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Like a good future ruler of Tamriel, Miraak kept an eye on its people and happenings. The Solstheim’s Rocks were successfully enslaved, his temple’s construction was smooth sailing, and Mora remained silent – suspiciously silent, even – but his intervention wouldn’t have changed much at this point, so that was for the better. Last thing Miraak wanted was to listen to his ramblings. In short, everything was going according to the plan, so he could allow himself to spend some time observing the situation in Tamriel.
The rest of Morrowind was being slowly rebuilt, but the morale was still low – religious schism, large parts of the province in ruins, the dunmeri people migrating rapidly, even the descendants of those who stayed in their homeland back then – so it won’t be that hard to subjugate it even without controlling minds directly.
Redguards can delude themselves with illusions of their indomitability all they want, yet not even Hammerfell shall withstand his onslaught. A few carefully picked words here, fixing some things in correct people’s minds there, and masters of the blade will surrender without a fight.
The Dominion might end up being the only worthy opponent – the highest level of diplomacy, mastery of magic, every high-ranking person can protect oneself from Illusion spells from childhood, but Miraak will get them, too, will dig his tenta- his fingers deep into the Dominion. No matter how skillful Summerset’s mages were, they were nothing against thousands of years of studying forbidden knowledge and perfecting the mastery of Voice.
...Skyrim. She posed no threat. This province, given another couple of decades, may burst on her own from the internal conflicts tearing her apart. All Miraak would have to do would be to fend off the scavengers that neighboring nations were, which, no doubt, would be eager to grab a tasty morsel of land for themselves. Yet, Miraak kept visiting this place every time. He’d imagine himself walking along paths in golden-red forests of Rift or squinting from the snow, flying in his face, as he was climbing the icy peaks. His heart ached at the view from one of them. Everything seemed so familiar... and yet so alien, irreversibly changed by the merciless passage of time. Soon. Soon Miraak shall visit his homeland in person. He’ll walk along the stalls at the market, have a mug of cold mead in a tavern, and-
What were people talking about? Why was everyone uttering the word “Dovahkiin”? Could it be that it was already time for the prophecy to be fulfilled? That much turned out to be the truth: the last Dragonborn, as it would seem, had recently been summoned by the Greybeards.
Hm. It would be most interesting to see what he was like in a battle first-hand. And he’d have to dispose of him, anyway – it’s unacceptable to undermine Miraak’s authority by the presence of another Dragonborn like that. He had gathered information for a little longer before instructing his followers to kill the “false” Dragonborn, then returned to other matters.
...Kieran. His name was Kieran.
***
And why, he wondered, did Mora abandon his close observations? Before, he couldn't so much as sneeze without hearing a «bless you» on the edge of his mind. Does he think Miraak will miss him? No way in Oblivion.
How far can he go before the Daedra intervenes, unable to stay away any longer?
Dovahkiin’s first appearance took Miraak by surprise. He was just mulling over his plan of action, accompanied by the seekers and Sahrotaar. Miraak turned sharply, sensing an alien presence, but immediately realized who had arrived. Smirking under the mask, he waved his hand dismissively, letting his retinue know he wished to be left alone, then took a few slow steps towards Kieran. He turned out to be a nord. The false Dragonborn squinted his blue eyes, baring his teeth, his hand was already squeezing the handle of the weapon, and light strands of hair fell from under his helmet onto his forehead.
“Greetings, Dovahkiin”, Miraak cracked his knuckles, stopping two steps away from him. “I didn’t expect to meet you so soon. I will do you the honor of challenging you to a duel. Lay down your weapon, and we shall find out who wins in a battle with no steel and no magic: the First Dragonborn or the Last Dragonborn?”
“You’ll crumble from a single blow”, Kieran grinned smugly with bloodthirst in his eyes, but he did take the sword off his belt and tossed it aside, getting into a fight stance. “With how ancient you are”.
“Ha. We shall see”.
Miraak hadn’t had a real fight in quite a while, and so he nearly lost his balance a few times. Kieran may have been more combat-minded and trained more, but what Miraak lacked in spirit and practice, he made up for in acquired knowledge. Dovahkiin didn’t stop to think, no, he was fully engrossed in the fight… And that’s why it was clear as day that the way he raised his arm just now was an attempt to confuse Miraak. His armor was too heavy for that to be an instinctual move.
