Tiring. So tiring.

The sewers were full of black clad elves, and down below of dangerous lunatics. The old man himself was not as bad and irritating as Delphine, but still, Miraak was looking forward to the moment they parted ways with this Esbern fellow.

Luckily enough, Bernadette resolved that they would rest for the night in Honeyside, instead of pressing on as Esbern wished.

Miraak really wanted to enjoy the time off, helping Bernadette cook and then making potions together, replenishing their stocks, but he just...couldn't. Thoughts kept plaguing him, distracting him.

After Bernadette fell asleep, he took his cloak and crept into her laboratory, which she was using as a treasure room as well. There, placed among Vahlok's golden blades, rested Miraak the mask, cracked, watching the room with its empty sockets.

Miraak took a chair from Bernadette's work table and placed it so he could watch the mask while sitting. He sat down, rested his back against the chair and frowned at the mask.

It kept looking at him with an empty stare.

Miraak sighed and looked at the blades, then his gaze wandered back to Miraak. He scoffed and spoke to the mask in a soft voice: "Which of us is it? Are you Miraak? Or am I?"

He fell silent again. Really, who was he? He couldn't be Miraak, Miraak was lying in front of him, deep cracks breaking the perfect golden surface.

"You're Miraak."

The mask didn't answer.

Obviously.

He thought about what the mask meant to him and came to a realisation - nothing but sorrow. Once he coveted it, believing it would resolve all his problems. He chuckled bitterly. No thing can do that, he knew now.

He hid his face in his hands. What a stupid man, only coming to realise things and truths when it was too late to correct anything.

Well...who was he, really?

A hero from a legend? A villain from another? A forgotten note in history? Breathing relic, a thing which should be long dead by now? Staring at the mask, he traced the scar crossing his eye.

He remembered slimy tentacles getting inside the wound, knitting it back in blazing pain and burning his eye blind with the "gift" of the Sight. Shuddering, he withdrew his fingers from the scar and pulled the cloak tighter around himself, as if it could shield him from the horrors creeping inside his memories.

He wrapped it around himself, grabbing at the fur. The touch of wolf fur soothed him somewhat. He closed his eyes and went for different memories, slowly caressing the black fur covering his shoulders.

The little things. Little happy things. Butterflies fluttering in tall grass. Smell of wet forest. Smiles of a family, whose child has just returned from the brink of death thanks to his true gift. Singing wolves. Angma's calm voice, explaining the lay of the land to him as they walked side by side.

Völund's happy little things.

Miraak had none.

He grimaced when another memory cut through his mind. The dragon hall, two friends and a stranger, asking his fealty.

He remembered the pain in Hakon's eye, and heard his own voice echo: Völund is dead. You let him die alone in the snow, One-Eye.

He shuddered. He still felt the pain of what he saw as Hakon's betrayal, but dulled to hushed tones as eras passed. And the pain he felt when he spoke those words, believing them.

I liked you better without that thing.

"Angma," he sighed, hiding his face in the fur cloak, "what have I done?"

His gaze stopped on the mask again. He felt as if it was laughing at him, sneering that he was in its grasp and had no way out.

"I promised I would get rid of it, didn't I? Right, Angma?" he frowned at the mask. "I haven't yet."

He couldn't do it, though, could he? Völund was dead - he said so himself. Even if he wasn't...he couldn't go back to it. Völund was the one who decided to undergo the change, to become Miraak. The one who decided to hurt his loved ones irreparably, to commit so many mistakes. That boy wasn't to be trusted.

He straightened up. He stood up, went to the mask and stabbed his finger against it. "I am Miraak. Not you. I took the name and did some good with it. You are just a piece of metal! And I don't need you, keep your misery."

"Letting go of the bad things?"

He almost jumped. Bernadette's voice came from behind him so unexpectedly, he didn't hear her coming at all.

"How long have you been there?" he asked, turning around.

