A/N - I apologize for my absence, loyal readers. I do not wish to bore you with the details, so I simply will not. And even if I did want to, I abhor drama, and just want to pretend it didn't happen. As for myself, I am recovering. I cannot promise how fast my updates will come, but I have no intentions of quitting when I've come so far.
I've changed my username, too, in case that threw anybody for a loop.
I'm also working on a comic related to my head-canons of the Elder Scrolls universe, but it will not feature Miraak as the main character. I will post it on my Deviantart account. I will also put up a note whenever I've completed it, with more details, in case you find yourself interested.
Warning - This chapter will contain spoilers for Oblivion. If you haven't played the game, and you're intending to, just know this will spoil an important part of it. If you have any questions, send me a PM.
~D~
XXXVI. City in Flames
(Hiim ko Yolosse)
"Slen Tiid Vo..."
He whispered the Shout. The power poured into the ancient corpse.
Time had held her body for a millinium, turning it old, brittle, and weak. With these words of power, that age fell away, turning back to a time when she drew breath. The gray, leathery skin began to change in color, pink spreading across ancient flesh. Her blank, clouded eyes became clear and bright in the torch-lit room. The body filled out in the burial robes, and Miraak pulled her into his arms.
She was ancient no more.
He closed his eyes, allowing himself a moment to hope his efforts would succeed. He focused, reaching through the space above the world where he knew her soul would be. He called to it. He felt it respond, drifting down from the stars, from Aetherius.
Zin gasped in air, her hands flying out to seize Miraak's shoulders with a surprising iron-strong hold. She coughed for several seconds, shaking violently.
"Zin," Miraak said, trying to steady her. "Zin. Can you hear me?"
"W-what...what's happening!?" she stammered, gaze flashing. She shifted, turning her head to observe her surroundings. "Where am I? Where's Vahlok!?" She pulled from his arms, leaping to her bare feet. She took in the burial chamber with a surprised face. The ice mage spun in a slow circle, eyes wide, confused.
Miraak felt equally bemused. "Vahlok is dead," he responded in an uncertain tone. "He has been dead for quite some time."
"You ended his life?" She put a hand to her head, closing her eyes. "No, Hevnoraak was responsible for that... Wait..." Realization fell over her like a swiftly-adorned cloak. She lowered her hand. "I...was dead... I died." She looked down, noting the burial robes and armor she wore. "Before that, though, you...disappeared... Hermaeus Mora..." Her gaze darkened. "I warned you," she said. "I knew he would deceive you for his own gain."
"It is too late to change that," Miraak exhaled. He wondered why she was so confused. "Do you recall our conversation earlier?"
"No," she answered. "I don't see how we could have conversed while I was dead..."
"I summoned your soul," Miraak explained. "We spoke. It was...accidental, but it allowed me to understand that bringing you life once more would be far easier than I had anticipated..."
She scowled. "I do not recall that..." She looked around. "Where is Zoortah?"
"Dead, I am certain. His body must be in this tomb."
"Why did you revive me?" Zin asked. "Did you escape Hermaeus Mora?"
"No, not yet," Miraak admitted. "I am closer to that goal though, than I have ever been before." He stared into her eyes. He'd pictured this moment several times since he'd first learned this Shout, but he hadn't expected this. He had thought she would be more...pleased than this. Excited, even, to live again. To try again.
"Are you alright?" He asked, now concerned there could be unknown side effects that he'd not expected.
"I was dead, Miraak," Zin said as if that one statement were directed at a child. She paused, massaged her temples and went on. "I...feel strange. Heavy and burdened. I suppose that's because I'm mortal again..." She knitted her brow once more. "You have no idea how hard it is to bear death. Now I must live with the memory of it, knowing I will experience it once more when I turn old again. Do you plan on reviving me over and over, again and again, until I become insane?" She demanded.
"That is unnecessary," Miraak said, quickly realizing that the revival was far more stressful to her than he had predicted. That would pass, he was sure. "I have techniques that I have gained from..." He stopped himself. "You will not die again."
She said nothing and stared at him, expression guarded.
