Turinmar jumped as his door was thrown open with no regard for how hard it was to get hinges set in ancient Nordic architecture. The panicked look on the workman's face, however, quelled his rising irritation. "Steward! A dragon just landed on the mountain to the north!"
"What?" he asked, paling. What was a dragon doing here? Did it serve Miraak? Did it want to challenge him? Was it hungry? Gods, he hoped it wasn't hungry.
"Oh, come on!" Dorte snapped, rising from the little table she had been writing up material lists at to grab his arm and tug him out the door, upsetting several piles of papers as they went. The Dark Elf began to wish he had taken his niece up on her offer to make him a decent filing system. His new assistant seemed to think everything not immediately useful should be thrown out or used for kindling.
"Dorte…" he huffed a little in her wake, as the Nord woman was at least a head taller than he and had a correspondingly longer stride, "I'm sure it's nothing to worry about. Lord Miraak—"
"Could be visiting Black Marsh for all we know," she interjected in irritation.
Turinmar's lips thinned in anger. "He wouldn't leave us unprotected!"
Dorte muttered something angrily as she took to the ramp leading up into the outside edifice of the temple. "Don't look now, but there's a dragon on the ridge and no sign of your precious Miraak," she glared at him with a hint of triumph in her eyes. There was, indeed, a dragon. It gazed down at them as if searching for something, head tilted to the side. Other than that, it didn't move.
The Steward had better eyes than her, and his widened in disbelief. "There is a person on that dragon!"
"What?" she asked, glancing back up at it. Around them, the faithful drew bows, waiting for the beast to attack.
"It's too far…" he said, squinting, then "Thank you," as one of the cultists handed him a spy glass. He wasn't sure where the man had gotten it, but made a mental note to get himself one. "It's the Dragonborn. The…uh, you know…other one," he told her awkwardly.
"She rides dragons?" Dorte asked skeptically. "I thought she was a dragon slayer, not a dragon rider."
"I don't know of anyone else that could ride one besides Lord Miraak," he informed her, still watching through the spyglass. "And the, uh, bright red hair seems to cinch it, you know."
"What is she doing here?" someone asked him.
"For right now? Apparently watching," someone else said, sounding much more amused than the situation warranted. The Dark Elf glanced over at him—it was one of the Skaal workmen. That explained the amusement, anyway. Everything the new Dragonborn did seemed to amuse them.
"Ah!" Turinmar exclaimed, making them all jump, "There's Lord Miraak!"
"What's he doing?" Dorte demanded, sounding aggravated.
"Um…talking to her," the Steward informed them, quite confused. "At least…yes, he's talking to her. Wait…she's walking away…he's talking to the dragon now."
Dorte looked from him to the ridge and pretty much summed up what everyone was thinking, "What in Oblivion is going on up there?"
"I don't know," Turinmar told her, closing the spy glass and handing it back to its owner, "Someone get me a horse!"
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"What are you doing here, Ysmir?" Miraak asked, irritated and not bothering to hide it. He had been having a very interesting time putting his Daedric hooks into a Thalmor mage when he had felt a desperate tug, similar to when he was called back to Apocrypha, only coming from his temple. At least now he knew what it felt like when a sizable portion of his followers called upon him, scared out of their wits and begging him to save them.
"I'm not here for myself, Miraak," she assured him, her hair streaming out behind her. She looked beautiful in the light of the sun, rather than the washed out, ambient glow of Apocrypha. Not that he was about to tell her that, seeing as she had brought a dragon to his temple. Infuriating woman. He had hoped…well, mostly he had thought that perhaps she wanted to talk to him about Darva. Perhaps she had somehow discovered that he had been in contact with the child. He found himself looking forward to the argument that would surely ensue.
The Dragonborn slid down from her perch behind the head of a massive red dragon and Miraak suppressed a flinch, finally recognizing the beast now that it faced him. "Odahviing," he said, frowning.
The former dragon general inclined his head in a respectful greeting, which only served to make Miraak feel even more tense than before. "Drem yol lok, Miraak. It has been many eruvos since we have seen one another."
"I believe the last time we met you were trying to kill me," the First Dragonborn noted, making his voice as wry as possible.
"Krosis. I must tender my apologies. I flew under the vorliz of Alduin then; I have a different purpose now," Odahviing stated genially. Miraak nodded, impressed despite himself that the great Odahviing, a power even amongst dragons, now apparently served Ysmir. He wondered briefly how she had managed that, since he obviously wasn't under the influence of Bend Will.
They both turned to look at Ysmir, who glanced between them with an expression of interest that quickly grew to something like amused outrage. "You make me come all the way here and I'm not allowed to even listen?"
"You got him to speak with me," Odahviing replied reasonably, "That was all I wished of you, Dovahkiin. But I told you before; my business is my own."
