Hey, anyone who is interested. :)
Long time no see...well, let us say that life hit me hard and not at all in a nice way. Depression is a b.
Decided to post what I have (not as much as I'd like ,because I have been endlessly rewriting and then getting art blocks again), in hopes that maybe that way I might get to finish the last book. No regular updates for these. When I get something, I'll put it up. Maybe there will be some other stories as well, because I found out my brain likes to switch tasks.
And I have two brewing in my head already. Sigh.
Hope you'll enjoy :)
XXX
Bernadette woke to silence. No, not complete silence, she could hear Miraak's breathing. She could feel it too, since they were crowding a single bed. Nestled into her, his head was resting against her neck.
She gently caressed his back, marked by many thin scars.
He looked so harmless. He seemed almost small and in need of protection.
She had to scoff at herself. In need of protection, harmless, ha! He could kill anyone with a flicker of his wrist. She felt an unreasonable rush of pride at that thought.
Yea. That's my man.
Wait. What?
She sighed into the pillow. Yes, Zura was, again, right. She spared a thought for wise grandmothers and wondered for a while how her life would look like if she had had a wise grandmother.
So now that she admitted how she felt to herself...what to do with it?
Mara preserve her…
Did he feel the same way about her?
He had to have some affection for her, some bond. That much was clear...but was it...love? Or something else?
Just ask him.
Why did she imagine those words in Zura's voice?
"What on Nirn is bugging you?" Miraak's voice, muffled by sleepiness and her neck, found its way to her ears. "You're as restless as a bored child."
She reddened. "I didn't mean to wake you, sorry."
He shifted to find a more comfortable position. "But you did. So what's grating at you, hm?"
"Um...stuff. Stupid things. I was wondering what life would be like if I had a grandmother. I mean, grandmother that lived with us. Father's mother died before I was born...and mom surely had a mom too, but I've never met her, because she was probably a witch, one of those that chased my mom away because she healed father and...I'm sure you don't want to hear this."
"Why wouldn't I?"
"Because...it's boring stuff?"
"No," he chuckled, "boring stuff would be listening to someone listing their lineage the way it was written in some of the books I found in Apocrypha."
"You read those?" she wondered, her eyebrows shooting up.
"Better than watching the sky," he grumbled. He shivered and pressed even closer to her.
She started caressing his back again and kissed the top of his head. "Don't think about that place. You're free now."
They lay in silence for a while, listening to each other's breathing.
"Yes...I am free," he finally broke the silence, "from all chains."
He was talking about the rune, she was sure of it. "What are you going to do with your freedom?" Ha. She managed to keep her voice steady.
"I don't suppose a bigger bed and more sleep is an option right now?" he sighed tiredly.
"Well, Firan probably depleted Zura's energy, so you could get a little bit more sleep," she chuckled, relief flooding in and washing her tension away. "But what am I saying, you can sleep all you want. You need to heal properly."
"No," he pulled away a little to look her in the eyes, "there's no time for that. We need to go to Solitude, as soon as possible. What I really want to do with my freedom…" he paused for a bit, his gaze darting from one of her eyes to the other and back. "For that, Alduin must be slain."
"Miraak, you need to heal. I...I don't want to…"
He struggled a bit so he could free his arm and touch her cheek. "The wound will fully heal even on the road. The priest did a good job."
"Why did you 'forget' that brigandine on the ship? It would have protected you. It would...you wouldn't…"
"It was heavy. I didn't like the way it sat on me, it made my back hurt," he grimaced. "Besides, I doubt it would stop the dagger. Or he'd simply find another spot to stab. He might have slit my throat. I had no idea he was there, he could attack as he pleased."
"He came for me," Bernadette murmured, guilt in her voice. "You were just an obstacle in the way."
"Don't you feel guilty," he frowned at her, then grinned. "I'm alive and mostly well, saved by my heroine." He kissed the tip of her nose. "You know, if not for the pain in my stomach, I would rather enjoy being carried around."
She blushed, then a mischievous grin spread across her face. "I could carry you to the other room to have breakfast," she wiggled her eyebrows.
"I think I'll pass. For now," he smirked. "But I would appreciate something to eat."
"Right. Let's get it, then. Wait, I'll change your bandages."
After that was done and they both dressed, Bernadette helped him stand up. She looked at him, smiled, then nuzzled against his cheek. "I'm glad you're alive," she whispered.
XXX
When Zura finally wandered from her room, her curly mane all poofed up and tousled, everyone else has already finished eating. Bernadette was discussing something with the Companions and Miraak, sitting alone by the fire, kept humming a tune while staring into the distance.
"Hey, look who got up!" Bernadette grinned. "Who's the one slowing us down now, hm?"
"Shut up," Zura smiled and took a bowl of porridge Bernadette had offered. "I'm not slowing anyone down. Miraak still needs to heal."
"Maybe you should tell him that. He wants to leave, like, an hour ago." With that, Bernadette turned back to Vilkas. From what Zura heard, she was making sure that the Companions would make it back to Whiterun safely on their own. With Firan joining them, that shouldn't be a problem. Not when he was interested in keeping them alive so he could cleanse them later.