"Some time," she shrugged. She stood in the doorway, wrapped in their blanket, her toes curled. Long enough to get cold, he frowned.

"Long enough to get scared by your staring at the mask," she went over, picked it up and looked at it with uncertainty. "Can you melt the metal?"

"No."

She shrugged again and put the mask back. "I will donate the mask and the blades to the Cyrodilic Museum, then. I don't want them here anymore." She turned to him and smiled.

"Miraak. Miri..."

Hearing the name like that struck him similarly to one of his own lightning bolts. Somehow, it made it to be his. It made him remember that Miraak did have good memories. More recent, perhaps, but they were there, nonetheless. He blinked and shivered.

"Say it again," he pleaded.

Bernadette stepped closer, cuddling against him. "Miraak." She reached up to caress his hair, a tangled black mess, letting the blanket slip away from her form. "Miri."

She kissed him on the tip of his nose and wiped the tears that made their way down his cheeks. He hugged her, wrapping his wolf cloak around both of them, and rested his forehead against hers.

"Come back to bed," she sighed after a while. "I'm cold."

"Ah...yes, sorry. Let's go back."

Bernadette smiled, but then her smile turned into a mischievous grin. She grabbed him and picked him up, bridal-style, so fast he couldn't even try to protest.

"You said you liked it," she raised an eyebrow at him.

XXX

He woke up first the next morning. Wrapping Bernadette into his fur cloak gently, he dressed and went up to the warmer parts of Honeyside.

Strangely enough, being a new version of Miraak felt different and unaltered at the same time. He went through the kitchen, but there was no fresh food to be found, so he took some of the money meant for expenses and went to buy something breakfast could be made out of.

A woman stopped him on his way back. If he recalled correctly, her name was Mjoll.

"Hey, you're one of Bernadette's, right?" the brawny woman, taller than him and definitely much heavier, called out to him.

"I am," he turned to her.

"Could you please give these to her?" she handed several letters to him.

"Put them here," he offered the basket he was carrying. He was not about to lose the support of his staff for some letters.

"Thanks," she let the letters drop and quickly turned on her heel. She definitely was in a hurry and Miraak didn't feel very reassured by it.

He shrugged. Not his problem. His problem right now was making breakfast.

As he walked thinking about problems, his mind wandered over to Parthurnaax, slowly filling his heart with hatred.

He realised he was slipping back into the old hate he harboured as Völund again. Sighing, he entered Honeyside, pushed the rising hatred away and began making breakfast.

He knew getting his own existence wouldn't be easy. He was determined to grab it and keep it nonetheless.

By the time Zura got up he made several pieces of flatbread, prepared a large bowl of salad, boiled some eggs and warmed up milk.

"You're up early," she yawned.

He smiled at the sight of her hair, all poofed up and messy, and handed her flatbread roll with the salad and chopped eggs inside, then slid a mug with warm milk her way.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome." He made another roll and began eating.

"I was kind of hoping you'd sleep some more," Zura spoke while chewing, her voice muffled, "and get rested."

"I slept well."

"You don't look like it."

He had to admit he could use more sleep, but he didn't want to go back to bed. Not yet, anyway. He decided to avoid the topic by offering a little honey cake to her.

She narrowed her eyes at him, but accepted the cake and left him be.

Heavy, clumsy footsteps interrupted their breakfast. Bernadette made her way up the stairs, still in a nightshirt and Miraak's cloak.

He smiled at her and prepared another roll. As she sat down and took the roll from him, making appreciative noises, he slid the letters her way. "Mjoll stopped me and gave these to me. For you."

Bernadette started sifting through the letters as she ate. Making various faces reading through them, she suddenly went pale at the last one.

Both the letter and unfinished roll fell from her fingers.

"Berni? What's wrong?" Zura asked, worry clear in her voice.

"I need to go back," Bernadette jumped up from her chair, uncaring for her scattered food.

"Back to where?"

"To the City!"

"The Imperial City?" another voice cut in. Esbern.

