The atmosphere of the Temple was dark and unstable. Those who lived within the walls felt as though they were walking on eggshells as the first month passed. Laat had suffered a life-threatening injury, but with the help of the High Priestess and her healers, the Dragonborn's life was saved. Yet, they remained unconscious and showed little sign of waking soon.
Miraak was agitated, snapping at anyone who so much as breathed the wrong way. The Cultists, fearing they would do something to set him off, avoided him as much as possible. This left the High Priestess, Paarrii, to deal with her Lord's foul mood on her own.
Outside of the Temple, Miraak was composed and negotiated with the Counselor of Raven Rock. Morvayn was a Dunmer that Miraak had grown to respect during the first month of his freedom. The man was not quick to act with violence — he had too few guards to summon for a war. He settled on negotiations, peace and prosperity, instead of war and bloodshed.
By the second month, Miraak and Morvayn had made a contract of sorts that would act as a temporary peace treaty. Morvayn would supply Miraak and his cult with food and free passage of the island, and Miraak offered medicine and the freedom of those who had been under his control. While Miraak desired control of Solstheim, he also knew he needed time to readapt to life on Nirn, and time to learn of the current societal structure.
From what he had learned, the First Dragonborn was unequipped to deal with the Aldmeri Dominion and the Empire. He would need time to plan on how he would handle these government bodies. But, with the Last Dragonborn injured and comatose, Miraak was finding it difficult to concentrate on anything outside of Solstheim.
It was towards the end of the second month that Laat began to show signs of improvement.
They had begun to shift in their sleep, and quiet murmurs of indiscernible words were spoken. It was unclear what exactly was being said, yet it was still progress. Paarrii theorized that Laat would wake within the next few days, to possibly the next two weeks.The wait of the last two months seemed easier compared to now.
Sun trickled in from a window, while dust particles danced lazily in the light. A wooden chair sat in the middle of a room, with a square table beside it. In the chair sat a Bosmeri woman, a book held in one hand and a child curled against her other side. The woman was golden skinned, like most of the Bosmeri race, with eyes like freshly polished amber and golden-brown hair. She was reading the book in a low voice that was not quite a whisper, and the child was dozing against her side. The woman stopped reading suddenly and the child stirred. Amber eyes, identical to the woman's, blinked open blurrily and looked up to her questioningly.
"Why did you stop reading momma?" The child asked as they rubbed their blurry eyes.
The woman smiled softly at her child as she combed their dark, almost black, brown hair away from their face. "I'm just thinking, sweetheart. It's almost lunch time, what would you like to eat?"
"A sweetroll!" Exclaimed the child, a broad grin on their now wide-awake face.
The woman laughed softly. "Okay, but just this once." She conceded and the child cheered.
Laat remembered this day as clear as if it had happened yesterday. A fond smile played at their lips as they watched their younger self and their mother leave the study. They were about to follow the pair, but a paper on the table beside the reading chair caught their attention. They leaned over to read it and their heart fell to their stomach. It was a results paper, and the results were for an illness that had taken their mother months after this memory.
An incurable illness had slowly killed their mother. They watched her wither away right before their eyes. The once vibrant woman had become a shell of who she once was, and her death left Laat orphaned.
Their mother would be disappointed in who they had become. They knew this deep down. There was nothing they could do now; they had lost that chance ages ago. Changing now would mean nothing to those they had hurt, to those they had damned to suffer. All they could do was lie in the grave that they had dug for themselves.
A pained grunt was the first sign they were waking. Amber eyes fluttered open to squint at the stone ceiling above them as they caught their bearings. They remembered reaching the platform of the Temple that housed the Tree Stone, before collapsing from exhaustion and pain. There were voices and frantic shouts, and they knew they had been carefully lifted and carried. Their memories after that felt distant and unreliable.
Well, they had survived, but they didn't know if it was by the grace of the gods, or a punishment for their actions. Laat lifted their left hand and placed it over their right side. Bandages kept their fingers from making direct contact with their injury, but they could feel the pressure of their touch. A good sign to be sure, it meant that the frostbite had been treated and they hadn't lost a chunk of skin.The bandages were located mostly around their torso, although some of the bandages were wrapped around their chest and over their left shoulder.