She sat down next to Miraak and started eating.
"What's that song you're humming?" she asked after several spoonfuls of porridge.
"Hm?" his attention snapped back to the immediate reality. "What?"
"That's a nice tune you were humming. What is it?"
"That? It's...a lullaby," he trailed off, his eye going distant again.
"Your mother used to sing it?" Zura tried to bring him back.
"Oh? My mother- yes, yes she sang to me every night."
"Do you remember the words?"
He tilted his head, clearly hunting for memories. After a while, he started singing softly in his native tongue, an ancient form of nordic. Luckily enough, having spent a lot of time around Bernadette and ancient nordic ruins, Zura could make out the meaning as he sang.
"Sleep, sleep my child warm by the fireside, fear not the voices, from She all evil must hide, sleep safe my little star, wolven eyes see wide and far, don't in the lonely night you cry, She is here, She sings her lullaby. She will hold you when I'm gone, Her voice lead you to dawn."
As he sang more verses, the tavern grew mostly quiet. A number of local Nords stopped talking and turned their attention to him, lured in by the song performed in Miraak's exceptionally interesting voice. The rest of the patrons, wanting to know what captured the Nords' attention, slowly shifted theirs to Miraak too.
Zura had to admit he sang surprisingly well.
But there was something else in the attention he was getting. Even the other peoples having breakfast in the inn listened to his song, yet...there was something strange in the eyes of the Nords. How they perked up, how they leaned closer to catch the words, how their eyes lit up when they realized what they were hearing.
Several sets of eyes immediately went for his chest and stopped on the wolf carved amulet.
When Miraak finished the song and the buzzing of voices returned, the innkeeper found his way to him and asked something very quietly, so quietly that not even Zura's keen hearing caught the words.
Miraak looked at the man, frowned, then nodded. He stood up and followed the innkeeper to the back of the counter, where they started talking in hushed words.
Zura spotted Bernadette, looking at her questioningly. The Khajiit shrugged. This was a mystery for her too. But….she had some ideas.
XXX
After they parted with the Companions and Firan, whispering something to his boar's ears, they found their way to the shore where Sahrotaar was waiting. The dragon sat there, dipping the knuckles of his wings in the cold water, his neck arched elegantly, watching the horizon and the endless span of the northern ocean.
Once the group stopped by the dragon, Miraak put his hand on his scaly side, gently caressing his side.
Sahrotaar grumbled contentedly, acknowledging their presence. "Hail, Miraak thuri." His head didn't move, his eyes still set on the horizon. "What a beautiful sight, wouldn't you agree?"
"Safe on land? Yes, I would," Miraak chuckled. "Is something the matter, Sahrotaar?"
The dragon turned his head now, looking down at Miraak, standing by his side. "Yes, thuri. I would like to ask permission to leave you for a time. My heart pulls me across the ocean, to Atmora. I need to...see."
"See what?" Miraak asked before Bernadette or Zura could interfere.
"What he spoke about," Sahrotaar motioned his head towards the sky. All three mortals squinted their eyes - and truly, soon they could see a dot circling above them.
Sahrotaar let out a short call. The dragon in the sky answered and started to descend in wide circles. As he neared them, Miraak raised an eyebrow.
"I've met this one before. Zuldolok, if I'm not mistaken?"
Sahrotaar nodded.
"When did that happen?" Bernadette asked. "I'm sure I'd remember a dragon like that."
Zuldolok was about Sahrotaar's size. Long elegant horns with a slight curve adorned his head, and no teeth jutted out of his maw at a strange angle. His wings were much wider than Sahrotaar's, connected all the way back to his tail.
But it was his colour what captured their eyes the most. His scales were mostly blue, dark indigo fading to lighter shades on his belly, but bore intricate yellow patterns, weaving through the mass of blue like streams of sunlight.
Miraak leaned to Bernadette. "I met him during the hunt the General sent me on. He's…a most interesting creature."
When the dragon landed close by them, they could also see that his eyes, surprisingly gentle, were of lively green colour.
Zuldolok tilted his head to the side, looking at Miraak with an expression that reminded them of a grin. "Drem yol lok, Grohiik." Then he turned to Bernadette and Zura. "Greetings to you, warmaiden. And to you, most esteemed bard."
"You know us?" Zura blushed at his greeting.
"I have heard much. I grew curious after meeting cunning Grohiik, and when I could, I spoke with Sahrotaar. Both have mentioned your vocal skills, little one." He blinked slowly, his snout curling into a smile. It even looked like a smile, not a threatening snarl. How he accomplished that, remained a mystery. "I would love to have a duel of songs with you, Sonaan."
"Who are you?" Bernadette folded her arms on her chest. "And what have you been telling Sahrotaar?"
Zuldolok turned his gaze to her and chuckled. "I am a weaver of words, a storyteller, master of music and rhythm. My name, in your tongue, translates to Voice of the Sky," he raised his head proudly for the drama flair. "To your other question, Kein Vahdin, I have been imparting stories of our society. A few other dov and I gathered in Atmora after everyone else abandoned it. We had no place amongst our kin, not to speak about the horrendous dragon-cats of the lands you call Akavir."