All of them turned to the old Blade.

"We can't do that, we have to go to Delphine and-"

"You are. I'm going back myself," Bernadette snapped at him and ran down the stairs. Miraak exchanged a look with Zura.

He got up carefully and went after her. Zura followed. As they walked down the stairs, his back began to ache and he began to wince.

"Are you alright?"

He looked at her and forced a smile for her worried face. "My back is aching."

Of course Bernadette heard it. Loud rummaging sounds coming from her room stopped and she appeared in the doorframe. She looked worried, but now deep emotional pain broke through her eyes.

"Does it hurt a lot?" she asked.

"I've been through worse," he tried to brush both of them off. Changing the focus of the conversation, he turned to Bernadette. "What was in the letter?"

She frowned. Then sighed. "My family is in trouble. Serious trouble. I have to go back. I have to...have to...I have to do something. Possibly take them here. Or...I don't know. I just have to go."

She turned on her heel and went back to packing. As she did, she continued talking: "I will get Zephyr back from Mjoll and take some of the less used routes through the mountains. Jeralls are tough, but not as much as Solstheim was, so you don't have to worry about me. You can go back to River-"

Miraak raised his hand. "Stop. Stop talking, woman. You're not going alone."

She stopped moving.

Zura nodded. "What were you thinking?"

"Hello? There's a world to save, and it doesn't need me to do it," Bernadette put her hands on her hips. "It needs him," she pointed at Miraak.

"Very correct," Esbern joined the debate. "There's no time to-"

"You are not going alone," Miraak cut in, his gaze never leaving Bernadette's.

"That's absurd! You need to get to that Akaviri wall-"

"I need you," he cut again, his voice resolute. "We're going to Riverwood. Get Esbern to Delphine. Take a detour to do whatever you need to do. Then go back."

"But-" Esbern started protesting.

Miraak turned to him, his face stern. "Four is already too much. I'm not going to fly that shrew, so wherever the wall is, you two Blades need to get there on horseback. Or walk. In that time one of my dragons can make the trip south and back just fine. So shut your mouth."

He shot a look at Bernadette. "You shut it too. I made my decision, I'm not going anywhere without you. And it's me this whole venture is hanging on, isn't it?"

Both Bernadette and Esbern were at a loss of words.

"Thought as much."

XXX

Once they brushed off angry Delphine, Zuldolok turned south as per Bernadette's instructions. As they were flying over the Jeralls, two other dragons joined them - Miraak had called for Kruziikrel and Relonikiv, because he wanted to have backup in case of any serious trouble.

After another crossed peak, Zura leaned back and called out: "Berni, where are we going, precisely?"

"To the City!"

"Back home?"

"Yea…"

"Would you mind if I…"

"No, of course not. This is my family trouble," Bernadette said with sadness, "you go have a good time with your family. And if you want...you should stay with them. Don't you think I didn't notice how you miss your old life."

Zura was quiet for a moment.

"Not yet." She sighed. "I want to stay with you two. At least until this adventure is over. Then I might go back home…"

Miraak, listening in, felt a strange melancholy come over him as the women turned to talking about their memories and good times they have experienced in the City.

XXX

4E 202, Cyrodiil

The sun was setting. Miraak stood on a ledge and watched the landscape that opened in the heartland before him. First there was a vast woodland area on the scopes of the mountains, then lush green plains dotted with trees and villages, and, finally, a great lake, reflecting all the colours of the sunset.

In the middle of the lake a great city stood on an island.

The Imperial City.

He felt awe. The City was huge, its elegant white buildings glistened in the light and there were numerous shapes, towers and other structures rising above the massive walls.

In the middle of all this, a tower stood tall.

The White-Gold tower.

"Ancient elves built it," Zuldolok lowered his huge body on the ledge and laid down comfortably, his head resting right next to Miraak. "Then humans seized it and made it their own."

"What were the elves called?"

"In your tongue? The Ayleids."