Is Mora watching..? Is he rooting for his Champion or is he waiting for him to make a misstep?
Their fight reminded a dance. Heartbeat in his ears, pulling pain in his muscles and dull one in places where Dovahkiin’s heavy fist connected with his body, warm stickiness of dripping blood… Oh Divines, Miraak didn’t even remember that he, too, was a human. A breathing one, made of flesh and blood, and he was alive, alive, alive..! The feeling was overflowing, bubbling up in his chest, and so he couldn’t help but chuckle every now and then. It’d been way too long since he’d last felt like this.
At some point Miraak knocked Kieran to the floor, where they kept fighting. The Dragonborns rolled over multiple times, switching the positions, yet neither could gain the upper hand. The Dovahkiins were equal.
No, no, of course he sees everything. He of all beings doesn’t have to be near to know of all the happenings. It is his world, after all.
…and then, once they were both out of breath, Kieran pinned him down with all the weight of his body and armor, and the fight came to a stop. The other’s eyes were glinting with excitement, a trickle of blood flowed from the broken lip, and a wide grin wouldn’t leave his face. They were pretty much sharing the same air: one would exhale heavily, and the other would inhale that very breath. It even felt a little-
“So, Miraak”, Kieran spoke, gasping for air. “I have bested you. What now? Do you wish to have a real battle?”
Though it wasn’t visible under the mask, Miraak smirked, then uttered:
“Mul. Qah. Diiv”.
Now clad in glowing scales and with powers exceeding the original ones multifold, the First Dragonborn pushed the wide-eyed Last one off himself with ease.
“You fought well, Dovahkiin, and yet you’re as far from me as the moons are from you. It’s time for us to part, but know it is not a «farewell». Merely «until next time»”.
After paralyzing Kieran with a spell, Miraak hit him with a few strong thunderbolts to send him back to Mundus.
So, old Herma-Mora, did you enjoy the first act of the play? Brace yourself, for the further, the worse.
***
In fact, Miraak already had everything he needed to take his return, but the more power he gathers, the better. Wouldn’t be bad to consume the other Dragonborn’s soul too. That’s why Miraak was taking his time.
Sometimes he’d feel someone’s mocking gaze, even though there wasn’t a single living being near him. Does he think Miraak wouldn’t get away with his escape? He practically already has. You can laugh all you want, but it remains to be seen who has the last laugh.
Neither was Kieran in a hurry to kill the First Dragonborn. Whenever he’d come to Apocrypha, he went looking for Miraak right away. Their fights were never to the death – merely an entertainment, a way to try new techniques on each other. Get to know the other one better. Study the opponent's strengths and weaknesses. They tried using their weapons once, but Miraak’s sword’s tentacles immobilized Kieran way too easily, so they preferred hand-to-hand combat. Sometimes, however, the Last Dragonborn would bring two swords and give one to his… Opponent? Enemy? Friend?
“I’ve never had such a good fight in my life”, Kieran once said with a manic grin, hitting Miraak with full force.
“The feeling is mutual, Dovahkiin”, he responded as he returned the favor.
Miraak would catch himself fighting with a little bit more vigor, putting a little bit more of a show whenever he’d feel the gaze of a certain third one with all of the skin of his back. Letting him know Miraak wasn’t affected by the silent treatment in the slightest. It’s even better without him.
The blows kept raining down. The First Dragonborn wriggled like a snake, dodging the opponent’s hits, and the Last one was countering his, fighting like a bear. Neither one was besting the other, as always, and then they both collapsed to the ground with laughs, powerless.
“You know, Miraak”, Kieran spoke up. “I’ve always been curious about what dragon priests have under their masks”.
