So...I'm back? (Surprise!)
Thanks you all for the amazing reviews guys, they really make my day!
I hope you enjoy this chapter. Also, I don't know when the next one will be done, but it should be quite explosive.
Miraak woke up to silence. The house was quiet and still and empty— he could not hear Malvina's loud footsteps or her muffed voice from behind the door of the bedroom, or even her quiet breathing on the other side of the bed. He should have been grateful for it, because his head was pounding thanks to how much he'd had to drink the previous night and the last thing he needed was Malvina and the constant commotion she created around her.
He did not feel grateful, though, not in the slightest.
The house was silent because he was alone and he could not stop himself from wondering in whose bed Malvina had ended up spending the early morning hours in.
The image of her smile in the semi-darkness of the room before she so easily left him behind stayed with him as he pushed himself up on the bed and he could still taste her on his tongue, he could still feel the ghost of her touch on his skin. He had told her that he wanted her and the woman had simply left, and she did not have at least the decency to take her memory with her.
Miraak had never felt more unclean in his life, as if she'd tainted him with her very existence, and it was without conscious thought that he found himself leaving the bedroom and rushing to fetch water for a bath.
Honeyside was nothing like Proudspire Manor, there was not luxurious bathtub imported from Cyrodiil and no fancy modified piping system to bring in hot water, but Miraak found that he liked it better that way. He tore his clothes off his body and poured cold water over his back, and for a moment— a brief, merciful moment— he could no longer remember the warmth of her body under his.
He drenched himself in water until he couldn't even feel the cold anymore, and only after did he take the time to properly wash, grateful that the soap he'd found smelled nothing like her.
By the time that he was truly done with his bath he had still failed to purge Malvina fully from his thoughts, and the urge to scream, in frustration and anger and everything in between, remained just under the surface.
How stupid he had been, Miraak realised, to have been so honest and weak in front of such a callous woman, to have laid his desires bare before her, and to have expected anything but her cold dismissal.
As he moved to get dressed for the day, he was already angry. His skin was still wet from his earlier attempt to wash away her touch and his robes clung unpleasantly to his body, but he lacked patience to do anything but hastily shove clothes back on. He felt naked enough even with them on, after all.
His desires– ugly, uncontrollable things– had made him so weak. Weak, and now that weakness had been bared fully under the Last Dragonborn's unforgiving gaze. Miraak supposed 'naked' was indeed a fitting way to describe it.
In that moment, he hated the feeling with a passion rivalled only by his hate for Malvina herself. And, oh, how he hated her, how hot and frantic was the storm brewing under the surface, threatening to consume him whole. There was a burning in his chest, so intense he could pretend it was hate, and he didn't care if it was something else entirely.
He wasn't sure how much time he spent pacing aimlessly in Malvina's bedroom, thoughts in a daze and something wild in his eyes. It took him longer than he would have liked before he realised what exactly he was doing— that he was still waiting for her, still waiting for Malvina, even after—
The disgust came next, stronger even than his anger, disgust at himself and at what he'd allowed Malvina to do to him.
She was nothing. She was a lone mortal, small and ignorant and a slave to her own pleasure. Nothing but a simple beast that could burn cities to the ground. She was selfish and mad and captivating in an unnerving sort of way, in a way watching a force of nature of unparalleled destruction might be captivating. She was terrifying and relentless and almost beautiful in her raw, unapologetic power, like some sort of monstrous thunderstorm.
Still, she was just a woman. One mortal woman. Fickle and petty and weak when it came to tall Nord men with handsome smiles. Weak when it came to that red-head with blue eyes and wondering hands that Miraak would have loved nothing more than to stomp on with the heel of his foot and...
Miraak stopped pacing— he could not remember when he started— and exhaled slowly through his nose. He scowled at the empty room as he realised he was jealous, and it was moments like those when he was reminded just how foolish he was for having not killed the other Dovahkiin the first time they met. Immensely foolish, to be sure. Had he simply killed the woman the first time she entered his domain— and he could have, it would have been easy, if only his arrogance had not gotten in the way— she would have never had the time to turn him into the pathetic thing he was now.
