I know that this is very bad fashion, but please, if you enjoy an authors' work, please let them know. Be it through a comment, a private message, by showing things to your friends- this is what keeps some of us going. I am sorry for this little preface, but it felt necessary.

"Atmoran blood, born for the sea, you say?" Vahlok was obviously mocking him and by now, Miraak fully regretted claiming that nothing would be more natural to him than spending days and weeks on a ship. If the passage to Solstheim has been this terrible the last time too, then he must have forgotten about it quite formidably. They left the island this morning, along with many other visitors who had come to Solstheim for the funeral of Highpriest Dukaan. The sun would soon set and Miraak had spent the past eternities [= hours] bent over a wooden bucket in their cabin under deck, hoping that he would not throw up the meager meal he dared having despite the terrible nausea that got him a few hours after setting sail.
Maybe he had been too generous with himself last evening. A great banquet in honour of those who would leave for Bromjunaar for the great elections of the next Highpriest and of course, it was mainly dedicated to Miraak and Vahlok, the acolytes of the deceased Dukaan. Someone outside the predecessor's circle of acolytes was only a rare exception, such as when none of the candidates was deemed appropriate. A rare exception and Miraak was confident that the honours were his already.

"Just shut up if you have nothing useful to say," he groaned and Vahlok took him by the upper arm, trying to drag up the massive body of his nauseous friend. "You know, I heard people feel much better on ships when they are under free sky at least," he said and Miraak just nodded, his arm still wrapped around the wooden bucket as if he feared letting go of it. Well, he really miscalculated how well he took to the sea.

The fair wind was freezingly cold but it felt good. It stung on his face like a thousand needles and he soon felt numbness settling on his skin as he put down the bucket and went over to the guardrail instead. What a feeling! The nauesea was quickly replaced by an elating feeling of... he was not quite sure, but it felt wonderful. "I feel... free. Is this what flying is like? Above the clouds, with nothing but the wind as your companion?", he asked and cast a furtive glance at his friend who stood next to him. Vahlok had pulled up the hood and put on the generic mask of an acolyte just to protect his face from the cold. Miraak would have liked to do that as well, but if he couldn't handle the sea, he had to be able to handle the cold at least.

Miraak tried to spend as much time on deck as possible- leaving him in a state of perpetual cold, even when lying down in the cabin, wrapped in blankets and trying not to throw up. The voyage to the coast of Skyrim was very long, they would not be taking the road but rather sail to Filokaaz. Maybe visit the temple of Vokun who died about ten years ago. His successor was yet to attain real fame beyond the mere fact that he had been elected highpries. Vahlok had accompanied Dukaan to both the funeral and the elections at Bromjunaar afterwards.

While he did not show it as openly as Alina did, Miraak felt great excitement at the thought of Bromjunaar- the capital of the northern provinces indeed. The centre of culture, religious worship, science, trade, slavery and anything that could be called 'fashionable'. It was general consensus that one had to visit it at least once in their life- if not for the worship in the lavish temples, then at least for all the other blessings of civilization.

"So... shall we join the pitfights? I shoot lightning, ice and fire at them while you keep everyone at a good spellcasting distance?"

The two men were on deck and the harbour of Filokaaz was already in sight. Miraak could barely wait to set his feet on solid ground and he sluggishly glanced at his friend who seemed completely unbothered by the constant, nauseating swaying of the ship. It was difficult to look at him after nearly two weeks of such a miserable state and after what happened in the greenhouse the evening before they left...
His somber thoughts were swept away once he felt Vahlok's hand on his shoulder. He repeated the suggestion a second time and Miraak finally shook his head. The pitfights... of course, an easy way to impress people. The following week would be hell, they knew it, for it was all down to impressing as many people as possible, trying to convince the electoral sovereigns [= the other highpriests] who would be the better candidate. They were rivals now... and knowing that magic was valued much among the priests, Miraak knew that he would not do himself a favour by swinging a sword instead of wielding fireballs and a staff.

"You know, I really would not risk getting wounded," he said and Vahlok furrowed his brows. Such an amount of care and thought was unusual for his friend who usually just thirsted for an occasion to prove himself to as many people as possible. Of course, both thought in similar ways: Vahlok, being the better mage, would have an advantage when it came to how impressive he could be. Miraak knew that he would sweep everyone off their feet with his charisma and there was no need to lessen this effect by playing bimbo for his rival. He was above that. Vahlok decided to drop the matter and awkward silence settled between them.

The heavy smell of lilies and roses that only survived in the artificial heat of the greenhouse. Air was sweet and heavy and clouded mind and judgement. Everything bathed in pale moonlight, nearly ethereal. Like a dream, white skin under his fingers. Mind dull and numb from drunken happiness and blissful serenity of soul. Forbidden fruits will always be the sweetest of all. Nervous chuckles, innocence and sin at his fingertips. So easy. Nausea. Breathing was heavy in the thick, moist ear full of roses and lilies and the faint scent of violets on white skin. Broken magic as the beloved lilies received most unusual manure. It was better that way, he told himself and felt upset regret. Something felt incomplete now.

"Are you awake, Master?"
Miraak opened his eyes to stare up into a vaguely familiar face. One of the slaves, falmer, he couldn't keep them apart without much focus. He nodded, feeling nauseous. Decided to lie down for a while before the ship finally docked. Hellish piece of wood, riding all the way along Skyrim's coast would have taken longer but certainly would have been more merciful to his stomach. He sat up with a low groan and sat on the edge of the bed for a few seconds, hunched over and he noticed the bucket in the slave's hands as if they both had the same thought. Only a dismissive gesture of the right hand. No need. Just a few more minutes, he hoped.

"The ship has docked," the slave explained and already handed Miraak his thick coat. It would be very cold outside. Finally! As if the prospect of leaving the ship filled him with new life, he put on the coat quickly and already scurried out of the cubicle he shared with Vahlok. Outside, he was welcomed by icy wind and noise. Seagulls, the waves swashing against the ship, countless voices in different languages. Falmeris. Dwemeris. Dovahzul. Commontongue. Miraak stepped forward and joined Vahlok by the prow. Filokaaz belonged to the larger human settlements of Skyrim, dominated by the Skyhaven Temple in which Vokun himself had been buried some years ago.
"I can't wait to have solid ground under my feet again," Miraak sighed, quietly relieved because this damnable journey was finally over. He did not look forward to the way back. Vahlok just grinned, from ear to ear, but he had the decency not to tease his friend even further because of his seasickness.

"Then let's go. The way to Bromjunaar is not short either. I bet we will have lots of fun there before things get serious... Miraak?"
"Hm?" He glanced at Vahlok as they still stood by the guardrail idly. All passengers would have to be registered first. Some more minutes of calm.
"No matter what happens and no matter who will be elected in the end... we'll stay friends, right?"
Such an odd question and Miraak suddenly remembered how much they hated each other at first. He used to think that Vahlok was terribly boring and unintersting and somewhat stupid because he had not the same prodigious talent that made everything so... easy. In turn, Vahlok always thought that Miraak was incredibly arrogant, an annoying know-it-all who thought he could boss around everyone else. Eventually, they had settled their differences some way. At one point, they agreed to never mention the incident at the lake that set the first stone for more amical relations. Miraak thought about the question for a few seconds.

"Don't worry. I won't take off and think I'm above being friends with you once I'm Highpriest."
Vahlok just rolled his eyes while his friend turned around to leave the ship first.