Before he could answer, Dovahkiin already grabbed the mask by the «horns», pulling it off. Miraak’s breathing caught for a moment – Apocrypha’s air wasn’t the freshest, but even that felt chilly on his rotting skin after so many years spent in the mask. Miraak wasn’t sure what was left of his face, as thousands of years spent in Hermaeus’ dimension would irreversibly change anyone, and neither a dragon’s soul nor the willpower to match would help with that. That’s why he expected Kieran to wince and recoil, hurriedly pulling the mask back on him, but instead he only leaned closer, observing the other’s face (or whatever was left of it, anyway). There wasn’t a hint of fear or disgust in his expression. He took his gauntlet off and began tracing Miraak’s features with his fingers, touching the bare flesh with care.
See? You’re not the only one who can bear this sight. You’ve spent so much time changing him, carving him into something for yourself only, and still you’ve failed to ruin him for the rest of the world. There’s still at least one being not bothered by Miraak’s transformations in the slightest.
He was more surprised by the fact his tongue was still intact, as well as (partially) lips than that Kieran pulled him into a kiss.
Of course, he was merely a potential obstacle, an instrument and a source of additional power to Miraak, and yet… as annoying as that realization was, it was pleasant to feel a human’s body warmth after thousands of years.
…much more pleasant than the Dragonborn would like to admit.
A coarse hand, sliding between the layers of clothes, tore a tense moan off his lips.
***
They kept seeing each other. For fights and for the new activities. Miraak would always pick places near the black slime with slowly blinking eyes in it. His eyes. Let him watch. Let him know Miraak doesn’t belong to him. He’s not his thing, not his pet, not his lover and not his servant, and soon enough he won’t even be his prisoner.
Miraak always insisted on leaving as much clothing on him as possible. He told Dovahkiin he didn’t want to bare even more of his mutilated, corrupted body, but in reality, he wanted to keep as many Mora’s gifts on as possible. If it was up to him, he'd even keep the mask on. It used to be a sign of belonging to the dragon cult, and then it was distorted by the Prince to match him, serving as a reminder of who Miraak belonged to. Who does he belong to now, Gardener of Men? It was not unlike cheating on one’s spouse without taking the wedding ring off.
They hardly spoke, and Miraak was only glad. He’d had quite enough of long-winded chats in his first few years in Apocrypha.
Kieran kisses him, and Miraak wonders if Mora has a good view on the tongues from down there, from the ooze.
Hands that have been in countless battles slide over his body, and he can’t help but compare them to tentacles. Dry, rough, warm. A complete opposite. Mora would only bother making his appendages warm when he wanted to mock Miraak. Remind him of long-forgotten sensations. Perhaps, that’s what he wanted to achieve? So that human touch would remind him of tentacles’ warmth and not vice versa?
And then there was that one time when Miraak met Mora’s gaze. Right in the middle of the… process. Kieran’s back was turned to the Daedra, so he didn’t see him. The many eyes were blinking, taking turns, and the biggest one was squinting slightly – he was clearly having fun. What did he appear for? To embarrass Miraak? Well, that didn’t work. He moaned Dovahkiin’s name in a particularly drawn-out manner, arched his back and wrapped his legs even tighter around the other’s hips, eyes still locked with Prince’s. Now that he thought about it, there was some other emotion in that squint. What, is nothing human alien even to the Book Unreadable, the Question Unanswerable? Miraak laughed in his mind.
Once they both reached the peak, Kieran pulled him closer and kissed him. Miraak closed his eyes and kissed back, embracing the other one tighter. He’d never be able to feel like this with Mora. He did try to take human form once, but it was off-putting and unnatural, limbs twisting in all the wrong directions, so he never tried again. This is not to mention that the Prince himself found the sight of mortals disgusting, which was why his gifts covered as much skin as they could.
After Kieran returned to Mundus, Mora approached the flushed Dragonborn.
“Miraak. You are acting like a cat that won’t stop toying with its prey”, there was a clear disdain in his voice, and he was squinting his eye as though he’d seen something abominable. “You intend to kill him, so why do you keep delaying the inevitable?”
“Why, are you in a hurry?” Miraak stretched lazily, not even thinking of fixing his clothes. “Or, perhaps, jealous?”
“What a preposterous assumption. You are well aware I am not capable of such base feelings, peculiar only to mortals”, the sound he made could probably be called a sneer.
“Jealous, then”, the Dragonborn concluded.