Had he just killed her, he would have never fallen so low as to be jealous of a far lesser man, an insignificant rat from the sewers of one of Skyrim's dirties towns.
He had lived lifetimes and he had witnessed the age of dragons. He had wielded magic so powerful it had turned strong men into cowards and fierce beasts into kept pets. He had commanded Dovah in a time when most men did not even dare look at their shadow, and he had been reduced to this— this sentimental fool, no better than a teenage boy with an infatuation— by an obnoxious little Breton?
He'd thrown the nearest chair across the room before he even realised he'd moved, but his anger did not diminish. The side table was next to fall victim to his fury, and then the rest of the room. Nothing was spared, not even his own belonging.
Not his, of course, not truly, he rationalised as he threw his pack of clothes hard against the wall with enough strength to crack several wood panels. All the things in the house were Malvina's; things Malvina had given him. None of them belonged to Miraak, just like Malvina did not.
The sound of his laboured breathing rang loud in the house once he ran out of things to break. The desire to destroy something was somewhat satisfied by the sight of Malvina's room in such disarray. The First Dragonborn sat down on the broken bed and, for the first time that day, found himself surrounded by a cool sort of calm.
He examined the broken pieces of furniture all around him, the ripped leather and fur and the contents of his bags thrown so carelessly on the floor.
Paper and thin parchment covered the floor, spread out around the edge of the bed in a mess of white and black. The inkwell had been toppled over and several streams of black had started to seep into his notes.
Miraak watched the ink as it spread across the floor like spiderwebs, like corruption, and silently rose to his feet.
…
…
…
Though Brynjolf must have noticed how distracted she was while they worked together that night, he never mentioned it, not that Malvina expected him to. The Nord was nothing if not discreet, one of the many reasons he was her right-hand man and the one in charge of all Guild business in her absence.
If he could guess at the reason for why she was distracted, and since he had witnessed the way Miraak had kissed her at the inn earlier she could only assume he had some idea of what was going on, he never mentioned that either. Malvina was not a fool though, and she could read the questions in Brynjolf's eyes easily enough. She volunteered no answers, and he accepted her silence graciously.
The early morning hours found them hunched over various contracts and sorting through the books, a monumental task that would have kept them busy until the next morrow. Longer, probably, with the way that Malvina found herself unable to concentrate, her thoughts always circling back to Miraak. Miraak, who was sleeping in her bed and who had kissed her in his drunken state as if he would die if he stopped.
She had not allowed herself to spend the night with him, no matter how tempting the prospect had seemed, and she was both proud and disappointed of her ability to make the responsible decision for a change.
Of course, the Guild was important and she needed to take her Guildmaster responsibilities seriously. At the same time there was no helping the slight annoyance she felt— annoyance with herself, really— for having given up the opportunity to bed a drunk and enthusiastic Miraak, especially since there was no telling how many chances she'd get to indulge in such a way again.
'None, probably.' her more cynical side pointed out. After all, what were the chances that someone as paranoid as Miraak would allow himself to be so vulnerable in her presence not once, but twice?
The memory of how his voice had sounded against her skin when he'd said he wanted her, his voice deep and throaty and steady even with the amount of alcohol he'd had, made the Breton shift awkwardly in her seat, and suddenly there was no patience left in her for paperwork.
She wanted to get back to Honeyside and crawl into bed with Miraak and place her mouth on his throat and her hands on his skin. She wanted to feel his warmth seeping into her bones and have his long limbs tangled with hers and she didn't even care if they ended up rutting like rabbits or sleeping side by side, as long as she had his hands on her body and the sound of his heartbeat loud in her ears. Which was, of course, preposterous, but Malvina had learned to accept that her life was preposterous long before she'd started caring for someone like Miraak.
A man who had tried to kill her. Repeatedly. A man who had sent dragons after her. Also repeatedly.
(Then again, plenty of people had tried to kill her in the past.)
He'd stolen dragon souls from her and even carried her around in a wheelbarrow around Solstheim in her underclothes, for Akatosh's sake! He'd called her horrible names and never once had he given her a sincere smile, and still—
'I want you' whispered into her collarbone and bottomless black eyes daring her to back away as he kissed her in the crowded inn, bold and demanding and still not enough, and everything else suddenly didn't matter anymore.