She gave a huff of aggravation, but relented with an air of friendly indulgence, taking Miraak completely by surprise. Not a servant then; a friend. She was friends with a dragon. Unbelievable. "Just…" she gave both of them stern looks, as if they were a pair of recalcitrant little boys rather than a dragon and a four-millennium old man, "play nice."
"I won't devour him," they said in unison, then glanced at each other measuringly. Ysmir had the audacity to chuckle. Flying, Miraak surmised, must put her in a rather good mood. He had never seen her like this, but he thought he liked it. Her face shown with good humor and just a touch of concern, though he supposed it was more for the dragon than for himself. What could Odahviing do to him now, after all?
"Now," Miraak said once she was out of earshot and they had moved far enough from the edge of the cliff to not be in sight of the city, crossing his arms over his chest, "What do you want?"
"Long ago, when we dov were deciding how much of a hask you were, it was rumored you knew the location of the Staak Kiindah. Is this so?" Odahviing asked without preamble.
Miraak was very, very glad he was wearing his mask. His chest tight, he finally asked, "Why?"
The dragon did not answer immediately, obviously pondering his words. Finally, he said, "When the Birthing Place was destroyed, there were two females within. One who was a mate wishes to know the grave of his silliin." The look Odahviing gave him was censoring, "He should be allowed to mourn her properly. I thought as one who now has a mate, you would be more understanding of the pain of loss than you might have been before."
Miraak looked away, his gaze following Ysmir's footprints in the snow. He switched to the Dragon Language, realizing she would be listening, no matter what this dragon thought. To his knowledge, Ysmir wasn't even as versed in the Dragon Tongue as Darva was. "Dovahkiin are not dragons, Odahviing; our joining is different."
"Perhaps not as different as you would think," the dragon replied, and Miraak stomped down hard on the irritation he felt at the amusement threaded through that simple sentence.
A change of subject was in order. "It is interesting that such a mate would still be around, knowing who it was that destroyed the Birthing Place."
Odahviing hung his head. "We know now the great betrayal of Alduin's rage, Miraak. It was at Kyne's First Daughter's insistence that Paarthurnax first taught our human followers the Voice. We knew this angered Alduin, and that this began the rift between brothers, but we did not know how deep that wedge was driven. When the Dovahkiin destroyed Alduin, Paarthurnax told us of the boy who escaped the slaughter and revealed the trickery to him. The humans that slaughtered Hahnu and her birthing sister bore the mark of the World Eater."
He closed his eyes. Darva hadn't gotten to that part of the story yet. He hadn't been able to write it. Strange, that something that happened so long ago should be able to affect him so much still, when the memory of realizing his own mother's death was nothing but a vague, hollow ache cushioned by the long years between then and now. "It was my knowledge that Paarthurnax disbelieved the boy's story. He told the other dragons he had killed him, actually."
"It was later proven to be true," Odahviing said frankly. "Alduin admitted as much when it was revealed Paarthurnax had been teaching others than the Priests how to use the Voice. He had hoped that without Hahnu's influence Paarthurnax would recant his pupils. Instead, it pushed him into further betrayal."
"As if someone like Hahnu could be forgotten so quickly," Miraak scoffed, then realized he had spoken his pain aloud.
"You knew her," Odahviing stated, eyes as round as a dragon's could get.
There was no harm in him knowing now, Miraak supposed. It could not be used to hurt either of them, anymore. He planted his feet and faced the Red Dragon fully. "Lovaasunslaadhahnu first taught me the use of the Voice."
Odahviing's head reared up in utter denial, rising over the man with eyes pinning. "It is not feasible! Kyne's First Daughter wished nothing but peace between all beings; you betrayed us for your own whims. She would never have taken such a hateful creature as pupil!"
Miraak's smile was grim. "I was not always the Allegiance Guide, Odahviing. My hate had time to grow as I did."
"What are you two talking about?" Ysmir interjected as she raced up, watching Odahviing with wide eyes as he mantled above them, then casting Miraak an accusing glare.
"You really need to learn the Dragon Tongue if you insist on playing with them, Ysmir. Your friend asked about the past," Miraak told her scornfully, "It is not my fault he did not like what he discovered."
"You ass—what did you say to him?" she demanded, hands curling into fists.
"The truth," he bit off, tired of her attitude. "I don't know if you've noticed, Ysmir, but dragons have a bit of trouble taking the truth when it doesn't suit them."
"Reminds me of someone else!" she shot back, then looked back up at Odahviing. "Calm down!"
"You're one to talk!" he fumed, gesturing to her and the enraged dovah. She gave him an incredulous, questioning look, violet eyes wide. "Dragons enslaved humans, Ysmir. Enslaved. For hundreds of years. They were terrible, cruel overlords, and their priests were even worse. They didn't even want to rule personally; they simply thought humanity too beneath them and too stupid to be allowed free reign over themselves and dominated us. Played us against each other and fattened themselves on the resulting wars, using them to keep our numbers from growing out of control. Nords, Elves; it didn't matter! If it lived on land it was within their dominion. They chose a small group of their most faithful and let them control the entire population however they saw fit, so they needn't sully themselves dealing with us directly!"