Bernadette narrowed her eyes. "And why didn't you have a place among your kind?"
"A fair question! See, my friends and I are no warriors. We saw the use of our wonderful language, as it was in days past, as a mutilation. Just imagine….the wonders one could do with it, and they used it to argue mindlessly, to shout at each other, to tear themselves to pieces and to melt the world away!"
"So what do you do with it?"
"We speak," the dragon lowered his head and moved it closer to Bernadette. "We tell stories. We debate over things. We make poetry, we paint images so vivid the reality sometimes cannot seem to catch up. We master the flow of words and then strive for an even better one, Kein Vahdin. We build."
"So you're a society of philosophers and bards? And what's that you're calling us?"
"You could put it that way," he blinked once more. "As for the names...I am merely giving you nicknames that illustrate you well. Kein Vahdin - war maiden. Are you not a young woman with flames of war burning bright in her heart, little one? Sonaan - this word carries so much meaning, but I think with your primitive language you could use the term bard. Grohiik - means wolf."
"But...I thought dragons sought to dominate," Zura wondered.
"Ha!" Zuldolok grinned. "Grohiik asked the same! We do, Sonaan. What makes you think I do not dominate? Hm? There is no one to better sing about the beauty of the world than I!" He reared proudly, spreading his wings to show the stunning play of yellow patterns on their inner side. He lowered himself again, looking at Zura with intent. "No two creatures are exactly the same, Sonaan."
"Wow…" Zura breathed out, her eyes wide with astonishment. "You're definitely going into the book."
"I need to see, Miraak thuri," Sahrotaar entered the conversation. "If that is really true, I would wish to join."
"And I will take care of you little ones in his stead," Zuldolok nodded contentedly.
"Did you mess with him, too?" Bernadette whispered to Miraak's ear. He shook his head.
"No. He was like that already when I met him."
"Can we trust him?"
"I would never have expected to say it, but I believe we can trust the dragon," Miraak sighed.
"Pruzah!" Zuldolok hit the water with his tail, making it splash. "Now hurry up, place your great harness upon my back, so we can each depart to achieve our heart's desire!"
XXX
Zuldolok was not as fast as Sahrotaar with his sharply curved wings, but the flight was much less excruciating, since he spent a lot of time soaring on the winds. Bernadette even realized she was starting to enjoy the ride.
The dragon kept talking all the time. All the time. Luckily Zura sat at the front this time. She was listening to Zuldolok's poems, be they lyrical or epic. Most often he would recite them in dovahzul, so Zura could appreciate the beauty of the sound (Bernadette had to admit, it enraptured her, too), then he shared his own translations, striving for at least a fraction of beauty the original poem bore. And he had a lot to share. Apparently he was a traveler who spent a large amount of his timeless life flying around Nirn, which was interrupted only by his visits to Atmora to meet with his friends and colleagues every now and then. They would have a deeply intellectual debate that could span over years.
It was all extremely interesting, but Bernadette tuned it out after some time. Her attention was bound with Miraak, resting leaned against her. She was hugging him from behind, careful not to irk his wound, and making sure he would not slip if he fell asleep. Which happened once already.
Having him in her arms was extremely pleasing as it was, but she needed to sate her curiosity. She decided to disturb him.
"Miraak?"
"Mhm?"
Still sleepy, but definitely awake. Good. "What was that? In the tavern, when and after you sang? Those people seemed damn intrigued by you."
He livened up a little. "They recognized me as a priest. Apparently there are still believers of, how they called it, old faith."
He sounded excited by the idea. Bernadette smiled and nuzzled her nose against the back of his head. "Well, yes, Skyrim started to get turned to the Alessian church not that long ago, I think some two hundred years back? It was happening during, and mainly after, the Oblivion crisis. Maybe because the champion who ended it was a knight of Kynareth, and the other was a Dragonborn, like you, Martin Septim, who called upon father Akatosh to smite prince Dagon back to Oblivion."
"I was thinking...maybe I should train priests after our current goal is achieved. Build the order for each sacred animal. So the gods won't die out or disperse into the icons in your temples. I remember the rites and sacred words. I know how to read signs and speak with spirits. Maybe that was the reason I survived...all of it."
"What, saving the world is not enough for you?" Bernadette chuckled.
"I, too, have a dragon soul. Haven't you been listening to Zuldolok? A dragon must strive for the best, nothing less. Your hero sacrificed his life, I'd rather keep it to build the world into a better place," he said teasingly.
Bernadette felt her chest filling with warmth. He had plans for the future and kept his humour. She hoped that meant the visit to his tomb wouldn't end in his death by grief.
"Proud, so proud," she purred into his hair.
XXX
"I'm not wearing that," Miraak dropped the party clothes Delphine had offered him on the ground. "Besides, I don't really think it's such a great idea to have me sneak into the embassy."
"Do you have a better plan?" Delphine frowned at him.