“Watch your tongue, my Champion”, Mora entangled him with the tentacles, wrapping one around his throat. Miraak didn’t resist, but crossed his arms on his chest and raised his chin. “Remember who you belong to. Both body and mind”.
“Not for long”, Miraak grinned as wide as he could, using the fact that for the first time in a while Hermaeus could see his face. Maybe it was risky to voice his intentions, but Mora was most certainly already aware, anyway.
“Do you really believe that attempt of yours will end in success?” he asked, just barely holding back his laughter.
“And you believe you can stop me?” the Dragonborn answered, tilting his head to the side.
“Arguing with the Prince of Fate?” Mora’s cavernous laughter flooded his mind. “That is bold of you, Miraak. Very bold. And just as foolish. I have to admit, I would have expected more from my Champion, had I known you for a few thousand years less”.
“You of all beings should know that fate can bend”, and Dragonborn of all beings should be the one who gets to bend it.
“So be it, let us imagine your little escape succeeded. Maybe, your body would leave, but your mind, your heart, if you will, would stay here forever”, the tentacle made another turn around the throat.
“Nonsense! I-“
“Think about it, Miraak. Thoughts of me don’t leave your head even in the most… intimate moments between you and the other Dragonborn”, the tentacle caressed his cheek. “And you wear my gifts without ever taking them off”.
“It’s just to-!”
“Excuses, my Champion. Nothing more. Do you believe them yourself?”
Miraak didn’t respond, going deep in thought. His shoulders slumped, and his fighting spirit vanished. Mora laughed smugly.
“Maybe you will manage to leave Apocrypha, but it will never leave you. You will walk through your snowy homeland and discover with horror just how much you miss what you call many thousands years of imprisonment. But there will be no way back”, he put the mask back on Miraak askew and began vanishing into thin air, petting the mortal’s face with his tentacle one last time. “Do think about it, my Champion”.
Miraak sat there for a few minutes, in a daze, half-naked and with his mask crooked. Mora was right. He could’ve escaped long ago, but he kept delaying the moment again and again. He was too used to Apocrypha. Too scared to find out his homeland no longer felt like home, and instead the tentacles, the half-light and the bars of this cage did.
The First Dragonborn shook his head and angrily covered his flesh, distorted by Apocrypha. He mustn’t let Mora stick his tentacles into his mind. He even tried to get by with just words this time! Ha. No such luck. To make a Dragonborn reconsider, he’d need much more drastic measures.
Enough beating around the bush. Time to bring the plan to life. He had quite a lot of fun with Kieran, but his days were numbered now.
…besides, Miraak’s behavior was getting on Mora’s nerves, after all, and that’s… well, it wasn’t the only thing that mattered, but it was important, too. He laughed quietly at his small victory.
***
“Dovahkiin. The next time we meet, we shall have our first real battle and our last fight”, Miraak stated, pressing the knee between the other’s shoulder blades. “I shall await your arrival at the summit of Apocrypha”.
“I will miss our fights, Miraak”, Kieran laughed hoarsely.
“Ha. There are plenty of other worthy opponents in Sovngarde. They are no match to me, of course, but they will keep you entertained”.
“Is that so? Give them my warmest regards, then”, Dovahkiin wriggled to glance at him over his shoulder with a cheeky smile.
And that was when Miraak sent him back to Mundus and headed straight to said summit. He gave orders to the dragons, made some more preparations and began waiting. In this, he had no equal. In the meantime, Miraak kept reading a book he found relatively recently. There will be no time to read once he gets out! Mora made occasional appearances to make some cryptic warnings, but Miraak brushed him off every time.
Finally, after a few days and nights (as far as one could tell while staying in Apocrypha), Kieran appeared, riding Sahrotaar. There were many more tentacles sticking out from the green sky than usual. Is he worried or what? Miraak chided the dragon for «disloyalty» lightly and came up to Dovahkiin.
“And so the First Dragonborn meets the Last Dragonborn at the summit of Apocrypha for a fight to death. No doubt, not without a little help from Hermaeus Mora… Which, however, matters not. I’m about to throw his shackles off and finally obtain freedom. Not least thanks to my victory over you and to absorbing your soul, Dovahkiin”.