"Says one of that group!" she reminded him, scowling.
"I took power the only way there was!" he informed her, nearly spitting with rage. He ripped his mask off to stare down at her. "I manipulated, bribed, and killed my way into their ranks, and then I started taking them out like the trash they were!"
Ysmir's face went blank, and she actually took a step back, eyes wide, skin pale. He advanced on her, unable to stem the flow of words that had remained unspoken long enough. "I wanted to destroy them," he hissed down at her, "and I would not let anything stand in my way, even a devil's bargain with Hermaeus Mora."
"You're still planning to," she whispered, horrified.
Miraak scoffed. "If being trapped in Apocrypha taught me anything, Ysmir, it was that the dragons weren't completely wrong; man and mer are too stupid to rule themselves. Four millennia, and all I saw, all I read, was war and machinations equal to anything under the Dragon Rule. The Akaviri hunted the dragons to damned near extinction, and yet that behavior continued. This world isn't capable of peace, Ysmir. Not without someone ensuring it."
"In order to subdue this chaotic world, to set things right, I must return to this world in full." It was his first slip with her, when she had glared at him on the side of a mountain much like where they now stood, as he stole the soul of a dragon she had slain. He could see the memory flit across her strangely colored eyes. "You really meant it," she breathed. "Miraak, that's insane! You can't mean to take over Tamriel!"
His smile was hardly reassuring; he didn't mean it to be. "I have all of time now, Ysmir. I'll do what I have to."
"YOL TOR SHUL!"
Miraak pulled Ysmir to him, sheltering her against his chest as he placed himself between her and the enraged dragon by sheer instinct, though she hardly needed it. She was shaking. He had never known anything to make her tremble before. He bent and kissed her, lightly, almost mocking, too quick for her to even respond. Oh, how he wanted to do so much more than that…"You should take your pet home; he's making quite a lot of noise, and there are children below."
She swallowed. Licked her lips. "Miraak…your eyes…"
He could see them reflected in hers. It didn't trouble him. He turned, pushing her further behind him. "Gol Ha Dov!"
"No!" Ysmir shrieked, clutching his arm.
He saw the Shout take Odahviing, felt the dragon fight it with his formidable will. Felt him loosing. Ysmir knew as well as he did how easy it would be for him now to take the soul of the Red Dragon without that worthy even being able to put up a fight.
"You bastard!" she yelled, catching flame as she beat against his chest, too upset and fearful to even summon a spell. Miraak shook his head, lifting her bodily and placing her on Odahviing's neck. She froze as surely as if he had used Ice Form, staring down at him with astonishment, wondering what he was thinking.
He patted Odahviing's head, glancing at the glassy eyes. All the dovah's concentration was turned inward, fighting his thu'um. This one would not respond while under control, not meekly do as he was bit. He was much too strong for that. While his mind rebelled, however, his body could not help but obey. "When he comes to, tell him it's near Bonestrewn Crest. Far be it for me to keep someone from the grave of their beloved," he finished bitterly. Before she could respond, he looked directly at the dragon. Rage whirled in those eyes behind the dullness of his control. "Take her home."
Ysmir grabbed the ridge before her as the dragon launched himself into the air, thoughts shielded, even from him. He watched them go, her hair shining like Odahviing's scales in the late afternoon sunlight. He watched long after she was gone, as the stars began to show themselves, winking in and out as if they had shutters over them, moving in the brisk mountain wind.
"What took you so long?" he asked, turning to watch his Steward clamber up the rise behind him, shivering and slipping in the snow.
Turinmar froze for a moment as he saw his lord unmasked, but it was not a completely new sight for him, although Miraak thought he had a few new scales since the last time he had gone bare-faced before the Dunmer. "My horse didn't like the smell of brimstone. Or dragon," he confided, dusting his hands off on his trousers. "Lord Miraak…your eyes are…black."
"I know," he replied, looking back over his city, hands clasped calmly behind his back.
"You let the dragon go," Turinmar observed, swallowing a little. When Miraak glanced back at him, one eyebrow raised, the Dunmer added, "People are going to ask me why, you know."
"It belongs to her," Miraak replied with deceptive carelessness. "I wouldn't kill your pet dog, why should I kill her pet dragon?"
"So you…let it go because…she would be upset?" the Dark Elf frowned, sounding confused.
Miraak glared at him, "I let him go because he is no threat to me."
"But he could be, you know," Turinmar pointed out. "She could be."