Uncertain, Miraak stated, "I believe that you should become acquainted with Sahrotaar."
"I see," she responded curtly.
Miraak began to feel uncomfortable, which annoyed him. He remembered this woman being the one person he could let down his guard with, but here she was, staring at him so coldly. He felt certain that he needed to get it across to her somehow, that this was important. She didn't understand his reasons for doing what he'd done. "Zin," he whispered, stepping forward and lifting the wolf fang necklace she'd given him so long. He dangled the ancient teeth from his fingers, in plain view. "I never forgot you." After a moment of uncomfortable silence, he seized his mask and lifted it from his face. "I need your help now. I need you. You are the only person I trust with this."
After what felt like several minutes, she gave a response. "Miraak," she muttered. Her expression softened, and she looked away. "I...apologize. Alduin still lives, and all I felt was anger at being denied eternal peace. I have acted unworthy. It is...strange, waking in this world again... I will fight with you. I always will... No matter how I feel, it is my duty to ensure that Alduin falls and this world finds peace. I will become used to life once more, and I will live for as long as I need to." She met his gaze again, finishing, "and you were also denied Sovngarde, Miraak. I should remember that. You deserved more."
"As I said, I am working on a way to escape Apocrypha," Miraak responded, feeling himself relax. He hadn't realized he'd been so tense. "And when I do, I will fulfill my promise to you. I will rebuild what was taken from me."
She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him. "Thank you." She said into his ear.
"For...?" He questioned, holding her to him.
"I remember that I never thought I'd see you again...and now..."
"I will be sure to visit often, my honor," Miraak said, acknowledging silently how relieved he was to have her back in his arms. "Hermaeus Mora allows me moments of time out of his library."
She stepped away. "Take me to this...Sahrotaar, then. A dragon name, hm? That's not what I was expecting from you... How the time has changed us all... And I would much like to find better robes soon. These are freezing."
"So says the mage of ice," the dragonborn smirked.
"Just because I use it in battle, doesn't mean I'm immune to feeling cold," she responded. "I am more resistant, though... Enough of that. What of Zoortah?" she queried. "He was a great fighter."
"Do you wish him new life?"
"I...honestly, do not know... That...power is unnatural." She faced the door and murmured, "at the very least, I want to ensure his body is resting...as it should be... Not stumbling around in the stupor of undeath."
They left the chamber, Miraak following Zin. She seemed familiar with the temple, and he remembered how this had once been hers long ago. She marched with confidence to a chamber almost identical in size to the last one they'd been in, where several coffins sat, looking long-undisturbed. "Here," she said, pointing to a larger one on a raised dais. "This should be where they buried him."
Miraak approached the coffin on the other side, preparing himself to fight the draugr that would be within. "I trespass here." When nothing happened, he looked at Zin, and she stared back silently. "Is this correct?" he asked.
"Look at the name, it says Zoortah," she replied evenly, indicating the engraving on it. She moved around the coffin.
Miraak leaned forward to examine the lid. Carefully, he reached out and pushed. It shifted with surprising ease, so he shoved it off. He stared within.
"How did you do that?" Zin asked, walking forward to stand next to him. "It should have been magickally sealed to-" She froze. "It's empty."
The coffin held nothing but a few scraps of ancient linen.
"Where is his body?" she demanded, breath frosting in the air.
Miraak exhaled and ran a hand down his face. "The Dragon Order obviously took over this tomb. They must have destroyed the body."
"Why? They enchanted all the others. Maybe they moved it," Zin said. "I must search, when I find the time."
The dragonborn faced away from her. "Let us leave this place."
"You know, Miraak," she said as they moved away from the room. "I think all of the coffins in there were empty, or we would have been attacked."
"Strange, indeed," the dragonborn responded.
"If I find Zoortah's remains...I want to leave him in peace. That Shout you've learned is...wrong. Unnatural."
The Imperial City was burning.