"I do. Let's draw them all out and then Bernadette sneaks in. She can be good at it when she tries to be and she is able to fight if something goes wrong. She also won't mind working with books."
"And you would?" Delphine raised an eyebrow at him.
"Yes."
They stared at each other for a while.
"How do you want to draw them out?"
"I intend to land in front of their door with all my dragons. That ought to give them a pause."
"Are you insane?!" both Delphine and Bernadette screamed.
Miraak scolded them with a stern look. "No. The Thalmor already took notice. They will find out who the dragon rider is, sooner or later. If they're at least partially as good as you say. I'm already a stone placed on the board, we all are. From how I see it, we gain nothing by keeping me in the shadows, since it has no real benefit and won't last. But what has the benefit is the moment of surprise."
"Why not burn the embassy down, then?"
"Unwise. I don't have enough power, yet, to fight with everything, or rather outmatch most of what they have at their disposal. Not an army, not a hunting party of assassins. But I do have the means to bear the consequences of revealing myself, since I'm highly mobile, thanks to Zuldolok, and am not doing anything against the law. They have no legal right to go after me. I know that means an assassin or single justiciar can still do so. But that is a threat we are able to dispatch. Moreover, we don't know yet what they want with me. Perhaps it is to use me. Then we can play a game of deception, which may prove more useful than hiding, if played right."
"And if they decide they want to take you?"
"I think six or so dragons are going to help with that," his brows twitched in a hint of frustration, "besides, going inside and sneaking around is much more dangerous than sitting on a dragon's back."
Zura, standing a bit aside, looked at Bernadette and Delphine, then at Miraak. "I can do the sneaking part for you if the two don't agree on the plan. I think it's very reasonable. Much more than...the party sneak-in."
Bernadette's eyes darted between Miraak and Zura a few times. Then her shoulders slumped and she pinched the bridge of her nose. "Yes, it's actually a very good plan. All things considered, the first one is rather stupid. I just...I don't...I'll do it. Get the Thalmor out of the manor, I'll sneak in there and look for any mentions of dragons."
She looked at him again. "But you're not going busting the embassy looking like a vagrant. You will look like the fucking highest priest of the Wolf-Mother, Miraak, no arguments. I still have some money with me. We're going shopping."
Delphine, frowning in the background, grumbled and went to send the cart driver away.
XXX
The soldiers patrolling the walls were cold and miserable. The spring was well underway, but, having been stationed this far north and this high up in the mountains of this backwater province, they couldn't benefit from that. The wind kept howling, cooling their golden helmets and pulling at their long hair.
"And to think that those stinking humans are down there with the First ambassador, feasting and talking and….doing diplomacy and such. For days," one of the Altmer grumbled.
"That's it for you, boy. Only the robes get good things," another guard chuckled and patted the first one's shoulder. "We get to watch the very empty sky."
"It's not empty!" a third guard, up to now trying to discern whether the strange shapes in the clouds were just shadows or not. "Dragons! Fucking lot of dragons!"
"Sound the horn!"
"DRAGOOOOOOOOONS! TO ARMS! TO ARMS, DRAGOOOOONS!"
The guards sprung to action. Figures started emerging from the buildings, so few of them. The horn resounded, its clear loud voice alarming everyone not yet roused by the shouting.
The dragon at the front, elegant blue beast with huge wings, let out a roar. The other six, flying in a formation behind it, joined in.
"Why's there so bloody many?!" the guard captain screamed as she drew her bow. "I count seven! That has never happened before!"
"We're never gonna get them! We're all gonna die in here, there's so many, so many!" another guard babbled, panicking.
"Shut up! Disperse! Use your bows! They can't get the opportunity to hit more of you at once! Mages, I want you on the roofs, tear them from the sky! For the Dominion!" the captain remembered that she was a proud altmeri warrior.
The dragons, roaring so loud the very sky shook, flew over the embassy. Three of them released sprays of deathly cold frost breath, aimed at the embassy, but not meant to hurt. Arrows and a spell flew up in response, but the dragons were too high to get hit.
The First ambassador, along with her guests, walked out of her door just in time to see the formation break up. Four dragons took to circling above the embassy, three began to descend.
Elenwen narrowed her eyes. Something wasn't right.
"Don't shoot," she ordered calmly.
Two of the dragons, mighty bronzes with curved horns, landed on the sides of the small yard between the buildings with a thud, filling most of the space with their hulking bodies. A third dragon, blue with yellow markings, landed right on the roof of the main building. The wood creaked under its weight.
A man was sitting on the dragon's back.
Elenwen put the glass she was still holding into the hand of someone by her side.
The dragon sitting atop her roof snarled. Then it spoke in a deep, rumbling voice. "My master wishes to speak to the master of this house."
The dragons, circling above, roared. The bronzes on the sides of the yard both snorted and arched their necks, baring blindingly white teeth in the process. Flames gurgled in their mouths.
Hm. If they fought, the embassy would fall, that was granted. Elenwen imagined meeting the mysterious dragon master in a different setting, but she would do with what she had. She raised her head high and stepped forward, her skirt flowing around her legs with great elegance.
