I liked you better without that thing, though.
The setting sun, red and deeply orange, threw long shades. The statues of Angma the Wise and Solveig the Shepherd still basked in the light, but wouldn't remain like that for long.
Miraak was sitting at the feet of the statues. His gaze, albeit pointed at the setting sun, was unseeing, lost somewhere in the distance.
I liked you better without that thing, though.
He and Zuldolok listened to the legend Angma had created for him. The seer recited it with evident skill, moving through the round hall of the tomb and pointing out specific reliefs as she did.
Zuldolok chose to stay with the seer and the children after the story was finished, but Miraak didn't want any company. He stumbled down the hill and found himself huddling by the statue, hoping, inadvertently, for...something. A connection. Advice. Peace. Even anger of what might be left of her spirit imprinted in here. Anything.
He felt only echoing loneliness.
I liked you better without that thing, though.
Ever since he visited the tomb where all his past loves lay, and where his own grave gaped with emptiness, memories of his life before Apocrypha kept returning. In shreds, a piece here and there, or a flash, a scene, a smell, taste of something, bits and pieces...but they did. Steadily, these little memories began to join into a stream, rebuild into solid pictures, and to push Apocrypha away.
This settlement made him remember a lot. About his own settlement. About home. People he cared about. Angma and her family. Hakon. He even remembered Anzacharedz, or at least her name and her large angled eyes.
Apparently, Angma had sent someone to Solstheim a year after the end of the war with the dragons.
The legend proclaimed it was Hakon who volunteered, but Miraak wasn't so sure about that. Although ...maybe it was him. He lay buried in the tomb, afterall…
Hakon went to the ruined temple of Miraak. He and his companions sneaked through the desolate land, molten and changed by the battle between the two priests, silent and abandoned.
At the empty temple they found a scarecrow. Winds, whistling around, fluttered the embroidered dragon priest's robe, the mask, cracked and staring at them with its empty sockets, sat atop the tip of a wolf carved staff. On the ground below, amidst an old stain of blood, lay the rest of a priest's possessions.
No body. No victor. No sound, except the sorrowful howls of the wind and fluttering of the torn robe.
A clear message.
Hakon took down the scarecrow and brought it back. Angma's people then helped with the building of the sacred tomb in the grove of Kyne and buried what was left along with the other people.
There was something bugging him. Although Geda's body lay buried there too, she had no mention in the legend. Why was that?
According to the legend, Hakon and Angma died not long after the first burials. But before she died, Angma gave a prophecy.
It sounded awfully similar to a prophecy he found in a book in Apocrypha, talking about misrule, time, fall of the thrice blessed and towers, but it had a different ending. If what the seer told him was true, Angma prophesied that the first shall become the last again.
He had a rather clear idea of what that might mean.
And the villagers here thought he was supposed to come back wrapped in glory to save the world and make it right.
He sighed. Where were Bernadette and Zura for so long?
I liked you better without that thing, though.
XXX
"Hey, Miraak, did you move at all while we were talking with the chieftain?"
Miraak, lost in thought, startled. Bernadette stood over him, smiling. It was a strained smile that did nothing to hide her haunted expression.
Zuldolok, quietly puffing, opened one eye. "We did."
"Alright." Bernadette straightened up. "The chieftain wants to perform a ceremony. She wants us to participate, to say something about him, to paint a picture, to give our last goodbyes…"
"I'm familiar with the rite," Miraak rubbed his eyes. He felt exhaustion gripping at him.
"Yea, sorry. So...we'll be sleeping here. Is that alright with you?"
Did she wring her wrists?
"Why wouldn't it be?" he reached out to her.
She grabbed his hands and helped him get up. "I don't know. You looked so...sad."
He forced a smile for her. "I'm fine."
XXX
The villagers let them sleep in a small inn. It reminded Miraak of Angma's house painfully. There were bundles of nettles, lavender and many other herbs hanging from the ceiling, round windows covered only by sheets of leather, warmth of fires and the smell of ale and good food...
He couldn't sleep. Flashbacks kept running through his mind, tormenting him, making his chest ache with an unrealizable desire.
With a sigh he gently removed Bernadette's hand from his heart and carefully got up. Bernadette muttered something from her sleep and wrinkled her eyebrows.
Miraak's lips twitched in a hint of a smile. He tucked her in, then left as quietly as he could. He found his way outside, wrapping the wolfskin cloak around himself. He let his legs choose the destination and walked into the darkened forest.