“Keep dreaming”, he sneered.
Well. While Miraak enjoyed having an equal, if for a brief period of time, he wasn’t going to coddle the other Dragonborn.
“Mul Qah Diiv!” he used his own Shout again. Kieran followed suit right away, drawing the sword. “Oh? Using my own weapon against me? You are learning fast, Dovahkiin. But that isn’t enough”.
As usual, Kieran rushed into attack without wasting words.
Admittedly, Miraak didn’t expect he’d have to actually fight for this victory. Kieran had greater physical might and a stronger build on his side, but Miraak had experience, magic and the mastery Voice on his, and he didn’t shy away from using the latter. Every now and then he heard Mora’s chuckles or short comments in the back of his mind. Whose side is he on..? Did he really trade one Dragonborn for the other so soon? After all these years? It even stung a little.
Miraak had a backup plan in case things don’t go the way he thought they would – he planned to heal and gain a second breath by absorbing a dragon’s soul. Three of them were circling the summit for that exact purpose. He didn’t get nervous in the slightest when he absorbed the first one. A few mistakes here and there, underrating the opponent – nothing critical. Surely, he’ll win now, with regained strength and healed wounds. After taking the second one’s soul, Miraak became a little worried. When Kieran “killed” him for the third time, the First Dragonborn began fighting desperately, like a cornered beast. That was a fatal mistake: Dovahkiin already was quite tired, himself, and so, if Miraak wasn’t making one rash move after the other, if he wasn’t leaving himself wide open, getting close to Kieran, then, maybe, Miraak would’ve won.
No matter. He was running out of strength and he was about to bleed out. Miraak needed to escape to Mundus, where his servants will meet him and help him. As soon as possible. Run, run, run. Now or never. He began casting the spell, hiding in one of the wells with ooze, and, when it was almost done, a strange power grabbed him and lifted him above the center of the arena. No! Not now! What the-
“I warned you, Miraak. You can’t escape me”, the beloathed voice spoke, followed by laughter.
Kieran tried to get close, but tentacle blocked his way. He attempted climbing over it, and the appendage swished carelessly, dropping Dovahkiin to the ground.
“I have repeated myself so many times, I gave you hints, I threatened you, and yet you did not heed. No matter. I have found a new Dragonborn to serve me”.
At those words, Miraak felt a sharp pain piercing right through him. He stared dumbly at the tentacle, sticking out from his abdomen. Couldn’t resist the urge to penetrate your Champion one last time? Dark green, almost black fabric was torn, showing his flesh and organs. As it turned out, he was still red on the inside. Miraak shifted his gaze towards Kieran, putting a considerable effort to do so. The Last Dragonborn stared in horror. The First one smiled at him under the mask.
“Beware, Dovahkiin, for one day he shall betray you as he did me”, was all Miraak managed to say. Succinct, to the point, and as if Mora wasn’t there at all.
The tentacle that was swinging in glee before suddenly froze. It was the last thing the First Dragonborn saw before his consciousness faded away, and his body turned to ash in mere seconds.
Kieran, stunned into silence, was simply watching as the other’s equipment began falling to the floor. Left boot, right boot, the robe becoming a shapeless rug at his feet. Many tiny black tentacles covered the hole in seconds, then turned into fabric. Gloves. Mask. And that was all that was left of his… Enemy? Lover? Comrade? The only one who was truly equal to him. He lifted the mask in disbelief.
“NO!! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!” Kieran screamed, looking into the eye hovering not high above him. “I was supposed to kill him!”
“My apologies, Dovahkiin, but Miraak is mine. No matter how much he tried to deny it”.
“The last hit belonged to me, and yet you went and-”
“Dovahkiin. What I value above all in my Champions are humility and loyalty. The two qualities Miraak lacked. Learn from his mistakes to not suffer the same fate”, Mora interrupted him in stern tone. Kieran clenched his teeth, but fell silent. “And now you shall accept my gift. Serve me well, and you shall be granted many more”.
And with that, leaving Kieran alone with Miraak’s gear and some random, poorly-thought out gift, the Prince of Knowledge disappeared, deep in thought.