She would crawl into bed with him even if he still wanted to put a knife to her throat, as long as there was a chance he might use his tongue and teeth instead. She knew that with unshakable conviction. And it was insane, but Malvina was in too deep to start pulling back now— so she kissed him back at the inn, and she kissed him back at the house, and she would always kiss him back—, when they were so close to the conclusion to their time together. The final chapter in the book, in so many ways. Malvina never thought that getting something she wanted could ever make her so unhappy.
"I need to go." She said, raising from her seat abruptly, and Brynjolf did not seem surprised.
"Of course, lass." He smiled easily. "Come by whenever you have some time, and let me know when you plan to leave town."
Malvina managed a tight smile and walked towards the back of the room, slipping out through the secret passage and making her way back towards the city.
She had not slept in a long while and the exhaustion should have slowed her down but Malvina was not quite human, she had not been in a long while, and so she reached Honeyside in good time. She was tired, tense, wound up, and she really did want nothing more than to sneak into bed with Miraak as soon as she closed the door behind her.
It was a silly thing to want, really; she should not have been so disappointed when she realised that Miraak was already up, the sound of his footsteps as he moved around the lower floor reaching her ears when she stopped to take off her coat and the bulk of her armour.
She was indeed tired, though, and maybe that was why she didn't notice the state of her bedroom until after she stepped through the doorway.
There were various things on the floor, some broken and some not, and the bed was empty, torn, the wooden frame split somewhere in the middle and the furs thrown haphazardly around.
It took her a few moments longer than it should have to react to the state of the house.
"Miraak?" She called out, tone something between anger and disbelief.
He didn't answer, even though she knew he must have heard her.
"Miraak, what happened to the bed?" Her voice got higher, her mood getting worse the longer she looked at the mess that used to be her bedroom. She loved that bed, damn it, and where in Oblivion was she supposed to sleep now?
The bed wasn't even the worst part, though; so many of her belongings were scattered so carelessly around. Several of her books were on the floor, and a number of pages had broken off from the covers.
The Last Dragonborn bent down to gather some of them, horrified when she found several of the books to be in very poor condition indeed.
"Miraak!"
The Breton was so distressed, so preoccupied, that she almost missed Miraak coming up the stairs, finally answering her calls.
"Dovahkiin." He said, cold and flat. Malvina might have been alarmed if she'd been paying enough attention to recognise the dark glint in his eyes, but her attention was elsewhere.
"What in Oblivion, Miraak?" She asked, not looking at him yet, pointing helplessly at the mess around her. "Did someone break into the house?" Malvina turned to face him, finally, and she was taken aback by the hardness of the other Dragonborn's expression. He looked at her with a sort of detachment Malvina did not like, a coldness she had not seen in a long while. There was a horrible stillness he wore around him like a shroud and she did not know what to make of it.
It reminded her of their interaction in Mora's endless library, of times when he was but a distant apparition. It had been so easy to forget he was even human back then, with the way he always wore that stupid mask to hide his face and the distance he liked to keep between them. She didn't like it.
Malvina did not want distance between them. She would rather have the violent proximity of him under her. Like the night before, and like that night so long ago when they first clashed in glorious battle, with magic and weapons and not just words, in Hermaeus Mora's realm.
She remembered that first fight so clearly, that first time the shape of him had registered as something solid and corporal. Something had started to shift, in that moment when she'd held him down on the stone floor of Apocrypha, her dagger at his throat, and she had seen him as a man made of flesh and bone for the first time. Oh, how strongly she'd wanted to kill him then. She'd only barely managed to ignore the instinct to claim his soul for herself, to pierce his skin and watch him bleed out under her. She'd wanted her book, after all, and killing him would have destroyed everything.
She had wanted other things, too. To rip into his armour and bare his skin to her hungry eyes. To touch him and bruise him and press him down into the hard floor with the weight of her body. To force him into carnal submission. To hear him scream until his voice failed him.
The unexpected thoughts pulled Malvina out of the daze of her memories, confused and agitated, because she hadn't been wanting such things even then, had she?