Soon he regretted not taking his staff with him. His body felt stiff, his back and most of his left side from the hip down hurt and he couldn't see well.
As he stumbled in the darkness, roots and tree trunks getting in his way, he realized a hulking figure kept moving along with him, surprisingly nimble and quiet.
"Zuldolok," he stopped, leaning against a tree.
"Grohiik."
"What are you doing here?"
"What are you doing here?" the dragon grinned, flashing his fangs in the darkness. "Blind like a mole, stumbling alone through the darkness. That doesn't feel like you, Grohiik."
Miraak sighed and slid down the tree's trunk to sit on its roots.
Zuldolok squeezed through the trees and laid down, wrapping his long tail around the trunk. "I'll keep the beasts of the forest at bay."
XXX
The two of them returned to Solveig's Stead for the ritual. They stood quite a distance away, seen, but not immediately present, wishing to neither participate nor disturb. Miraak stood next to Zuldolok, one hand resting on the dragon's warm scales. His eyes were pointed at the ongoing ceremony below, but his mind wandered somewhere else.
Zuldolok kept humming an unknown tune, his voice rumbling deep in his massive chest.
When Zura and Bernadette finally made their way up to the place where the dragon and the priest stood together, they found them like that.
Both women stopped and watched the strange occurrence with curiosity.
Zura was the first to break the silence. "Dragons are up for scratches? Good to know."
"I thought you hated dragons," Bernadette added her own remark in Miraak's direction.
Zuldolok grumbled and pulled away. At the same time, Miraak withdrew his hand.
"Can we continue to Riverwood?" the priest asked.
XXX
It was a silent flight. Even Zuldolok ceased to speak, contemplating something quietly with such intent that he sometimes forgot to watch where the winds were carrying him.
Daylight ran out before they could make it to Riverwood, so they had to camp by lake Ilinalta.
After nightfall, when Zura slept soundly curled under Zuldolok's wing and the dragon started snoring, Bernadette got up and went over to Miraak, sitting on the shore, watching the lake and listening to the lapping of water.
"What's the matter?" she wanted to know.
"I'm...thinking," he replied after a moment.
"I can see that. What about?"
"The past."
She sat down and took his hand, placing it into her lap. "What did you conclude?"
"Nothing," he grimaced. "I just keep tormenting myself."
She started playing with his fingers. "Who were those statues representing?"
"A wise grandmother," he sighed, looking at the lake, "who had more faith in me than I did."
"Your grandmother?"
He shook his head. "No. Not by blood, at least," he gave a faint smile. "She was...she was a leader of my settlement. Old Angma." His faint smile warmed up into a real one.
"I thought you were the leader?"
"Officially. But the people looked to her for guidance. I got to be the leader in more than the force of the order only after I proved myself to them." His fingers curled around her hand. "Those people from the mountains...they are descendants of those that survived the onslaught at Solstheim. Solveig was Angma's daughter. They both led them here, into this remote, forgotten corner of mainland, and built a new home for them. They are no longer my people, but nonetheless, I am glad they live."
Bernadette gave him a peck on the cheek, then put his arm around her shoulders.
"Less glad they wove a legend about me, one where I seem a hero," he huffed, leaning closer to her. "I don't deserve it."
"They thought you did. You trusted the old lady's judgement, no? Why do you discard her approval of you?"
"I couldn't fulfil my promise. For all the sins I have committed for them I didn't give them freedom, I didn't tear the dragons from the sky."
"Here's how I look at it," Bernadette gently poked him. "If you hadn't risen against the dragons, rebels on the mainland wouldn't have the means to gather and become a real menace to the scaly beasts. I didn't hear the whole story, but what I pieced together is this - your might alone brought about a score of dragons to Solstheim, a score that never returned, and probably an army, too, right? There was the general whose blades I took. He couldn't have been there alone, right?"
"Leoferic," Miraak's features distorted in an expression of deep pain, "even though by then he called himself Vahlok."
"And, as well as killing the dragons and drawing the might of the mainland to Solstheim, thus leaving the rebels with free hand to build whatever defences and armies they needed, you managed to smuggle quite a number of your people out of there. That's pretty heroic, Miraak."
He shrugged. "Bought by the blood of many."
"People always die in wars like that. Did you think that freeing a nation of slaves would be easy? Slaves under dragons?"
He chuckled. "No."