Laat sighed out of relief and silent despair. Relief at living with minimal permanent damage, and despair at the knowledge that sitting up would hurt no matter how they moved. Hunger demanded that they move to end the growls in their stomach. A quick glance around the room told Laat that they were alone and would not receive assistance in their endeavor.
Getting up from the bed was a slow process, one that they didn't rush. Anytime their side screamed in agony, Laat would rest to ease the pain before moving again. They could not see where their armor was, but they did see robes atop a chest at the foot of their bed. Someone had taken the time to change Laat out of their armor and into the pants of the robes, which left Laat to slide on the robe itself. They didn't care that the robe was typically worn by the regular cultists, they were just glad to have something to throw on. They weren't going to take time to mess with the sash or any other piece of the robe, they wanted food.
Once Laat was standing, their injury was easy to ignore as they began their trek to the dining room of the Temple.
As they walked down the halls, they noticed the cultists acting strangely. When anyone laid eyes on Laat, they'd quickly turn and hurry away to some unknown corner of the Temple. Laat didn't pay too much attention to the odd behavior. Their stomach was growing persistent with its demand for food.
The Last had been spotted walking through the halls of the Temple making their way to the dining room. Miraak had nearly ran out of his office and was making a beeline for the dining room. He hoped he could catch up with Laat before they reached their destination, but with how determined they had been seen moving it was unlikely.
He would never admit it, but Miraak had been worried about the Last Dragonborn during the two months they slept. He had sought out answers to explain why he had been so concerned over Laat's condition but had come up empty in his investigations. There had never been two Dragonborn alive at the same time. It was likely the concern stemmed from Laat being Miraak's only equal, but that hadn't felt like the sole reason. The answer existed, Miraak knew it did, but it didn't dawn on him until he laid eyes on them.
Laat's back was turned towards the doorway Miraak had walked through, and they were scooping soup from a cauldron into a wooden bowl. Every detail that was presented to Miraak was scrutinized. From the way their dark brown hair fell around their shoulders, to the way they stood as straight as possible without aggravating their injury, and to how they moved once their bowl was full.
Laat turned around, their eyes on their bowl for a moment before rising, and they froze when they finally saw who had been burning holes in their back. Their brain almost couldn't process what they were seeing, but their soul — their dovah sil — roared with what could only be joy at the sight of Miraak. They had almost forgotten how tall he was. He towered over Laat by a full foot, and normally that height difference didn't affect them. Right now, though, it shot a shiver down their spine that wasn't caused by fear.
Laat's stomach chose that moment to release a very loud, and very angry growl to announce its presence.
No words were spoken as Miraak silently motioned for Laat to follow him.
They followed Miraak through the halls of the underground portion of the Temple, until they reached a door that Laat swore had led to a storage closet at one point in time. When the door opened, it revealed that the once-storage-closet had been converted into a decently sized office. Unlike the Priestess' office, Miraak kept his paperwork organized and neatly stacked into piles atop the desk. Laat glanced one of the papers, and they were disappointed when they noticed that the contents were faced down; likely to keep nosy guests from seeing what was written.
Miraak skirted around the stone table and sat down in a wooden chair, and it was only then that Laat also sat in the chair in front of the desk. Sitting down was as much of a process as it had been to get off the bed, but they were too prideful to ask for assistance. Though, it was unlikely Miraak would have helped when asked.
Once Laat had managed to sit, they began to eat their food despite the unease they felt at being stared at by the golden mask adorning Miraak's face. They kept their eyes on the Atmoran, a silent battle of wills daring the other to look away.Neither were backing down, and any cultist that walked near the office could have sworn a storm was brewing in the room.
Silence remained as Laat ate and Miraak stared. It was when Laat was done eating that the silence was finally broken.
"You underestimated the Skaal, Dragonborn." Miraak's voice was smooth and reverberated through the room while also sounding strained with suppressed anger. Anger at what, Laat did not know.
Miraak continued with barely disguised anger, "The Skaal are descendants from my time, in possession of ancient magic and craftsmanship, and you confronted them alone." He accused.
Laat bristled at his tone. He spoke to them as if they were a child. It was true that Laat was younger than Miraak by thousands of years, but it did not give him the right to treat them like a child.
"I knew full well what the Skaal were capable of. Yes, they had gained the upper hand, but they did not stand a chance despite that." Laat defended with a growl.
