thing."

Darva scowled, scooting off the bench to walk around a bit. The bench was hard despite the pad, but Lydia had told her it was unladylike for a girl to rub her butt when she got up, so she contented herself with walking. "That's what Momma says. She had a whole room of books we weren't allowed to touch. Well, books and other things, but she moved them all to one of the other houses when Blaise kept breaking in. He said he kept most of her really interesting things in there."

"Like what?" he asked, curious.

"Enchanted weapons, mostly, but also a collection of weird masks," she told him, not noticing when he froze. "I didn't like them; they gave me nightmares when I first saw them. Blaise and Alesan chased me around wearing them." She turned her head to stare at him fully. "Momma said they once belonged to very bad men. I was really scared when I met you, because you had a mask, too, but then you took it off. Momma said the masks gave the bad men power, and a really bad man wouldn't have taken it off and lost all that power, I think."

"You're too young to know what men in power will or will not do," he told her harshly, looking away. "How many of these does she have?"

"I don't know," she replied, taken aback. "Did I say something wrong?"

He sighed, then gave her the best smile he could, not wishing to alienate her, "Do not worry about it, Little Bee. I've simply had a few run-ins with bad men in masks. It does not mean that all who wear them are bad, though. You've seen your mother take them with her when she leaves, I'm sure? That is because they give power to whoever wears them, not just to bad people. Your mother uses that power for good."

"Like you?" she asked, hopping back up onto the bench.

"What does the book say next?" he asked, not bothering to answer, which Darva took to mean she had asked a silly question. She turned her attention to the story and began to puzzle it out, Bormah prompting her when she faltered.

"The boy went into the secret temple, within which an ancient tree of surpassing beauty grew. Around him, the Daughters of Kyne worked tirelessly, tending the garden and the large form in the center. The boy could not move when he spotted that form, frozen in terror. He had never seen a dragon so close. It was huge and gold, and oddly ungainly, with a swollen belly hidden by wings. He imagined it was full of unsuspecting Nords that had gotten too close and offended the dragon. It was in this moment of terror that one of the Daughters noticed him, and chastised him for being there, for this was a place of women.

Then the dragon looked up, regarding him with glowing eyes the color of the Sea of Ghosts, and asked him to come closer. After an eternal moment in which he expected to be eaten, she told the others to let him stay, for he was yet a child, not a man. The women went about their business, and the dragon told him she was Lovaasunslaadhahnu, Kyne's First Daughter."

Darva paused, puzzled by the long name. "Lovaasunslaadhahnu," he repeated when she asked. "It is made of the words lovaas, or song; unslaad, unending; and hahnu, which means dream. Altogether, it is a formal term for ocean, which is like a sea only infinitely vaster. Her name is also unusual because it is comprised of three dragon words with more than one syllable, and is the only name I ever heard like that. Mostly, she was called Kaandiistmon—Kyne's first daughter."

"You sound like you know a lot about her," Darva surmised. "Do you know her?"

There was a long pause as Bormah seemed to look inside himself, "She died a long time ago," he finally said.

"All the dragons died a long time ago," she reminded him, "They came back."

"Not this one," he said flatly. "The Firstborn of Akatosh had no love for the First Daughter of Kyne."

"Oh," she said, sounding sad. He was about to say something when the sound of someone calling her name floated up from downhill. "Aventus," she said. "Would you like to meet him?"

"No," Bormah said, much to her disappointment. "I do not want anyone to know I was here," he reminded her, standing. "I will come again, Little Bee," he promised, giving her a parting kiss on the forehead.

Aventus crested the hill to see her gazing at the spot where he had been, supposedly only sitting on a bench staring at a waterfall, for the book always went with Bormah. "Darva? What are you doing up here? You know Mother wants everyone close to the house for right now."

"How did you know where to find me?" she asked, not looking at him.

"I've seen you come down from here a few times," he said, and she glanced at him, normally sweet face blank.

"How long have you known I come up here?"

"A while. I didn't want to bother you, because sometimes I want to be alone, too," he told her.

"Have you told anyone?"

"Why would I?" he scoffed. "If you want to spend your time staring at waterfalls, more power to you."

Unexpectedly, her face broke into a bright smile. "Aventus, you're the best brother."

"Uh, thanks. I guess," he replied, bemused, sweeping his dark hair off his forehead as he watched her. His littlest sister hopped off the bench and came over, taking his hand as they headed downhill.