"What were they like?"

"They weren't good people in general," Zura chimed in as she joined their gazing. "Slavers. Daedra worshippers."

"True. But they did wonders with starlight," Zuldolok noted. "And not all of them were bad. Don't forget the last king of the Ayleids. He was a good chap."

"That still doesn't make them as a whole good."

"Perhaps not."

Miraak laid his hand on Zuldolok's warm scales and kept enjoying the sight silently.

XXX

The smell in the air was different. It was warm. Hearty. Lush.

For the first time in his life, excluding Apocrypha, Miraak couldn't detect any trace of snow or remnants of frost in the air. This air was heavy with sweet floral scents, damp woodland and gentle rain.

XXX

"I think we should walk from now on," Bernadette looked at Zuldolok. "I wouldn't want all the ballistae on the walls aimed at you."

"I will find a place for all of us to hide, don't worry," the dragon purred. "Have fun, little ones."

XXX

4E 202, the Imperial City

It was only spring, but the weather here was so warm Miraak had to undress into his thinnest layers only and put all excess clothing into one of their enchanted bags. He limped on with a smile, despite his aching bones.

The bridge they had to cross was magnificent. Long, massive, impressive. Not even what he had seen in Solitude was enough to compare with this bridge. Then they crossed the lake and the women led him through the gates of the City, navigating the ever flowing crowd with experience.

Bernadette kept holding his hand and slowing her pace, so he could walk as best as possible. But even with the consideration and extensively slow pace, his body ached more and more. He was not used to such heat and extensive physical exertion.

Seemingly, neither Zura nor Bernadette noticed.

He tried his best, he tried getting in as many sights as he could, but finally his body has given up. First he became too tired to notice all the wonders around him. His steps became more and more laborious, his hands numb. Then he began feeling dizzy.

He tripped and fell to the ground.

XXX

"Shitshitshitshitshit…"

Bernadette kept muttering through her teeth. She was so focused on her family she didn't notice Miraak's increasing troubles. And of course he didn't say a thing.

Or perhaps he did?

He was staring back at her with clouded eyes and reddened face.

"Is he too hot? The sun is much stronger here than in his homeland," Zura mused as she touched his forehead.

"Yeah, heatstroke it looks like."

"What?" Miraak mumbled.

"You got too hot, we need to get your temperature down," Bernadette let him know as she picked him up.

"We're close to the temple," Zura pointed out. "We should take him there."

Bernadette nodded, drawing into the shade of tall buildings as she headed towards the stone dragon towering above the city.

XXX

"What…what is that?" Miraak jerked his head, opening his eyes.

"What?" Bernadette didn't slow down and continued through the portal to the Temple of the One. Cool air of a massive stone building surrounded them.

"There's a ...presence," Miraak's voice lowered to a whisper as his eyes, hazy and unfocused, darted around. He shifted, weakly but with determination, and reached out.

His hand stretched towards the dragon.

Bernadette stopped dead in her tracks. She searched his face, but both his eyes, even the healthy one, were unseeing, not reacting to the shift of light at all.

She shook her head and turned away, intending to find a priest in one of the inner offices.

In his native tongue, Miraak cried a soft protest. Then he tried to wriggle free.

"Let's take him to the dragon," Zura looked around, "I'll stay with him and you can look for a priest."

Helpless, Bernadette nodded.

The moment they turned back to the dragon, his struggling stopped, all of his attention focusing on the statue.

Bernadette picked a shaded place close to the statue, under a decorative wisteria tree. With one last look, she walked away.

Zura sat down with Miraak, who struggled to pull himself up. "What's gotten into you?" she mumbled.

He ignored her.

Instead, he touched the stone leg of the dragon.

Zura blinked.

There was no one there.

XXX

The world around him changed. For a moment, he felt swirls and saw colours indescribable with words. Then he blinked and it changed again. He saw a great jungle spanning under him, covering the island in the middle of a great lake. Mountains rose in the distant north from the green like a whale rising from the endless blue of the ocean.

