A/N: [Please not that this fic has been crossposted from Ao3.]
Alright so I'm gonna begin by saying that it's been a while since I've written a fanfiction. Like... a Long While. Also, this is my first Skyrim Fanfiction, so I really don't have any idea What The Fuck I'm Doing.
I wrote this assuming that anyone reading it has already played the Dragonborn DLC, so I don't go that in-depth with explaining all of the logistics of the quest Squall is on. If you haven't played the DLC yet, spoilers... I guess.
I barely edited this (bc I'm a dumbass) so I hope there aren't any glaring grammatical issues. If there are, please feel free to sneak into my house and teach me How To English before it's too late. I'm a visual learner, so please make a PowerPoint or two.
Also, the title is based on the song "Day is Coming" by Katie Kim, which I totally didn't listen to on repeat while writing this. (But actually, I was seriously inspired by rotomtoms' Dragonborn playlist to write this fic, and I strongly encourage anyone who enjoys anything to check it out right...
user/rotomtoms/playlist/7uRxEUVdED1GMetYreHWyh?si=s4-SrhKGSnGymuMKV-noNw
... here.)
Alright that's it! Clout is Much Appreciated.
Squall was beginning to tire of Apocrypha.
Not physically- no matter how hard she fought or how long the hours seemingly passed, her senses remained sharp, her instincts quick to react to even the softest rustle of paper or lapping of deep black waters. She had no idea if her unfaltering energy was a side effect of Hermaeus Mora's plane, or if she was simply chock-full of adrenaline: some combination of the two seemed to be the most reasonable explanation.
However, despite the endurance of her limbs, her mind was foggy, each thought seeming to disappear before she could comprehend its meaning. The place was a maze of bookshelves and inky pools of sludge she dared not touch: no matter what turns she made, it felt like Squall was walking in circles. She promised herself to never complain of the endless woods of Skyrim she often found herself lost in ever again. At least there, she could find her way home using the stars above as her guide. Here, there was nothing: only the faint chuckling of the Daedric prince of knowledge, mocking her as she watched.
How long had it been since she opened Waking Dreams, transporting herself to this damned realm? The tears that stung the corners of her eyes had long dried, but Frea's panicked voice still reverberated in the back of her mind, as she crouched helplessly over the body of her father. Kill Miraak. Do not fail. Squall could say little to comfort the woman then. She froze as Frea sobbed into Storn's corpse, his body riddled with bloody holes, reminders of the Daedra's cruelty. Dealing with the dead, she had found, was easy. Dealing with the survivors was less so.
The tentacles that had stabbed Storn now lashed out at her in this dreaded pain of existence, sharp pain erupting from where they slapped her legs. One even wrapped tightly around her tail, trying to drag her into the watery depths from where it came. Squall screamed, fire emitting from her hands as she scorched the slimy assailant. Luckily, it relented and Squall stayed far away from the waters of Apocrypha for the rest of her journey.
A deep pang of worry settled inside her chest, one that took her muddled mind to its advantage. You are not right for this job. Squall may be the Dragonborn, yes, but hardly anything else gave her the qualifications to embark on such a perilous task. She was a foreigner, both to Solstheim and Skyrim, and obviously so. Her catlike appearance kept her from truly assimilating: the only other Khajiit she had seen so far were mostly from caravans, which were barred from entering the city. Many a night had been wasted as she tried to convince city guards to let her in, that she was just an adventurer, not out to deal Skooma or steal their riches. Of course, "just an adventurer" was a lie, but she tried to keep her Dragonborn status only to herself. She didn't need any more attention in her life.
Still, news of her dragon soul leaked out to the public, especially after the defeat of Alduin. She was a defender of Skyrim, perhaps all of Tamriel, whether she liked it (or saw herself fit for it) or not. And so, she was fated to serve its people.
Even her remarkable slaying of the World-Eater could not have been done without help from ancient Nord heroes. Here, she was alone, with little guidance besides a shout to bend will and one final goal: to defeat Miraak, plague upon Solstheim.
Squall was terrified.
Hermaeus Mora now sought her out as the next champion, whether she liked it or not. She had to make the deal, not even knowing of the Daedra's intentions. What did he want from her? It felt like stumbling blindly into a bear trap. Was her fate to rot in Apocrypha, like Miraak? Would she be corrupted like him, and come to conquer Solstheim? Just how much of herself would she lose in her quest to defeat the First Dragonborn?
