You have made a grave mistake, Dovahkiin. The quiet air hung over the pair like a shroud, the hush of Solstheim making the entire forest feel both too vast and too cramped at the same time. Squall felt a chill crawl up her back. She shuddered under her cloak, wrapping the furs closer to her, eyes cast down to avert Miraak's piercing gaze.
"I know that," she shifted uncomfortably, causing the leaves she knelt upon to crackle like the sky before an upcoming storm. Despite her many moons on Nirn, spent both valiantly and sheepishly, Squall now wore the expression of a child just caught stealing from a brother.
Not that she couldn't justify her actions: just not to him, he who, as far as Squall could tell had no reverence for the unnecessarily heroic, the stupid yet noble. What could she say? 'It was the right thing to do?' As if that could make any semblance of sense to a tyrant. Right thing to do. Was it even?
Miraak tried to rise to his feet, but stumbled, hand still grasped around his middle. Squall inched away. The look under the man's golden mask was one that Squall had seen before, in sabre cats forced into too small cages and in bears she had shot down but not yet delivered a killing blow to.
Miraak fell with a sickening groan. His voice was less frightening outside of Hermaeus Mora's realm. It no longer echoed and reverberated in Squall's ears. It was quieter, even- if she could dare to say it- more human.
"I thought the restoration magic worked," Squall whispered as she stared into the flames.
"Hermaeus Mora," Miraak tried to stand again, this time barely even lifting his chest before collapsing again into a huddled pile of dark robes. "He's coming to kill me."
Squall's blood froze. "No- no he's not," she stammered. She glanced into the depths of the woodland. "He let me go."
"Let you go?" Miraak's voice dropped to a low, hushed tone. "Impossible."
Squall shuddered and coughed, the dry air stinging her throat. "We're here now. I don't know what to tell you."
"He's planning something."
Squall drew a harsh breath. "That's a problem for another day," she rasped. She didn't want to admit that her muscles ached and her brain grew foggy from weariness. She was still shaking.
"You foolishness does not surprise me, Dovahkiin," Miraak growled. Once again, he tried to rise in vain, movements quick and frantic. "I have to get out of here."
Squall paused for a moment, then dug into the makeshift knapsack she had strapped to her waist, pulling out another healing tonic.
"Here."
Miraak looked up at her. "What is this?"
"Health potion." Hesitantly, Miraak reached out and took it.
He inspected the bottle. "This would be a fantastic way to poison me."
Squall snorted. "Please. I'm not that clever."
A hint of a chuckle could be heard from Miraak's mask as he uncorked the bottle. Suddenly, he froze. "I, uh-"
"Right. The mask."
"Look away."
"So you can what, stab me in the back?"
Miraak frowned. "I would not be so dishonorable to pull such a cowardly move."
"I doubt that," Still, Squall averted her gaze, fidgeting with a stray thread on her tunic.
Her ears perked up as she heard the hard thump of metal against dirt, along with a harsh gasp. Squall shuddered as she remembered the howl of a dragon's soul being ripped from its body during her fight with Miraak, the lightning that scorched her flesh, the sickening crack that rung through her ears as she was slammed against an archway.
What was she doing? In a swift moment of blunt thoughtlessness, Squall looked up.
She bit down on her tongue to stifle a scream.
His face was unearthly. He was young (or certainly appeared to be younger than a few thousand years), but frighteningly pale, like a ghost. It was all sharp angles and shadows, framed by a mess of dark hair and stubble, spread thin on his jawline. His left eye was a deep, rich brown: his right, a flickering ensemble of several shades of green. Squall may consider it beautiful, if it wasn't framed by a dark blotch, as black as night, that spiraled out across his face, making its way down his neck as thin veiny webbing. Like lightning had struck and left its remnants to grow, like roots of the tallest oak.
Miraak caught her gaze and froze. Squall immediately glanced away, cheeks burning.
"Sorry," she mumbled.
Miraak said nothing, letting the deafening silence eat her up as he drank the potion. Finally, after minutes of only listening to the wind whisper through the now darkening sky, Squall heard him rise. She looked back, noting that Miraak had put his mask back on.