A blink.

Now he saw the jungles receding and pillars of buildings as white as starlight reaching up to the sky. In the centre of the island, a white-gold tower stood, mighty and glimmering in the morning sun.

Little brother.

He blinked again, turning to the source of the voice. The scenery shifted as he did, but looking for the speaker, he paid it no heed.

We need to take on a form, sister, another voice chided. He is a mortal, afterall.

With every blink of his eyes, the land below and around him changed, forests rose and fell, skies raged and soothed, cities grew and died. Amidst all of the chaos, three gargantuan shapes blended into reality.

Three dragons.

They were…different, though.

Their forms cut much sleeker and more elegant shape than those he was used to. Their wings were covered in feathers, just as their backs, and their eyes shone with amusement and benevolent intelligence.

Both the scales and feathers made up vibrant, yet tasteful combinations.

Hello, little brother, third voice greeted warmly, and the leftmost wyrm smiled.

Miraak's eyes widened as he realized what was bugging him about the weird dragons. Their voices were feminine. Deep and husky, but undeniably feminine.

"What is this place? And who are you?"

This is Time, the second voice, the dragon in the middle, grumbled. She was not in any way hostile, but definitely didn't want to deal with this situation. It looks the way it looks to you because your meaty brain cannot comprehend its true nature.

We are your sisters, the first voice, the wyrm on the right, chimed in. Some know of us as Jills of Akatosh or the Minute Menders, but not many. There are many more of us, but we three were sent to greet you, little brother.

She stretched her neck out and her warm breath ruffled Miraak's hair. I am Light Dawn Feather, her azure blue eyes crescented in a smile. Her feathers shone like gentle morning sunlight and her scales danced with the colours of dawning sun.

The jill on the left followed her sister's action. Evening Mist Song. Her whole body was a mix of greys, whites and gentle blues, with a hint of green hidden in them, while her eyes gleamed like amethysts.

Midnight Wind Crescent, the last introduced herself, staying afar. She was mostly blue and black, with a striking silver crescent on her forehead. Her horns and eyes shone the same silver as the moon.

"I didn't…there are female dragons?"

Father keeps us close, Light Dawn Feather sighed and relaxed her neck. We clean up after his messes, you see.

And tend to his mind, Evening Mist Song added.

Which is why we are here, and so are you, Midnight Wind Crescent looked at him pointedly. The whole fiasco with making YOU created a whole lot of work for us, and then even more with others like you.

Be nice to him, it's not his fault, Evening Mist Song chided her sister. If you want to be crass at someone, you should pick Father.

Midnight Wind Crescent snorted. As if. And then he would get irritated and fold in yet another unpredictable way and we'd have even more work.

"So…the dragonborn business does mean Akatosh is my father?"

The three snouts turned to him as one.

Yes, Light Dawn Feather sighed in the end, her voice laden with pity.

"But…what do you need me for?"

We are not allowed to go into specific flows of Time. We have to stay in its entirety.

Unlike those jerks, Midnight Wind Crescent bared her teeth. The precious sons who get to play all eternity long.

And since it was the sons who made a mess in the particular flow, Light Dawn Feather arched her neck.

It needs to be someone from that same flow who puts the pieces back together, Evening Mist Song finished, ruffling her feathers. Namely, you.

There were more of our blood after you, attempts of time to repair itself in a pattern created by your existence, Light Dawn Feather continued, but since linearity is a little problematic for us, it got out of hand.

It has to be YOU anyway, Midnight Wind Crescent huffed. But you got weak. Tainted.

Which is, Evening Mist Song soothed her sister, why we are going to help you.

Your mortal shell is weak and damaged.

It cannot hold your power anymore.

You leak lifeforce to that tainted devil shuffling fates.

In a blink of an eye, the three of them were surrounding him, much larger than they were before. Their wings spread, covering Time from his sight. Speaking as one, their voices shook his very core.