"Turinmar…" Miraak said lowly, starlight reflecting off his eyes, black from lid to lid, "I like you. I'd even go so far as to say that you're my favorite follower, but irritating me is still bad for your health."
The Dark Elf gulped. "Of course, sire."
"Now, this little venture interrupted other business. There's a Thalmor in Winterhold begging for my attention," he said, smile full of malevolence. He vanished in a swirl of blackness that smelled of old parchment and ink.
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Turinmar sighed and began trudging back down the hill, thinking furiously. By the time he got back to his horse, and then back to the temple, he had many more questions than answers. That had never bothered him before. Now, though, he had others to appease. The most pushy of them was just ahead, leaning like a grumpy orc against the outermost post of the temple.
"Well?" Dorte asked archly, as he knew she would. Turinmar sighed and she scowled. "What did the Dragonborn want?"
"I don't know," he replied wearily.
"What do you mean, you 'don't know?'" she demanded.
"I don't know what was happening. Supposedly the Dragonborn called upon Lord Miraak for his wisdom," he temporized.
Dorte snorted, "I raised one niece and half a dozen apprentices; I know when someone's trying to pull the wool over my eyes, elf."
"Then know that I'm telling the truth when I say that I don't know why that woman came to call," he said tiredly. "But I would appreciate it if you didn't spread that around once I come up with an answer for everyone else."
"Perhaps Dragonborn see each other socially," she suggested flippantly. "He doesn't show up for nearly anything else, but he and the great hero of the age are two of a kind! Better than us little people with our mundane little problems like food and shelter!" she ranted, tossing her hands up.
She was only goading him, but Turinmar paused, thoughts whirling. They were two of a kind. Not exactly, but in a sense. He had ordered that the attempts on her life end, then let her go unpunished after she sacked the temple and killed a number of his followers. He had let her go today, after bringing a dragon here. Had even let the dragon go, when he could have taken its soul and easily left the Dragonborn to find her own way home.
"Are you listening?" Dorte snapped, and he realized she had been ranting at him for some time.
"No," he told her absently, then almost smiled when her face turned red in annoyance. "Dorte, can you supervise the building for a few weeks?"
She paused mid-breath as whatever tirade she was about to lay upon him completely deflated. "Yes. Why?"
"Lord Miraak's been pressuring me to take better care of myself, you know. I think I'll go see my niece."
The stocky Nord frowned. "This is very sudden, Turinmar."
"Perhaps, but if I can convince her to come back this time, my life will be much easier," he revealed with a smile. "She's an expert at organization, you know, and has been training as a Healer…we could certainly use her."
"That's true," she admitted. "Healers are one group that haven't been flocking to Miraak's siren song. Probably because they're too sensible to fall for it."
He forced a happy expression on his face, made himself relax. "Thanks, Dorte. I'll be back before next moon." Going back into his office, he was relieved when she didn't follow him. Stacking the piles she had knocked over earlier, he started making his plans. First, to get to Windhelm. From there, he needed to find out everything he could about this other Dragonborn.
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Personally, I love this chapter. I hope you guys do too. Sorta nervous about it, because this is where I really start messing with the dragonlore (which has a lot of holes to fill. I hope you enjoy what I'm filling them up with.) and reveal Miraak's goal, if not his game plan.
I know, I know. They finally see each other and all they do is argue. They stress me out too, and I'm the one writing them.
I really enjoy writing Turinmar and Dorte. Those two crazy cultists make me grin. Well, Dorte's not really a cultist, but she's a tall, true Nord woman bossing around this tiny little Dunmer secretary who sasses right back at her. I can't not like that.
Got some really bad news in real life (besides the not yet having a job thing) that makes me want to hit someone repeatedly with a bat. The baseball kind, not the flying mammal kind, because I think those are cute and that would be cruelty to animals. Despite loving to read and write, I really, really hate drama, and when someone initiates it to the point where it literally starts ruining people's lives, I tend to get a little livid. In other words, expect some violence.
Wynni: I love writing Vilkas. He sort of shoved his way from tertiary to secondary and parked there, glaring at me with his arms crossed. I've never written a perpetually suspicious, grumpy character before, and I'm loving it, though I have to go look at Grumpy Cat memes sometimes before I write him. (Kidding. I'd only do that for Mercer.)
Wicked Lullaby: I'm so glad I'm not the only one who saw that in her. I was worried people wouldn't like how I wrote her because she appears kind of weak, but she's still at least half little girl to me. And making Serana and Vilkas bicker like a-well, not exactly like an old married couple, but I guess like a werewolf and a vampire, just tickles me. Two of my favorite characters, and they get along like oil and water. Or perhaps baking soda and vinegar, depending. And all reviews are happily welcomed, no matter when you get around to it!
Thanks, you two, for being so consistent! I love feedback as much as Sheogorath loves cheese!
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Next week: There's fisticuffs, then Aventus does a lot of sneaking.