Miraak continued to stare at them, and they cursed the damned mask he wore. It hid his face from Laat, and in turn it hid whatever emotions crossed his face due to his thoughts.
"They did not stand a chance, and yet you returned injured and close to death. That does not impart confidence in your abilities, Dragonborn."
The urge to Shout at Miraak was volatile. Laat's restraint was being tested. They were being tested. The urge to Shout faded as they inhaled and exhaled slowly. They would not give him the satisfaction of getting under their skin with veiled insults.
Miraak was correct too, Laat had underestimated Frea and it nearly cost them their life. Swallowing their pride, Laat assented, "I did underestimate the Skaal. I underestimated their resolve and their beliefs. I will not make that mistake twice."
"No," Miraak agreed. "You will not. You will rest and recover, and when you are healed, I will be assessing what you know, in both your Thu'um and combat skills."
Laat was taken aback by his words. Miraak wanted to test their abilities? What did that entail? Would he demand they fight him, or would he watch Laat fight his cultists?
There were many questions swirling within Laat's mind, followed by conflicting emotions between curiosity, excitement, and annoyance. But none of those emotions outweighed the anticipation they felt.
Miraak rose from his chair and walked around his desk to stand beside Laat. The action resulted in Laat attempting to stand as well, only for the sharp movement to pull at their wound. They winced and held a hand over their side as they waited out the wave of pain.
Miraak stood beside the Last Dragonborn as they curled in on themselves in pain. It amused him to see that they had forgotten about their wound, a sign they were on the path to recovery. Rage simmered under the surface of that amusement. The person behind the injury was the one Miraak's rage was directed at. If he got his hands on whoever it was, they would suffer a far worse fate.
When the wave of pain finally faded, Laat relaxed and slowly attempted to stand. Instead of standing and watching like before, Miraak reached out and helped Laat ease to their feet. The leather gloves did little to hide the warmth of Miraak's hands, and there was a sudden longing when he pulled away. Laat was perplexed by their response. They had never craved for another's touch like this.
Miraak cleared his throat, hands now clasped behind his back. "I will send for Paarrii, you should return to the infirmary and wait for her. She will take you to a proper room for you to rest in."
Laat only nodded in reply before turning and leaving the office. Halfway back to the infirmary, they remembered the bowl they had eaten out of was still on Miraak's desk.
Miraak watched as Laat walked out of the room. He turned to sit behind his desk but stopped when he saw the bowl Laat had left behind. Normally, an action like this would have irritated him, but since Laat had left it, he felt nothing but delight in knowing they had eaten after waking. While Laat was unconscious, Paarrii or Miraak would carefully spoon feed them. The last almost two months had been taxing on Miraak's mind. Seeing Laat completely unresponsive had terrified him more than he could explain. Now that they were awake, he had finally understood why he had been so fearful for their safety. Putting the feelings into words would come later, but only if Miraak could prove that Laat felt the same.
Picking up the bowl, Miraak left his office and began to make his way back to the kitchen. While on the way, Miraak ran into one of his followers and told them find and inform Paarrii that Laat was awake and waiting to be escorted to their room. The kitchen was empty when he arrived, so he left the wooden bowl in the wash bowl and returned to his office.
Miraak knew that his current office had been a storage room for old artifacts from his time. What no one else knew was that the room had been his office prior to being imprisoned in Apocrypha as well. Remembering the realm of Hermaeus-Mora shot a chill down his spine.
The first paper Miraak picked up to read was a report over Kolbjorn Barrow and the Black Book within. As he read over the report he had to reel in his emotions. Acolytes had found a Dunmer man attempting to dig into the old ruin by himself. He was offered assistance and after a few draugr incidents the inner sanctum was finally reached. It was during the final search for the Black Book that a group of Skaal, led by a woman wielding a Stalhrim axe, ambushed the acolytes and excavators. During the fight, it is suspected that a Skaal had snuck off and escaped the ruin with the Black Book.
The details of the report left Miraak on edge. Why were the Skaal after the cursed books? The answer could simply be to keep them out of the wrong hands, but Miraak knew better. Hermaeus-Mora could have just as easily seduced the surviving Skaal with promises of revenge against Laat. That was the most likely explanation, and it meant the other books needed to be located before the Skaal could find them. Counter measures would need to be prepared if Miraak and his followers were to fail.