She grinned at him. "You made all of this," she spread her arms wide, wanting to cover the breadth of the world around them, "possible. And if that is not enough for you, well, you get to defend the world your actions built once more. But this time not as a lad pulling at his chains. This time as a man the dragons fear."
"You make it all sound so...poetic," he raised an eyebrow and then leaned on her.
"I spent a lot of time with Zura. It rubs off on me," Bernadette laughed and put her arms around him. "Do you want to sleep or...could you tell me more about your settlement?"
"I could."
XXX
"So Delphine wants us to extract this Esbern from the Riften underworld? All the while the Thalmor are searching for him?"
"That would be just about it," Bernadette sighed in answer to Zura's question.
"Sounds like fun," Zura shivered. "Especially the part with the Thalmor. What if they skin us to make belts out of our hides?!"
"And you wanted to sneak into the embassy, Sonaan?" Zuldolok, stomping along the trio, turned his sneering snout to Zura.
"The Thalmor," Bernadette sighed heavily. "We'll need to add them to our worries, too."
"Maybe...no."
"What is it, Zura?"
"I was thinking….if perhaps...perhaps we should help the Stormcloaks? They'll kill Thalmor agents, right?"
Bernadette shuddered. "Never. Zura, we can't ever join forces with those...racist barbarians. The Empire will stand, it only needs to recuperate. Idiots got to leadership. There are more people like Octavian, and they'll put it right."
She leaned forward so everyone could hear her better, forcing Miraak to press on Zura's back. "If Skyrim falls, High Rock and Cyrodiil get separated. Then we'll end up with two states not well suited to stand against the Dominion. Yea, Hammerfell still stands adamant. But - the Redguards have their own unparalleled strengths, borne from Yokuda. They also have their sword-singers and the great Alik'r, where none of the Dominion but Khajiit from the sands of Anequina can wage war efficiently. High Rock is a noodle filled with mountains, marshes and wildlands, great for shadow warfare, true, but there are so many city states and tribes and wild peoples that they could never stand against the Dominion on their own."
She took a breath. "And then there's the problem of Wrothgar and the Reach. I'm sure the natives would slaughter troopers from both sides, making the defence of High Rock even harder."
"You don't have a high opinion of your fellow Bretons, I see," Zura chuckled. "Aren't you underestimating them? They held against the Alessian legions pretty well."
"Those are not the people that live there today," Bernadette scoffed, even though some doubt could be heard in her voice. "Anyway, what do we have in Cyrodiil? Enemy borders on all sides, open entryway from Valenwood and Elsweyr, Kvatch sacked and barely rebuilt, again, unable to hold the entry to the highlands...a number of legions stationed here, burnt to a crisp by dragons, inner turmoil...nope. What we truly need is for Octavian to get rid of Ulfric and get to a better position. Hopefully replacing someone in the Elder Council."
"What about Skyrim? It has a defensible position," Zura mused.
"Burnt out, dragons run free, trouble with banditry, slavery, daedric worship, not enough food and workforce, the agents are already here, having a firm grip of the land. Refugees everywhere. If you cut imports from Cyrodiil, people in Skyrim will starve. Heck, they already do. There won't be enough food in Riften for everyone, not if the Stormcloaks keep the hold. Winterhold? Dawnstar? They'll be lucky to live off of fish. Windhelm is the only city I believe might not go hungry at first, thanks to their shipping company, but what happens when High Rock puts an embargo on them? If the Dunmer of Morrowind decide they have had enough, and will rather pour more trade through Cheydinhal? Windhelm starves. Easy pickings for the Dominion. No, the Empire must stand."
"Poor peasants...they lose either way," Zura mumbled.
Miraak scoffed, shaking his head. "War is abominable, whatever the reason for it."
Zuldolok grunted. "Then why did you wage yours?"
"Because the alternative was even worse," the priest looked away.
XXX
Is it really true?
Was there no other way?
Angma, sitting next to him on the bench by her front door, looked at him and chuckled.
Always doubting yourself.
Always doubting myself on one hand and on the other always sure with success, he sighed. None of those is good.
Angma nodded, sipping milk from her mug.
So what are you going to do about it? Are you going to weep silently over your empty grave?
No.
Do you have a plan?
Yes.
Good.
He hunched his shoulders. I miss you, Angma.
I know, my boy. Be strong. Make me proud. We'll see each other in the afterlife.
He twisted his lips. In Sovngarde?