The Daedric Prince of the Deadlands, Mehrunes Dagon, had commanded armies to bear down upon Tamriel without mercy, and now the capital city of Cyrodiil was facing his full wrath. The Dremora poured from the portals dotting the area like demented rivers of death, cutting down their opposition without mercy. They wielded flaming, serrated weapons. The sky above was glowing an unnatural, bloody red, and dark clouds swirled through it. The guard of the city put up a fight, along with the empire's Blades, but they were steadily falling under the invaders, being pushed back.
Zin and Miraak had arrived not long ago to find the city in this state. Not too much time had passed before the dragonborn found his sword burrowing into the heart of the Dremora warrior, who gave an ungodly screech. A clank filled his ears as the axe the beast had been wielding hit the stones. Ripping his blade back, the unholy creature fell to the ground. He turned slightly, another Dremora soldier charging him from behind, yelling a challenge. An ice spear imbedded in the back of its shoulder, throwing it to the floor where Zin leapt forward, driving a blade through its head.
"Our progress is pathetic," Miraak declared, cutting another of the servants of Mehrunes Dagon down by first slicing its legs, and then driving his weapon through its horned head. He seized his staff, dual wielding it with the sword.
"We may already be too late," Zin returned. "The enemy is relentless and unending."
They pushed onward, fighting against the hordes of beasts.
"This chaos would never have happened if these dragonborn weren't so foolish!" Miraak snapped, decapitating a scamp. "Relying solely on the amulet and a living heir? I could laugh at Alessia's foolishness now, if I were in the mood to."
"I don't think anyone had any better ideas, at the time!"
They both pressed onward as the Oblivion gates spewed Daedric minions from their depths. Their sheer numbers slowed the two former dragon priests, despite their combined power.
This is exactly what should never have happened! Miraak thought. His sword dropped upon an enemy. Blood spattered his mask. He unleashed a wave of tentacles. The surging invaders staggered through the poisonous limbs, somehow ripping free with little trouble. The dragonborn put his staff away and decided he'd had enough.
His inner dragon roared in fury. It opened its jaws, and spoke.
"YOL TOOR SHUL!"
The enemy fell, howling in their demonic voices.
If the heir dies... He pushed away the thought. The last heir to the Septim empire could not fall. This is why we need a strong empire, one with a powerful leader, one that-
"Miraak!" Zin called over the noise of the battle, breaking into his thoughts. "Look!"
Miraak did not have to look to know the terrible being was there. He could feel its power pouring into Tamriel like a vengeful wave, dark and vaguely familiar - the power of a Daedra Prince.
He turned his head, gazing where the beast stood, towering into the air. It had four arms, one brandishing a mighty axe. The flesh visible under twisted black armor was crimson. His weapon dripped with the blood of mortals, and the Demon of Destruction turned away from them, fixing his malevolent gaze upon the temple of Akatosh.
"It is Mehrunes Dagon... We are too late," Zin whispered, backing up to stand closer to Miraak. "No one here has the power to fight a Daedra Lord!"
Miraak blocked a swing from a Dremora. He roared in fury, parrying. The flaming blade glanced away from his, and he then slashed its chest open. "YOL TOOR SHUL!" He unleashed the power of his thu'um across a wave of the invaders once again. They howled at the flames, but continued their charge.
"IIZ SLEN NUS!" Zin supplied, freezing the wave of Daedra in place.
Miraak turned his gaze back to the Daedra Lord. Dagon raised his axe, swinging it down in a mighty stroke. It crashed through the ceiling of the temple, tumbling rubble and debris downward. Dust rose from the ground, and he stomped forward.
Why was he so interested in that temple? Miraak felt a chill run through him. That must be where his biggest threat lay. The remaining Septim. The last heir to the dragonblood emperors. Why else be so concerned with it?
"If the heir is still alive, Zin," he said, moving forward. "Then he may yet be able to drive Dagon back into Oblivion with the power of the dragonblood."
He allowed adrenaline and rage to fuel his strikes against the opposition. "FUS RO DAH!"
Several of the enemy fell, and he slaughtered them while they were down. More, however, still came.
So many. There are too many. It is impossible to reach the temple in time.