Let there be a wave. Let one path meander to an end, let the other weave anew.

Their eyes filled his vision. Then burning silver went through him, unravelling his very existence.

The shock was the only thing holding him together. For a brief, unmeasurable moment, the entirety of time showed itself to him in its incomprehensible eternity, a never ending existence of myriads of moments, folding one over another, dancing, weaving, melding, joining and parting.

Just as the tiniest speck of existence that was him threatened to shatter, gentle blue filled him, soothing, leading him away from the eternity. It put a veil on his consciousness, humming a tune, lulling him to a certain path.

And somewhere behind, amethyst was closing the curtain on the horrible, wonderful entirety that was Time.

XXX

Sensing something amiss, Bernadette turned. As she was moving, a pillar stood in her view. She saw Miraak vanish.

The pillar blocked her view.

Before she could stop and scream, the energy of her steps carried her to the other side of the pillar.

Miraak was there.

But…

Door leading to one of the offices flew open and a priest hurried out. Bernadette turned on her heel, sprinting back.

Miraak slowly sat up.

Long, inky black hair cascaded down his back. The hand he reached out to support himself against the statue was clad in golden scales, going all the way down from his shoulders to wrists. From under them dark blue fabric spilled out, making large, mostly open sleeves akin to wings.

The sleeves folded back to his chest, caught under another set of scales. As he moved to stand up, Bernadette could see his body showing through the gaps in the robe, healthy, no ribs achingly visible through his skin.

Rising, he squared his shoulders and pulled himself straight, to his full height, unburdened by a broken back or aching leg.

Bernadette stopped in her tracks, her mouth opening agape. Her brain vaguely registered Zura, sitting on the ground with a similar expression.

He turned around with a flutter of fabric, ankle rings quietly clacking above his bare feet. There were more scales, going down from a massive belt, previously obscured by a cloak and his hair, covering his hips and legs in a protective golden layer.

He looked confused. But both his eyes, amber and bright, shone with clarity.

There were scars on his face still, but they faded, no longer ridged, now only discoloured markings on his skin.

He looked younger. No, that wasn't right. Bernadette squinted her eyes at the man, staring at his own hands in confusion.

He looked as if someone melded a younger Miraak with his experienced self, and picked only the good things from both.

The moment shattered when the priest ran in and demanded: "What in the Oblivion just happened? Did you do that?!"

Miraak stepped back, taking each step higher up in the air. He reached out. As he did, his staff, almost looking like an eager dog, jumped to his grasp.

Bernadette hurried in.

Miraak, still looking somewhat confused, said something in his native language, so quickly and softly that she couldn't make out the words.

"He's a foreigner, excuse him," she jumped the priest immediately, switching to a haughty noble persona. "He's here just as my escort. Now, I've been looking for a priest for some urgent matters, and here you are. If you could assist me?"

Behind her back, she urgently gestured at Zura.

"We'll be waiting outside, my lady," the Khajiit bowed, grabbed Miraak's hand and then practically dragged him out, still mid-air.

The priest watched them leave with narrowed eyes, but no more surprises happened. She had to turn to Bernadette's request.

XXX

Zura darted through the streets with experience, dragging Miraak behind her. At her hushing, he landed, and now his bare feet softly pattered after her own steps.

She pushed him to a lone corner stinking with piss.

"What just happened?"

He answered in words she didn't know. He furrowed his brow. He tried again, but Zura didn't know this different language either.

"No need," she patted his back, "I can see you are not completely there. Well. We need to get you somewhere safe now, and fast. According to that priest's reaction, everyone worth their magical salt in the city will be looking into the weird stuff."

She looked him over. "You understand me, right?"

He nodded.

"Good. Hm. I don't think you walking around naked would be better than that robe. The bad thing is Berni has most of our packs…"

As she spoke, Miraak looked down, noticing his attire for the first time. He growled and started unclasping the scales angrily.