Apocrypha provided no answers. Only the occasional Seeker greeted her, and was then abruptly silenced with a swing of Squall's warhammer. At least they were easy to take down: still, Squall had no time for games. Yet, she felt like she was becoming the pawn in one.
Finally, a pillar emitting a strange green light greeted Squall at the end of a long, twisted hallway. The worst part of Apocrypha was the way it moved: how pathways twitched and spun and unraveled in the tepid air. Apocrypha was warm, but not like the pleasant sands of Elsweyr. The humidity was oppressive, leaving Squall's palms clammy and the tunic under her armor damp with sweat.
The spacious room was mostly open air, except for the aforementioned center pillar, which was surrounded by four pedestals and of horde of Seekers. Cursing, Squall let out a Shout, throat buzzing from the draconic words that leapt from her maw and reverberated against the many piles of books around her: Krii Lun Aus- Kill, Leech, Suffer. The Seekers staggered backwards in pain, weakened by the Shout. Squall drew her glass warhammer: an unorthodox weapon for her race, as many Khajiits resorted to their stealthiness and the dagger. She charged at the three nightmarish creatures, trying not to flinch at the spells each one hurled at her, which caused gashes to grow on her skin. She swung at the first one in vain. The Seeker had evaded her attack, transforming into a cluster of thick black mist. Trying to ignore her dwindling strength, Squall swung again, the face of her hammer now burying itself into the grotesque middle of the Seeker to her left, causing the creature to fold upon itself, its flesh disintegrating. The center Seeker was still invulnerable, so Squall directed her attention to the beast on her right. Another strong blow to its middle caused it to crumble. While she recovered from the swing, the center Seeker forced the warhammer out of her hands. Squall's eyes widened as the creature descended upon her. Her eyebrows furrowed. Very well, she thought, as her hands lit up in a deadly blaze.
The Seekers defeated, Squall could finally turn her attention to the rest of the room. The four pedestals were without books, the tome on the center was closed. Squall drew a deep breath and fumbled for her knapsack. She had collected any books that seemed exclusive to Apocrypta, curiosity getting to her. She had meant to read them later in order to learn more about the realm of the Daedric prince she was now champion of, but, with further inspection, it appeared that they had an entirely different use.
The pedestal with the eye was for Prying Orbs, the one with the tentacles, Boneless Limbs. And so forth. It felt like Hermaeus Mora was mocking her.
The Bend Will Shout had come in handy, much to Squall's relief. (She would later have to tell Frea that her father's death was not in vain.) After using it on Miraak's servant, the dragon Sahrotaar, he praised her mastery of the thu'um and agreed to take you to Miraak. "But I must warn you," Sahrotaar had said, serpentine tongue flitting in and out of his fangs. "Miraak is strong, and he knows you are here."
Squall had only ridden a dragon one other time, during her trip to Sovngarde's portal upon the back of Odahviing. She remembered bracing the harsh winds of Skyrim as she gripped onto the mighty dragon's great horns with the unbridled joy of feeling free of gravity for the first time, despite the severe purpose of that journey. Her ride was Sahrotaar was much more tense. There were no winds in Apocrypta: the same murky air that stifled her on the ground hung in the air. Sahrotaar flew unsteadily: as if the dragon was debating whether or not to plunge into the waters of Apocrypta, ending this entire ordeal. Squall could hear him worryingly murmur under his breath as he drew closer to Miraak's presence. Her own demeanor did little to quell his anxieties, as her ears fell flat upon her head and her fur bristled under her heavy ebony armor.
Squall lost the element of surprise. As she approached a horrifying plateau embellished with dark arches and spikes (all reminiscent of Hermaeus Mora's tentacles) a deep voice called out. "Sahrotaar, are you so easily swayed?" The dragon paused, hovering in mid-air. Land, Squall commanded. Despite his wishes to do otherwise, he obeyed.
Miraak was flanked by three more dragons, each gruesome in his own nature, as they hovered above their master, desperate for blood. Squall could hear the beginnings of a shout form in one of the beasts' throats, and drew her weapon appropriately. She grew still as Miraak dismissively waved the dragon aside.
"No. Not yet," the man's face was unreadable under his mask, his voice a powerful echo that shook Squall to her core. "We should greet our guest first."
Squall took a step back as Miraak began walking towards her. "And the First Dragonborn meets the Last Dragonborn at the summit of Apocrypha. No doubt just as Hermaeus Mora intended."
Squall frowned. "You-"
Miraak ignored her. "He is a fickle master, you know. But now I will be free of him. My time in Apocrypha is over. You are here in your full power, and thus subject to my full power. You will die."