"I am First ambassador Elenwen, a pleasure," her eyes pierced the masculine figure on the dragon's back. "With whom am I speaking?" She couldn't see his face, Auri-El damn it. It, along with most of his figure, was covered by a heavy cloak made of black fur. He wore well made clothing, clearly nordic, lots of fur, leather and heavy red cloth.
But what inevitably drew her eye was the staff in his hand. It was a masterpiece. And dangerous, too. She felt, even at this distance, the power it was holding in, a pool to draw from, like the mage staves of ages long forgotten used to.
"Call me Grohiik thuri," the man leaned forward a bit. His voice rang through the embassy with a power that impressed Elenwen against her will. "I heard you were asking about me, First ambassador."
The dragon snarled and pointed its green gaze at Elenwen, gripping the roof with such strength the construction bent under its claws.
"Why, yes, who wouldn't be interested in a man riding dragons? Especially these days. Were you the one to release them onto the world?"
He tilted his head. "No." Then, angling the staff a little, he asked: "What do you want with me, First ambassador? I carry not the axe of Talos around my neck."
"Whom do you serve, then?"
"The Dragon God." As he said that, the dragons, all of them, burst into a cacophony of roars. Elenwen couldn't help but notice the huge, sharp teeth in their maws, revealed by this display.
She waited for the fearsome sound to die out, hoping she wouldn't fall as the ground shook under her feet. "What do you want to achieve here in...in Skyrim? Are the dragons burning it on your command?"
"No. My faithful bear no meaningless destruction on their wings. I aim to bring all of the wayward ones back on the right path."
"And what path would that be, I wonder?" Elenwen relaxed her posture, her mind grinding the wheels. There had to be a way to make this madman useful...
XXX
All eyes were on the dragons or on the conversing pair. No one noticed the scraping of a grappling hook, or the person climbing into a window left open during the initial hustle.
Bernadette huffed, squeezed through, uttered something vulgar under her breath and snuck into the office, left unattended.
There were books and papers about, neatly organised. She skimmed those laid out on the desk. Reports mostly, and some dossiers on important figures in Skyrim. She found a paper with her name on it, marking her displeasure for the Stormcloaks, training of the Riften guard and her possible ties to the dragon issue.
There was a dossier on Ulfric Stormcloak, too. But nothing more about dragons.
XXX
The basement was horrible. Almost as bad as Apocrypha.
She eyed the dead prisoner, hanging in his chains. Died during an interrogation, no doubt. Sifting carefully through the interrogator's desk, making sure things looked as untouched as possible, she soon found something interesting.
She read the dossier quickly, committing the most essential information to memory.
Someone was coming.
She put the dossier back and looked around. Yes, there was a corpse hatch there, not far from the cells. And a key hanging on a wall next to the interrogator's desk. She grabbed the key, unlocked the hatch, then returned the key back to its place and quickly made her way down the hatch, propping herself against the walls of the shaft so she wouldn't fall. She closed it just in time - as she did, she heard the creak of a door being opened.
XXX
"I think you were way too dramatic," Miraak scoffed at Zuldolok. The dragon, lying in the grass of the small clearing, chuckled.
"Grohiik, nothing is ever 'too dramatic.' Besides, the little ones were enraptured, were they not? I doubt anyone paid any heed to what was transpiring outside our great performance."
"Let's hope so," Miraak grumbled. "Still no sign of her?"
Zura, sitting on a tree stump, shook her head.
Miraak sighed and laid down carefully.
"And how you waved around the term 'the Dragon God,' Grohiik, that was hilarious. I had a hard time preventing my bursting out laughing."
"Are you alright, Miraak?" Zura's face appeared above him after a while.
"Yes, just...tired. The belt was so uncomfortable, squeezing my hurting parts."
"Someone approaches," Zuldolok raised his head. His nostrils flared as he tried to catch a scent. "Ah, the lady of the hour is here."
A shrub rustled moments later and Bernadette stomped out of it.
"Berni!" Zura perked up. "By Dibella, am I glad to see you! How did it go?"
Bernadette grimaced. "I'm cold and covered in troll blood. Maybe shit. Perhaps some decomposed corpses. And, as expected, I have absolutely NOTHING on dragons. Nothing sensible, at least. The Thalmor think the Blades did it, and are hunting for some Esbern. Guess where he's hiding? Riften."
The Breton huffed and sat down next to Miraak. "By the Eight, I need a bath. And a full night's sleep. Hey, are you alright?" she looked at the priest and nudged him a little.
"I'm fine," he grumbled without opening his eyes. "Stop fussing, woman. And if you poke my stomach, I'm going to zap you."
Bernadette withdrew her outstretched finger from the vicinity of Miraak's stomach.
Zuldolok tilted his head. "So, what now, little heroes?"
"There's a pond nearby. I'll have a bath and clean my gear. Then we go find Delphine. She should be on her way to Riverwood."
XXX
Bernadette was standing in the grass of the shore of the small mountain pond. She kept shifting weight from one foot to the other. The water was bound to be cold.
She shivered. Damn, the air felt cold, too.