A bright light surged across the battlefield, and the Daedric soldiers stumbled, shielding their eyes, screaming. It was as if someone had brought the sun into the Imperial City, and it was burning their eyes. Miraak and Zin turned their eyes, squinting at the golden luminance. They both froze in amazement. An entity of glowing, white fire stood before Mehrunes Dagon, a dragon of purest form. The dovah roared at the Daedra. Mehrunes snarled and swung at the one who stood before him, his weapon smashing its chest.
"That must surely be Akatosh himself," Zin murmured in awe.
"The Aedra do not interfere in mortal affairs," Miraak retorted, but he too could find no better explanation for the mighty dragon, larger even than Alduin, brighter than the stars.
The dragon surged forward like an arrow, bolting through the center of the Daedra's being. Dagon howled, staggering in obvious pain. Dark blood splashed down his black chest plate. Akatosh spun and slammed his massive tail into his enemy's head, before unleashing a gout of flame upon him. The Lord of Destruction twisted, swinging the axe at the dragon. It crashed into his jaw and sent him reeling. Mehrunes lunged forward, bringing the huge weapon down for a severe blow. Akatosh slipped away from the arc of the attack, snaking his head forward to bury his fangs into the Daedra's neck.
"It is not Akatosh..." Miraak realized after a moment. "Not his true self... This is a dragonborn...filled with Akatosh's power. A dragon's true power. It is the last Septim. The heir to the empire..." The two formidable creatures clashed again, their energy sending a shockwave across the battlefield.
"Unbelievable," Zin whispered, robes whipping. "That power..."
Another clash almost caused every fighter in the city to stumble and fall.
The dragon yanked back, and a stream of blood flowed from the Daedra's neck. Mehrunes Dagon slumped forward with exhaustion, falling to his knees before the dragon. The dovah arched his neck and unleashed a burst of bright fire that rivaled his own luminence. The flames washed over the Daedra, and he caved, his roars of pain lost in the inferno. He writhed, all four of his hands reaching desperately for the dragon. The dovah did not let up on his assault. Then, the reaching hands fell.
Mehrunes Dagon vanished from the world.
The dragon's head sunk for a few moments in obvious fatigue. He twisted and stumbled back to the temple, looking within. He braced his wings on it. Miraak swore he saw the beast nod to itself before turning away. Then it reared back, wings expanding, head thrown to the air. With one last flash of light, the black clouds vanished.
Miraak blinked slowly, his vision returning. Observing, he saw that around them were the smoldering remains of Oblivion gates and the broken city. However, the sky was blue once more, the clouds white and lazy. There was not a single Dremora soldier remaining. By the temple, stood a mighty statue, capturing the pose and beauty that had once been the dragon. It stood tall and proud, a reminder of the fight.
"He's dead. Talos' heir... Martin Septim, is dead," Miraak breathed, sheathing his sword. "If only there had been more time..."
Zin sat down, her expression defeated. "He died honorably, at least. Not many can claim that they gave their life and saved the world."
The first dragonborn folded his arms, staring at the stone dovah. "The empire will fall without a true dragonblood leader. It is only a matter of time." He almost wanted to sit upon the blood-soaked pavement, too, exhaustion and defeat washing over him. "I should have been more careful. I should have been watching. We need a dragonborn emperor."
"Then we must find another," Zin insisted.
"If there is another... This chaos has killed so many."
"If there is no other," she said, "then we must find another way to bring peace and stability."
"At least, it seems the gates of Oblivion will stay closed now," Miraak said, "even without the dragonblood emperor. That will give Dagon something to ponder as he nurses his wounds. He will not recover quickly from this. I must say...I am surprised...the Aedra do not often intervene to halt chaos."
As they spoke, they saw a figure stumble from the wreckage of the temple, gaze turned upon the statue. The person collapsed to their knees, and even from that distance, the posture was one of obvious grief. The surviving soldiers began to gather near the dragon statue, their gazes upon it in awe.
Zin said, "Let us leave this place. These people must begin to rebuild...and we must decide what course of action to take."
Miraak heaved a sigh and turned away, unable to feel anything beside intense disappointment.