She laughed. No. There are many places to go, many corners to explore. I will wait for you to find me, once you decide you have lived a life.
She looked at him, smiling in a motherly way. Your mother is here, too. And your grandmother, the queen of kitchen fires. We are watching over you, she patted him on the back.
How will I find you?
Just follow your heart and the wolf's song. You will know where to go.
The warmth of the sun he felt started to dissipate and the scene before his eyes began to blend into nothingness.
Wait! What about my father? Did you meet my father anywhere?
You don't know? You haven't figured it out yet, my boy?
Give me a clue, at least!
Look deep into your being, realise who you are, and you will find your father. Angma smiled.
Miraak felt overwhelmed by the herbal smell. Then a hint of honey followed, and he startled at recognition of the mix. It was a mix Angma used for her milk, one she offered him any time he wandered to her house in distress.
And then it was all gone.
XXX
Miraak woke up with a lingering sensation of pleasantness remaining in his body. He felt no stiffness in his muscles and no horrors of the night remained, leaving his mind clear.
As he stretched and yawned, he realised that the constant hint of tiredness, rendered by many nights cut short of sleep due to his nightmares, has receded a bit.
The sun was way further on its path than usual.
How long did he sleep?
"Look who's awake," a cheerful voice cut into his thoughts. Zura sat down next to him, offering a toast. "Have something to eat, our scaly friend was helping to make breakfast."
As he accepted the slice of bread with molten cheese and some mushrooms, Miraak looked around. Zuldolok was standing patiently a bit further, waiting for Bernadette to fasten some of their baggage to the harness the dragon wore.
The whole camp has been packed up, with the exception of Miraak's bedroll.
"Why didn't you wake me?" he bit into the toast.
Zura shrugged. "Is there a reason we should have?"
Chewing, Miraak kept thinking about the fact that they needed to get this Esbern man out from under Thalmor noses.
"Did you have nice dreams?" Zura hugged her knees and smiled at him.
"What?"
"You didn't scream tonight, nor did you thrash around. Also," her smile widened into a grin, "we found you asleep with a smile on your face when we woke up. That's not something usually seen."
He stopped eating to look at her. She nudged him with her shoulder.
"Yes," his lips curled into a smile, "I had a nice dream."
XXX
"No tending the refugees today," Bernadette murmured to Miraak, walking close by. "We're heading straight into the Ratway."
The priest nodded, nonetheless he kept throwing wistful looks at the people huddling on Riften's streets. It seemed that most things were well, the walls of the city stood repaired, guards carried Bernadette's ice bombs and there were buckets everywhere.
But the city simply couldn't accommodate all the people that had flooded in, seeking refuge from the dragons.
He sighed and limped after Bernadette as fast as he could.
Zura noticed his troubles. She hurried forward and tugged at Bernadette's cloak. "Slow down a bit."
"Oh, right, sorry," the Breton cast an apologetic glance at Miraak.
XXX
"How very charming," Miraak looked around the Ragged Flagon.
"Indeed," Zura turned up her nose. "But still better than the alternative."
"Which is?" he scowled at some man, small and lanky, coming too close to his tastes.
"Bernadette pouring some toxic alchemy waste here to kill them all off," Zura noted and drew closer to Miraak. "It's...complicated."
"If you say so. Where are we going?" Miraak turned his gaze to Bernadette, approaching them.
"Deeper into the sewers," her lips curled downward. "Some old fella that could be our Esbern is hiding in there. Somewhere."
XXX
"Sh!"
Both Miraak and Zura stopped at Bernadette's quiet command. Miraak grabbed her shoulder to steady himself and looked around her frame to see what was amiss.
She pointed into the darkness.
Squinting, he was able to make out a robed figure, moving on the far side of the open space.
"Thalmor," Bernadette turned her head towards him, trying to stay as quiet as possible.
He lifted a finger from her shoulder and, aiming for a while, trying to accommodate his blind eye, pointed it at the figure. With a quick flash a bolt of lightning whipped from the tip.
It was all swift and quiet. The bolt cut through the air with a hushed crackling sound and soft blue glow, hitting the figure. The Thalmor mage went down instantly, not making a sound beside his body thudding on the ground.
Miraak shook his hand and withdrew.
"Why don't you do tricks like that more often?" Bernadette grinned over her shoulder, carefully stepping into the open space.
"Do you know how prickly my finger feels?"
"Shh!" Zura tugged at his robe. " I can hear footsteps!"