But the troll blood covering her head and the shit and...everything else she fell into when her foot slipped...well, that was much worse than the cold.
She groaned and took off the last piece of clothing, her shirt.
Then she realized she could hear steps. She grabbed her sword and drew it swiftly.
"Easy, I'm not peeking, you're on my blind side," Miraak raised his hand to placate her. "I thought you might need help. Getting warm water, at least."
"You can do that?" she put the sword away. She could see him relaxing when he heard the sound of the blade slipping into its sheath.
Right. These were meant for him. And got to cut him. Severely. She frowned. Perhaps it was time to find new weapons….but these were so good!
"Move your ass, I'm dying for warm water," she called out. "Besides, you've seen all of me before, there's no need to approach with your blind side to me."
"I wasn't sure you'd be comfortable," he turned to face her and went over to her. He was moving slowly and with great care, relying on his staff, she could see the wound still hurt him.
"Now, I'm not warming up the whole pond," he said as he stopped by her side. He put his palm on her back and she could feel warmth spreading through her body. "But I can heat bits of the water."
He leaned the staff against his shoulder and motioned with his free hand. A blob of water rose from the pond, then moved closer. Bernadette reached out to touch it. The water was nicely warm, just perfect temperature.
She gave a wide smile and washed her hands. "Could you put it on my head, please? But don't drown me."
"Tsk. Why would I want to do that?"
Taking a piece of lavender soap, one she had made herself, she set to scrub the dried blood and other dirt away. As she did that, Miraak slowly started tracing the tattoo, the one between her shoulder blades, with his fingertips. It felt...very pleasant.
She smiled to herself.
"Miraak? Could I...could I ask you to scrub my back? It's hard to reach…" she inquired after she managed to get her hair at least somewhat clean.
He threw the water away, splashing a patch of grass. Then he laid the staff down on the ground and reached forward, lifting another blob of water. This time he wrapped her whole torso in it, making her sigh happily. He rolled up his sleeves and reached for the soap, still in her hand.
He took the bar from her, gently caressing her fingers in the process. Then he started to scrub the dirt away. After finishing the task, he slipped the soap back to her.
As she cleaned the rest of her torso, he bent for her discarded clothes and took them to the pond, where he washed them along with a tiny bit of magicka, so the blood and grime wouldn't leave a mark.
"Alright, I'm done, you can release the water."
He did and turned around, slowly drying the fabric in his hands.
Bernadette smiled. "Thank you."
"You're welcome," he murmured and handed her the clothes. Then he ran his fingers through her hair to gently dry it as well.
Bernadette slipped into the still warm shirt and pants. "The warmth is so great. You're spoiling me," she grinned. "Not that I mind."
"Indeed. I thought you might appreciate some spoiling," he responded, the tips of his mouth curling up.
"Yea…" her smile faded away. She closed the gap between them and hugged him tightly, but took care to avoid irking his wound. He hugged her back and rested his head against hers.
No words needed.
They held each other in silence for who knows how long. But Bernadette broke it in the end. "How are you feeling?"
"Like someone gave me a beating with my staff."
She hummed. "And...well...I meant about...about the tomb. I heard you talking with Zura. You've grown more quiet, staring into the distance."
"Oh."
They were silent for some time.
"I...I don't know…not that I..." he sighed and started again. "I just knew I needed to go there when you pulled all those things out of your satchel and said there was a tomb. I don't know what I was expecting. I mean, I knew they were dead. I had millennia to get used to that fact. But...I just...I just had to," he pulled away a bit and looked into her eyes. She could see deep sorrow in his, but also some kind of…reconciliation.
"When we entered and I saw the carvings...things just started to resurface in my mind. Events, feelings, thoughts I have forgotten. Slowly at first, but with each carving I saw, the memories...just flooded in. I...it was a lot," he sighed, resting his head against hers once more.
"And then I went there, already breaking down due to...everything...and I saw them there...I thought I could do it. I thought I would get some closure and perhaps feel better. Instead I felt more like a broken relic." His voice started cracking. "She carried a child...my child. She never told me."
Bernadette reached up and wiped the tears that made their way down his cheeks.
He was quiet for a time and let the tears flow.
"I did think about simply giving up," he continued quietly, pulling Bernadette even closer to himself, "but then I thought about...about everything. I still do think about it. About the things I remembered and people I knew. About what they told me and about the faith they placed in me. I thought about the stupid mistakes I made, ones that I can never take back. It still...hurts. A lot. But I realized something, and was able to make peace with myself, albeit one lined with sorrow."
"What did you realize?"
"I can never change the past. I can only take the present and make the best of it. I can do a lot of good if I stop moping. Giving up would...mean that all of it was meaningless. That I failed all the people I cared about. That the good things I can do would not get done. Even if it were only one little piece of something, it is worth doing."
He loosened the hug a bit and caressed her back. "I want to live. And make it worth something in the end."
XXX
They were lying under a tree together, holding hands, silent, clothed, just enjoying each other's presence. Miraak has been drowsing for some time, but now he let out a deep sigh and slowly opened his eyes to look at the sky.