Zin stood and looked around. She caught site of a child emerging from a collapsed building, face filled with shock. "This should never have happened, Miraak," she whispered, watching the boy clamber over the rubble, face stained with tears.
When Mehrunes Dagon was banished back to Oblivion, Hermaeus Mora felt it like a tremor through the fabric of destiny. He closed his great many eyes, calling upon the vast amounts of knowledge he had acquired since the beginning of time. With ease, he connected all of the dots, piecing together the truth, the realization of the battle becoming his own. How close the Lord of Change had been! How close he had come to changing the fate of Tamriel forever more. Now, Mora would never know if it could have truly been. Destiny was fragile, he knew. How easily it could - and should - fall apart. This he had concluded from his vast amounts of knowledge.
So why did it seem like there was always someone to put it back on course when it was so close to failing? Why was there always a factor unaccounted for? Why was there always a coincidence to push back? Was it coincidence? Or was it some universal rule? Or was he reading too much into it? It was hard to manage knowledge that could fall apart in moments. The only answer was to keep watching, keep learning, keep gaining more and more secrets. He would know all.
He felt Miraak's re-entry into Apocrypha. Without hesitation, he appeared before his servant. The man looked worn, his robes torn and steadily mending wounds apparent on his body. He held his mask in his hands, his eyes shining with anger and defeat. He paced in agitation, staring at nothing. Negativity poured from him, dark emotions swirling in his heart.
Mora spoke to the first dragonborn. "You seem...disappointed."
"The Septim bloodline is done," Miraak growled in response. He stopped, facing the Lord of Apocrypha. His tone lost its harshness. "I was too late to aid in the battle... Martin died to send Mehrunes Dagon back to Oblivion, and now I cannot be sure there are any dragonborn left in the world. It would have been more simple to reclaim the Septim line," he muttered, clenching his mask in his hands, "then to start completely over!"
"Mehrunes was a fool," Hermaeus said, tone sounding smug and superior. "Had he waited...planned...used caution... He may have succeeded."
Miraak looked up sharply, and Mora could sense suspicion in his heart. "Why do you say that?" he asked after a moment.
"Because it is true," responded the Daedra Lord.
Miraak muttered, "I almost wonder if you had hoped he would succeed."
"I know fate, Miraak," Hermaeus said. "I simply see that one problem caused another...and became Dagon's ultimate failure. It is something we all can...learn from. Had the Septim bloodline been properly annihilated and the hero who restored it killed...then he would have succeeded. It is a simple acknowledgement of truth..." He seemed to shift. "That is unimportant, though... I know that you seek something from me... Speak it..." Indeed, there was that need to know in the man's heart. That same need that had drove him into Apocrypha in the first place.
Miraak folded his arms, squaring his shoulders. "I must know if any of my descendants yet live."
Hermaeus blinked slowly, pondering why Miraak was always so concerned with any living dragonborn. It didn't seem very beneficial to himself, for what could he gain from ensuring the emperors were dragonborn? Why he wished to remain...involved...he did not know.
And Mora hated not knowing.
He decided the simplest way to find out, would be to give Miraak the knowledge he wanted, and then watch. Then, he would just have to wait...wait and see what the other did with it. It would be more interesting this way. Perhaps it would enlighten him as to why the dragonborn had brought that woman, Zin, back to mortal life.
"Yes..." the Daedric Prince of Fate whispered. "There is only one, though...and he is but a simple farmer, living in Skyrim, almost as impotent in the dragonblood as any mortal. Most of your other descendants died in this recent...chaos."
Miraak exhaled slowly, closing his eyes. "Then I must wait...wait for the next one who shows promise. It will only be so long before Alduin's return, and then the remaining dragonborn must know of their destiny."
Alduin. Could this be Miraak's main motivation to find the last dragonborn?
His champion began to walk away, saying, "Now, if you do not mind, I will return to my books."
"Of course," Hermaeus Mora whispered. He drew his attention away from his servant, knowing that whatever came next, it would certainly be very interesting...and educational.
.
A/N - There is no dovahzul to translate this chapter.