"No, stop!"

He spat a word at her, but obeyed.

"Let me go through the pack I do have….maybe there is something for you to wear." Zura crouched, took a satchel off of her shoulder and started sifting through its contents.

"A-ha!" in the end, she drew an old mage's robe out. "You're a… bit… taller than Marcurio, but it'll have to do. Let's go over there. Now you can take the stuff off and put this on."

He grumbled something and started undoing the scales. Rather deftly.

"I didn't know if I had clothes for you," Zura shrugged. "And like I said, you running around naked would draw too much attention."

The clothing looked pretty complicated to take off to Zura, but Miraak was done with it in no time. He dropped it on the dirt patch and grabbed the robe from her, which he threw on promptly.

Zura picked the clothes and scale bits, folded them neatly and put them away into the satchel.

"They look nice," she noted to Miraak's irritated look. "If you don't want them, I will keep the stuff."

He shook his head, then made a walking sign with his hand.

"Yes, we should. Come on. Let's go to this little cornerclub, it's the spot Berni and I used to meet up at…"

XXX

His head was pounding. There were too many things in it right now, and all of them jumbled together without any order.

He couldn't even pull out the language he had been using up until that meeting. Gods, if it was at least one language. He couldn't even stay in one, the words slipped out of his mouth without order in various languages he had learnt over his long life.

Well, at least the place was welcomingly dim and quiet. There were several patrons, mostly dunmer, drinking and talking quietly.

He took another sip of the strange bitter fluid Zura had gotten him. It had a blessedly pleasant effect on his headache, slowly tuning it down.

Zura was writing in her book and sipping her own beverage, leaving him to his own devices.

He pulled at the short sleeves of the robe again, irritated by the whole thing. He started braiding his hair, out of a long forgotten habit.

From what he could understand, the jills bent the time in such a way, that his past and future melded together.

And all the bad bits were just….neatly tucked away and sewn shut. Into a different flow of time that he was not present in.

He sighed and drank again.

Meaty brain…

He was halfway done with unbraiding his hair for the fourth time when Bernadette entered the establishment. Looking around, she noted their location and headed to sit down. Just as she did, a server appeared out of nowhere.

"Lemon flower mazte, please."

The dunmer nodded and slid away. Bernadette shifted to a more comfortable sitting position.

"So…what happened?"

Miraak sighed.

"He can't really speak anything legible, at least not for me," Zura noted.

"That is…peculiar." She reached out and tugged at his half undone braid. "This looks nice, though."

The server came back and put down Bernadette's drink. Miraak waited for the server to leave, then, with immense focus, tried to fish out the right words from his brain.

"I…had…an interaction…with…time."

Both women raised their eyebrows.

"Ever heard of…the…the… jills…of Akatosh?"

XXX

"Are you sure?" Zura leaned in.

Bernadette shot a look at Miraak, waiting by the door as they paid. "Yes. You go see your family, I'll…I need to go over things with my aunt. Maybe have a trip to the university. I don't know. Let's just…we'll be fine."

Zura sighed and straightened up. "Well, at least give him something else to wear. I know you have stuff in those magical bags of yours that was supposed to be cleaned out months ago," she poked her chest before leaving.

Bernadette took back change from the bartender.

"Why are we…what's the word…"

He kept silent for a while, as she led him to the streets. "Split up. That's the word. Why are we splitting up?"

"Zura needs to meet her family. I need to think…and then meet my family as well."

"Should I make myself," another thoughtful pause, "scarce, then?"

"No," her voice quivered a bit. "I want you with me. But first," she reached out, slowly, uncertainly, only brushing against his hand, until she finally held it in her own, "I want to take you somewhere."

XXX

I ran across the little tidbits about jills of Akatosh waaaaaaaaaaaaay back when I was a wee little gamerling, and they always fascinated me. At first, I didn't include them, no miraculous helping Miraak, but I had this nice idea in my head...and I just couldn't help and had to include them.