"It's so beautiful," he hummed, smiling. "And the grass is so soft." With his free hand, he reached for a little dandelion growing not far from him. He plucked it and tucked it behind Bernadette's ear.
She gave a gentle smile. She put her hand on his chest and huddled closer, wanting to feel his warmth.
She should ask.
After some time of inner turmoil, she propped herself up on her elbows. He looked up at her.
She cursed internally. He had that strange warm look in his eye again.
She had to ask.
"Miraak?"
"Mhm?"
Damn his purring. "I wanted to...wanted to ask you about…"
"About what?"
"About…my weapons. You always flinch when you see the blades. I understand why. Would you like me to put them away?"
Mara damn her.
He frowned. "Well...if you'd be willing…"
"I would," she bent down to kiss his forehead, hating herself for her weakness.
"I will make another set to make it up to you," he hummed.
"Are you a smith as well?" she mumbled into his temple, which she wanted to kiss next.
"No. But you know transmutation is possible via magic, right? My people would call it earth magic, in the case of metals, yours probably the school of alteration." He reached up to run his hand through her hair. "How do you think I came upon my staff?"
XXX
Three sets of eyes watched Miraak perform his magic.
The priest was sitting on a rock, surrounded by snow. Zuldolok has taken the trio high into the mountains, to places, where snow and ice never melted.
The dragon and two women watched as Miraak gathered quite a large heap of snow and hauled it back to the rock he was now sitting upon. Eyes closed, he was moving his hands slowly, tracing runes into the air. His fingers left trails of flickering icy light in their wake.
The heap of snow lit up and dissipated into icy mist, gathering among the runes.
Miraak clenched his fingers.
The mist pulsed with light. Once. Twice. Then it condensed into a block of pure, ice-like metal. Stalhrim.
Before they could marvel at that, Miraak made several quick motions with his hands, bending fingers into strange signs. The metal melted, transforming into a different shape. As it did, Miraak pulled two hilts he had made earlier out of his satchel. He sent the hilts flying, then connected them to the icy blades with a flash of white light.
He let out a shaky breath.
The blades fell down and buried deep into the snow.
Bernadette hurried to Miraak. He tried to shoo her away, but gave up to her affection in a fit of badly suppressed laughter. "I'm fine, woman, stop fussing," he tried to sound grumpy, but his smile gave him away. "Go on, try the blades out."
Bernadette squeezed his hand and dived into the snow for the weapons. As she pulled the sword and the dagger out, her eyes widened in amazement. She took a few swings with both, then laughed.
"These are perfect! Balanced just right, and...did you make them look like my old glass weapons?"
Miraak shrugged. "I saw those in your...library. I rather prefer their shape to that of...those," he tossed his head in the direction of the golden blades, fastened to one of their backpacks.
"May I have a look?" Zuldolok lowered his head. "This is... Hm. You mortals come up with most exceptional things."
Bernadette handed the weapons over to Zura, who took them and hurried to Zuldolok so they could marvel at the stalhrim blades together.
The Breton walked over to Miraak, still sitting on the rock. He looked content, smiling slightly with a hint of pride.
"You remembered all that from one visit?" she leaned closer and lowered her voice.
He looked at her and raised an eyebrow. "Not just one visit. The blade was with you at all times. Of course I paid attention to it, what if you decided to draw it and stab me with it?"
She snickered. "Hah. Like you would let me. You'd disappear, or throw me away, or roast me with one of those lightning bolts of yours, toss me into Oblivion, freeze me to a statue or...or...pretty much anything you'd feel like."
"I couldn't do that," he said quietly, looking at the stalhrim sword, glistening in Zura's hands. The Khajiit was holding it with both her hands and waving it around clumsily, while Zuldolok watched her with a mischievous grin.
Suddenly the dragon whipped his tail. Zura yelped as the tail met the blade. Zuldolok flashed his teeth in a wide grin.
"En garde!"
XXX
"Hey, maybe we could stop at...what was it called? Nettlestead?"
"Oh," Zura immediately snapped out of the enchantment Zuldolok's story put her into, "yes, we should do that. If we manage to find it."
"What's there to do?" Miraak wanted to know.
"It's...I'm sure you remember Godric? The Dragonborn who was with us?"
"Yes," Miraak's expression darkened.
"He used to be a friend. And...we figured that the least we can do is to take some token of his and bring it to his family. And...let them know what happened. How he died and where he's buried."
Miraak breathed out heavily. "True."
XXX
"Where shall I set you down?" Zuldolok turned back to his riders. "I can see a small village ahead."
"Where?"
"Down there, between the trees."
"I think you can fly us there…" Bernadette rubbed her chin. "Rumours about dragon riding lunatics have already circulated Skyrim, I'm sure. Also, the village has a tradition of telling stories about a dragon rider of times long forgotten," she nudged Miraak a bit.
"Are you getting lazy or drunk with fame, Kein Vahdin?" Zuldolok teased. Nonetheless, he continued flying towards the small settlement.
"Of the two? Lazy."