She shivered, shaking the thought away.
"I assure you that no one broke into the house, Dovahkiin." Miraak said curtly. "You would have seen the bodies."
Malvina managed a wiry smile and tried not to let him see how dry her throat had suddenly become.
"Funny." She said, though they both knew he was being serious.
Miraak did not smile but there was a spark of emotion— something intense and fleeting and she thought it might have been anger— in his eyes. "You didn't come home last night."
Malvina furrowed her brows, not quite sure what to say to that. "Surprising as it might seem, Miraak, I am aware of that." She pointed out, stepping further into the room. For the time being, she stopped insisting about what happened to the bedroom; she already had an idea about who might have been responsible for that mess.
"And how was your outing?" He asked next, his face blank, disturbingly calm.
"Long." Malvina said, feeling rather confused and cautious. "Haven't slept much." It was, evidently, the wrong thing to say, if the ancient man's reaction was anything to go by.
Miraak made a quiet sound of displeasure, and looked at her with cold anger. "I do not doubt it."
He scanned the room with his eyes briefly, not moving a muscle and not saying a word. If she didn't know better she would have thought he looked bored— except that Malvina did know better, and she could read the displeasure behind the stern line of his mouth.
"Spit it out, then." She told him, quickly running out of patience.
"Excuse me?"
"What is going on? Come on, Miraak, don't play stupid. It doesn't go well with your complexion."
He didn't respond, his eyes flashing a darker black for a moment. The next thing she knew, Miraak had crossed the room in a few large steps and she could feel his breath fanning her face.
Malvina swallowed dryly.
"Where were you?" He asked with a growl, stressing each word greatly.
"I had business to attend to, I told you-"
"Oh, yes, business. Is that what you call it in this century? Did you and Brynjolf-" He spat out the name. "- manage to reach a mutually satisfactory agreement, or did he leave you wanting?" His tone was mocking, and the harsh undercut of anger carried through in the way Miraak's shoulders tensed and his eyes practically glowed with fury.
"What are you implyin-"
"Do not play stupid, Dovahkiin." He threw her words back at her. "It suits you even less than your shamelessness." He sneered. He'd started leaning in sometime during their argument, and his face was so close Malvina was briefly distracted by the movements of his mouth. She did not startle when he grabbed both of her forearms and brought her even closer. That was not the reason her heart was suddenly thudding loudly in her chest.
"I am not playing-"
"Do not take me for a fool!" He interjected coldly, and Malvina glared at him.
"Stop interrupting me!" She warned him, annoyance in her voice.
Miraak met her eyes, his lips twisted in an ugly frown. "I told you!" He snarled, his voice imbued with ancient power. Malvina could feel his whole body vibrate, close enough to touch but not touching yet, and it made her dizzy for a moment. "I told you I wanted you!" His breath was hotter than ever on her cheeks. "I should have known you would do such a thing."
Malvina found herself growing as angry as he was, fed up with how strange he was acting. "That I would do what? What? What in Oblivion did I do?"
It took her by surprise when he crashed his mouth onto hers, and she had to wonder if it would always catch her by surprise when he decided to kiss her. It was not a gentle kiss, and it took her breath away. "This." Miraak whispered fervently against her lips. He kissed her again, this time placing his mouth lower, leaving a mark on her throat. "And this." He bit down on her shoulder. "And this." His eyes were burning when he lifted his gaze from her trembling chest.
"And I can only assume a lot more."
His hands held her steady, one of them around her middle and one digging into her backside. Malvina might have enjoyed it immensely, if it weren't for her lingering confusion and anger.
"I am sure you've done this-" He grabbed her braid and tilted her head back to look her in the eye, and paused only to kiss her neck once, his teeth scrapping at the skin and making her tremble. She was sure to have a bruise there the next day. "-too. Though I see Brynjolf did not do it very well. He did not even leave a mark." Miraak pressed her firmly against the length of his body and tried to kiss her mouth again, but his words finally registered, and she pulled away. This, he'd said. He thought she had done this. With Brynjolf.
Malvina let out a shaky breath, looked him straight in the eyes, and slapped him.
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