"It's getting dark," she noted as she stood up and lazily started stamping out the fire she had made. "We need to get off this island." Squall was dangerously exhausted, her head spinning and vision blurring with every movement, but she had to keep moving. Miraak's words about Hermaeus Mora hunting the pair of them down had stuck in her mind, flooding her thoughts with gruesome images and horrific flashbacks.
"We?" Miraak crossed his arms.
Squall bit back a hiss. "Like I would dare to leave you to ravage this land."
"Like you could stop me."
Squall frowned. The thought had occurred to her once or twice that Miraak was still dangerous, immensely powerful and now, thanks to Squall, unfettered from his prison.
"I suppose I could not," she replied. "But I doubt you could find your way out of this forest."
"Are you going to guide me?" Miraak scoffed.
"Please," Squall rolled her eyes. "I'm a foreigner to these parts as well."
She began collecting her things, shrugging on her armor and heaving her warhammer onto her back.
"However," she said. "I would rather make sure you're not brainwashing the locals."
"Then why free me in the first place?"
Squall's ears flattened. "Perhaps I have a merciful spirit."
"Mercy is not the way of the dov."
"Then you are rather lucky that I am not the 'true Dragonborn'."
There was a long pause.
"I was never naive enough to truly think that," Miraak said. He began slowly walking into the depths of the woodland.
"Your cultists, on the other hand-" Squall reluctantly followed him, straying a few yards behind.
"I told my cultists what they wanted to hear."
"You lied to them."
"It's unfortunate you have such an honorable spirit. I almost thought you wished to split the glory of ruling Solstheim."
"I have enough glory of my own already," Squall glared at the First Dragonborn.
"Yet hardly enough sense."
"You're going the wrong way."
Miraak turned around.
"You're looking for a boat back to Skyrim, right? Raven Rock is to the west. Right now, we're going north," Squall pointed towards the sky. "See that cluster of stars, the ones that seem to form an archer? We have to follow that." She began trudging in that general direction, steps determined yet weak and burdened down with exhaustion and her warhammer, ears pointed forward yet head still turned, one eye peering at Miraak.
"Looks more like a horse to me," he grumbled, beginning to trek in her direction.
They walked in silence. Squall was thoroughly unbothered by this fact: her limbs ached enough as it was, all squabbling aside. She tried her best to not look back: instead keeping herself focused on the wilderness that encompassed them both: wholly untouched by man or mer alike, the fresh air wound around her, giving newfound energy to every breath she took. The frosty leaf litter that had strewn itself on the ground made a hearty crunch in response to her footsteps, a sound that mingled well with the chattering of the birds and mournful cry of the wolves. The darkness of night now fully enveloped her, a shroud that she welcomed with open arms. Her night vision had given the entire world a slightly bluish tint, like she was looking through a fragment of shattered glass. The dark also gave her an upper hand: Miraak only had the slight brush of moonlight and the small storm of flames he had conjured in his palm to guide him.
"I used to study constellations as well," a soft voice shattered the silence. Squall almost turned around. "But I couldn't find much use for them."
She said nothing.
"It's easy to forget their names and faces," he said. "Especially after-" His voice trailed off.
"Right," she whispered. She found herself shutting her eyes, for just a second, to hide the world away: like she was a kitten again, who believed that she could force reality to pause between each blink.
There's probably a Shout for that. Squall shook her head.
They marched on.
"You would have done the same," Miraak finally said.
Squall stopped. "What?"
"If our roles had been reversed. If you were there trapped. You would have done the same."
"Perhaps," Squall sighed. She drew a deep breath. "If our roles had been reversed. However," her voice wavered, each syllable stinging her throat. She could feel her knees buckling, her armor digging into overburdened and weary flesh. Just a few more steps. "Would you?"
"Done what?" Miraak replied. "Save you? Probably not."
A shadow of his voice rang through Squall's ears. Mercy is not the way of the dov.
"That's unfortunate," she croaked, and then promptly fainted.