XXX
Zuldolok's arrival caused quite the ruckus. People were running around like disturbed ants, but after noticing the riders on his back, they quieted down and simply watched the dragon descend.
Zuldolok landed on a free space in between the buildings. It was an area with a huge oak tree and some statues.
The villagers, looking rough and a bit wild, were watching the dragon and his riders intently.
Bernadette and Zura went to talk with the people. Miraak dismounted, but stayed with Zuldolok by the statues. Neither of them was in the mood to interact with the locals.
Miraak decided to take a closer look at the statues. They reminded him of home a bit, the style was rough and simple, but still very lively. There were numerous candles at the feet of the statues, as well as several sacrificial bowls. Flowers, bones, little pieces of wood or food rested in those.
The statues themselves represented two women, that much was clear. An old, bent woman and a robust taller woman. The younger woman had one hand on the old woman's shoulder, the other raised to the sky in a greeting to Kyne.
There was some scripture at the feet of the statues. He knelt to have a closer look at it.
Solveig the Shepherd, Angma the Wise, mothers of our tribe.
Oh.
He sat down and touched the stone. So they made it to safety. Good. Angma the Wise...he sighed. How he missed her. She always had good advice or a soothing word.
What would she think if she saw him now? What would she think of the man from Apocrypha?
I liked you better without that thing.
"What bothers you, Grohiik?" Zuldolok laid down next to him and wrapped his long tail around the statues.
"Memories and doubts."
The dragon hummed. "Hardy adversaries."
XXX
The sun kept moving across the sky slowly and the wind started to pick up speed. Most of the villagers returned to their daily tasks, only throwing curious looks at the dragon and man sitting together at the feet of the ancient statues as they passed by.
Not all, though. A group of children of various ages finally gathered enough courage to approach Miraak and Zuldolok. The dragon, enjoying scratches from Miraak, opened his green eyes lazily.
"Little ones," he smiled. "Look, Grohiik, little ones have come to seek something from us."
Miraak turned his gaze to the children expectantly.
One girl stepped forward. "Are you him?"
"Him who?"
"The dragon rider from the legend."
"I have ridden dragons, yes, but I know not of any legend."
Another child, a young boy with huge brown eyes, scuttled forward and looked at Zuldolok with awe. "The old say thewe was a hewo who fought the bad dwagons."
"Come," the girl grabbed Miraak's hand and tugged at it, "there are pictures in the tomb!"
He stood up and let her lead him up a hill beyond the oak. Zuldolok, curious about this legend, was stomping after them, carefully avoiding the children walking beside him. Some of them decided to run under his belly or to jump over his heavy tail, so he had to be extra careful.
On the top of the small round hill was an entrance to an underground tomb. The entrance was decorated by standing stones, which bore carvings for each god of the old pantheon.
Miraak stopped by the stones, laying his hand at the one bearing the likeness of a wolf.
The girl shot him a curious look, then smiled slyly and whispered something to the boy.
Miraak shook his head and went into the tomb. Zuldolok grunted with dissatisfaction. He wanted to look as well, but the tomb was too small for him. He tried to put his head inside, at least.
There was a short hallway, leading into a round chamber. At the other end of the chamber, opposite to the entrance, stood a heavily decorated door, probably leading down into the depths of the earth, down where the dead were resting.
Several braziers could be found along the walls of the chamber, lighting it with their warm orange flames. The walls themselves were covered in carved reliefs.
Miraak walked the chamber round, carefully taking in the imagery. Zuldolok, who could see only a part of the chamber, huffed, but his eyes lit up with interest nonetheless.
"Interesting. So crude, and yet so beautifully alive," the dragon rumbled contentedly. "I enjoyed the ancient beauty of the land of the walkers, but I find myself preferring the art up here."
Miraak didn't pay any heed to him. He stopped by one carving, staring at it. Finally, he reached out, brushing his fingers against the stone.
"Do you remember, lord Völund?" an old, crackling voice asked from behind him.
Miraak turned around, startled. He moved so quickly his robes flew wildly in reaction to his movement.
An old woman stood by one of the braziers. He didn't see her very well because the shadows cast by the flames made it even harder for him to make out her features.
He drew closer to her, taking cautious steps. He subconsciously wound his fingers tighter around the wolf staff. "Who are you? How do you know...that name?"
She cackled.
He stopped, his eyes wide open. The woman was really old, her skin wrinkled deeply, her hair as white as snow. Her simple clothes were adorned by leather amulets and talismans or runes carved from wood or bone. It was a style painfully familiar to him, making his heart ache for home.
But the woman...the woman looked almost like Angma.
It couldn't be her, though, he knew that.
The children gathered around her and the girl who led them all here tugged at the woman's sleeve. "Is it him, seer Eidys?"
The woman laughed again. "I believe so, my dear. Do you see the staff? None other like it exists, and none other could wield it."
All children looked at it, scanning every detail.
"You haven't answered my question," Miraak drew closer, tilting his head a bit and narrowing his eyes at the seer.
She smiled warmly, albeit with a hint of sadness. "I know the legend by heart, lord. How could I not be familiar with your name?"