Squall sneered. "You know nothing of my fate."
Miraak tensed up then, voice hollow and as mournful as it was fierce. "Your fate has been written out for you the moment you stepped into this realm, Dovahkiin. Hermaeus Mora is laughing at us, you know."
No matter how much Squall wanted to deny this, she could hear it: a faint, otherworldly chuckle surrounded both of them.
And with that, the battle begun.
Squall would like to think she fought honorably. She did not. Neither of the Dragonborns did. She darted in and out of columns that littered their battleground, using her Thu'um to weaken the first. She dropped her warhammer, realizing that its weight only made her slower, and that it would be nearly impossible to get closer to Miraak without him landing a fatal blow upon her. Instead, she went on the sneaky defensive: hands alight and spewing flames at almost any chance Miraak lost sight of her.
"Hiding is beneath you, Dragonborn," Miraak sneered as one of his Shouts, Yol Toor Shul, sent her reeling behind yet another pillar. Squall did not care. She could begin to see his patience- and his strength- fading. Finally, while Squall crouched behind an archway, she saw Miraak still. Finally! Here's your chance! Squall thought as she drew a single ebony dagger, ready to deliver a final blow. Miraak, however, had other plans.
"Kruziikrel, ziil los dii du!" Squall watched in horror as the dragon closest to her fell, its body making a loud thud as it hit the ground. Miraak devoured its soul greedily.
Squall shivered. That felt beneath him.
The fight continued. Squall stuck to her guns: she continued attacking from the shadows. Miraak took another dragon soul, than another, until the two were alone (apart from the watchful gaze of Hermaeus Mora).
Squall knew what she had to do. "Wuld Nah Kest!" she screamed.
Miraak turned his head in confusion, but she was gone. Rushing directly past him, utilizing the great speed her Shout granted him, Squall grasped her warhammer and charged. Miraak raised his hands, a great bolt of lighting hitting her in the stomach, but she continued running, legs still in motion as she tried to bite back pain.
Weapon raised above her, she leapt, ready for her warhammer to deal a devastating final blow.
It did not.
"Fus Ro Dah!" Miraak's Shout blew Squall back, her body slamming against a pillar with a sickening squelch.
"You are strong," Miraak chided. "Stronger than I believed possible."
Squall closed her eyes, focusing on letting her restoration magic heal her.
Miraak drew closer. "This is the only way, Dragonborn," he drew his sword. "The only way I can be free."
Squall's eyes widened to see the First Dragonborn storm closer, oblivious to the rising mass of tentacles behind him.
"Wait," she croaked. "Miraak-"
He turned sharply in horror. The mass descended upon him at once, dragging him towards a pit of tar-black waters as he thrashed against Hermaeus Mora's grip.
Squall wobbled to her feet. "What are you doing?" she whispered.
"Did you think you could escape me, Miraak?" A booming voice said. "You can hide nothing from me here. No matter."
A grotesque tentacle rose from the inky liquid, stabbing the First Dragonborn straight through the stomach.
Squall screamed, visions of Storn and Frea dancing in her head.
Hermaeus Mora laughed as Miraak grew limp. "No matter," the Daedric prince murmured. "I have found a new Dragonborn to serve me."
Squall glanced down at the warhammer that lay between her and the horrors before her. Then, without warning, her legs rushed into action.
A guttural, inhuman screech came from the skies above as Squall bashed the warhammer into Hermaeus Mora's tentacle, reducing a portion of it to a slick and ragged pulp. Miraak fell with a slosh into the liquid beneath him.
"Traitor!" the Daedric prince screamed.
The rest happened in a daze. Squall remembered grasping Miraak underneath the shoulders and heaving him out of the acidic pool. The wound in him was deep- so deep, Squall could see entirely through him, a vision that churned her stomach.
"You dare defy me, Dragonborn?" Hermaeus Mora howled. "You will pay for this!"
Squall was barely listening. Get the Black Book, her mind screeched. Get the Black Book, and get the Oblivion out of here!
Fumbling through her knapsack, she pulled out the darkened tome and flipped it open, keeping one arm curled around Miraak.
A single green eye opened up on the pages.
"Perhaps," a hushed tone surrounded Squall. "I will let you go this time, deceitful champion. I admire your cleverness. But," Several tentacles began protruding from the corners of Waking Dreams, "do not see this as a victory, Dragonborn. See this as mercy… Or perhaps," Hermaeus Mora chuckled. "Perhaps a warning."
And with that, the lukewarm air of Apocrypta vanished.