"Aventus, how do you supposed someone becomes a papa?" she asked.

The boy's face flushed painfully as he thought back to the rather embarrassing—and slightly intriguing—conversation Vilkas had had with him when the man returned home. "Uh, what do you mean?" he temporized.

Darva looked up and giggled at his face. "I mean, what makes the Papas papas and not uncles?"

"They're around more, I guess," he lied.

"Then Uncle Inigo would be a papa, not an uncle," she pointed out.

"I…" Aventus swallowed, then tried, "I suppose it's because they…love Momma." He felt like his face was going to burst into flames as he said it.

"Oh, I see. So if we wanted someone to become a papa, we would need for him to love Momma," she concluded.

"Well…" he couldn't believe this conversation was happening, "Sure, I guess. As long as Momma loves him back, and he likes all of us."

"Hmmm…" she said thoughtfully. If Aventus was forced to put a word to the expression on her face, he would have described it as "devious," but such a word did not seem to fit with his innocent little sister. "Do you think Argis is going to be a papa, or an uncle?" she asked him unexpectedly.

"It's not like we have a dozen papas," he finally said, rolling his eyes. "There's just the two, and I don't think we're likely to get any more. Besides, Argis is Mother's housecarl."

"I thought Lydia was her housecarl, and that's why Lydia isn't an auntie," she said, surprised.

"They're both housecarls," he told her, and her expression told him that a lot suddenly made sense to her.

"Then that scary woman with the crazy eyes really was a housecarl?" she asked incredulously.

"That was Rayya and yes, she was," Aventus confirmed with a shiver.

"I thought she was a hobgoblin," Darva revealed. "I thought she was going to eat me."

"There is no such thing as hobgoblins," he told her, even though he wasn't completely sure. Ysmir's journal had a drawing of something that looked an awful lot like a hobgoblin living on Solstheim. "Besides, if anything was going to eat us, it would have been werewolves or dragons. Nothing else would dare," he joked. All the kids knew their beloved Papas and Auntie were werewolves, but no one said anything, because they weren't really supposed to know. It was obvious, though; each and every one of them had swept dark or red wolf hair out of the corners that had no business being there otherwise. If too much of it was allowed to gather into clumps, Precious started to growl at it. If they left it after that, the ice wolf would pee on it, so they were pretty good at getting it swept up.

"And now we have vampires," Darva mused, lips pursed. "Miss Serana isn't an auntie; is she a housecarl?" Honey-bee queried after a long moment.

"No, she's a guest," Aventus told her. "She likes us, but she's not going to stay. She's only here because…because she needs to be."

"How come no one wants to talk about Beth?" she asked him, a little exasperated.

"Because no one wants to talk about her," he said flatly, letting her know the conversation was over. She sighed, and he sighed in return, then finally challenged her to a race the rest of the way home, which seemed to cheer her up. He let her win, because he was her best big brother.

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Whew! Twenty-five chapters! I think this might get to fifty before I'm finished, but meh. I enjoy it. Managed to write another chapter even though I have been feeling wretched again this week. I have an appointment with the doctor tomorrow, so wish me luck! And no needles. I hate needles. They make me woozy and occasionally unconscious. But only when they touch me. Or someone lets me see them.

So, I didn't get my Oblivion Artist picture up yet, because I felt too crappy to finish it. I could submit it as-is, but the Temple of Miraak in the background looks like I fingerpainted it, and that bugs me too much. The deadline is the fourteenth, so...

Yeah, I'm one of those people.

Three new favorites and followers! Welcome!

Wynni: My sincerest apologies to your librarian for making you disrupt the sacrosanct quietude of the hall of tomes. Also, I hoped this chapter was enough Miraak to fulfill your weekly need.

Wicked Lullaby: I've always loved Aventus (the only child I cannot actually adopt in-game, darn it), and making him old enough to really think about and possibly go after his dream of being an assassin was just too tempting to resist. The introduction of Babette as a crush-interest took me by surprise (I just sort of typed it, then reread it, and wondered where that came from), but I too really liked the idea when I drafted it up. Of course, it is kinda cradle-robbing, but then my main couple has a four-millennia age difference, so...

Roger509: Thank you, but at least some of that is ADD. :)

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Next chapter: Ysmir and Serana have tea on the roof with lots of talking (at least some of which is about men), and the household starts to adjust to life with Serana