[Chapter 1] Here in his shrine
“Much of what is known has been lost through the ages. He was Dragonborn, yet he served the dragons. A priest in their order, highly esteemed and very powerful. Then he turned against them, becoming something they feared.”
Miraak awoke with a sudden gasp. He was lying on the cold, hard floor of an unknown room. But cold and hard meant pain, and pain meant he was still alive. This was good. He tried to push himself up, away from the floor but he simply could not summon the strength to do so. His will had been sapped by some unknown entity, forcing him to remain where he lay, unable to move or defend himself. It left the former dragon priest feeling weak and powerless. He despised feeling powerless.
Miraak struggled to remember how he had arrived at this point of time, lying here on some unknown stone floor, feeling weaker than he had in centuries. As he tried to recall the most recent events of his life, he was met with nothing but a haze of distorted memories. He knew who he was: Miraak, almighty Dragonborn, betrayer and devourer of dragons. He remembered his meeting and eventual swearing of fealty to the Daedric lord of fate and knowledge, Hermaeus Mora. He also remembered his own attempted betrayal of Hermaeus Mora after the Daedra had outlived his usefulness to the Dragonborn. And then his memory cleared and he remembered what had happened, at the summit of Apocrypha, Mora's own plane of Oblivion. Miraak remembered the thick, green tendril pierce his torso, and he also remembered the intense pain it caused. And then there was that strange burning sensation at the back of his skull...
Miraak jolted up from the floor quite suddenly as the realization of what had happened hit him. Hermaeus Mora had killed him for his treachery, disintegrating him to nothing but bones. He could not believe it. He was dead. He was dead, yet he felt just as alive as before. To think otherwise would be foolhardy. There was no other explanation. Or was there? Perhaps this was yet another trick of Mora's, designed to fool him into servitude again. No, Miraak would not allow that again. He would never serve again, it was too far beneath someone of his power and caliber.
Miraak used his new-found strength to his advantage, looking around at the room he now found himself in through the eye-slits of his mask. It was Apocrypha, Miraak knew instantly. The four walls around him and the ceiling itself were all made of title-less black books, the hallmark of Hermaeus Mora's realm. So perhaps he was not dead after all, and Hermaeus Mora had other plans for him. Or perhaps he was indeed dead, yet Mora commanded his soul even after death, a thought that Miraak had much difficulty swallowing. He had served too many masters in his mortal life. He would not continue to serve in his life after death.
Other than the books that made up his four walls and the smooth onyx floor he knelt upon, the room was otherwise completely bare. Miraak could not help thinking this was a prison cell, designed to hold him until the end of time. Or at least until Mora deigned him worthy enough of his time to speak to. The Dragonborn slowly pushed himself up off his knees, coming to his feet. He dusted off his greenish, murky robes with a gloved hand. He waited a few moments to see if Hermaeus Mora knew he had awoken. When no voice spoke to him, and no swarm of tentacles appeared to him that marked the Daedric Lord's presence, Miraak decided to speak.
“Where are you, Hermaeus Mora?” he began, “I know that you can hear me. You can hear all in your realm. And I assume you are watching me in particular.” Miraak waited for the tale-tell signs of Hermaeus Mora's attention, but nothing happened. It was as if Miraak was talking to himself. He was about to speak again but before he could, a voice that sounded slightly congested and rather raspy spoke, resounding deeply through the small room.
“Miraak. Your betrayal has not endeared yourself to me. I do not take treachery kindly.”
“Then what do you want? You would not have kept me alive if you did not want something from me,” Miraak replied bluntly.
“Ah yes, ever the to-the-facts personality,” Hermaeus Mora said. Several blackish-green tentacles began oozing out of the books, emanating the Daedra's presence. “You have served me well, and you have been rewarded. But you have grown restless under my guidance. You have been replaced, Miraak, by one who might serve me more capably. But you might still have your uses.”
“So you wish me to continue serving you,” Miraak said hotly, “Never again. I will not be your slave any longer.”
“You mistake my meaning, Miraak,” Hermaeus Mora spoke, dropping his voice to a mere whisper. “I will free you from my command, but before that, you shall perform one final service to me.”
Miraak crossed his arms. “Then speak. I am listening.”
“Good. You stand to gain much from this deal, though you do not know it,” Mora said. He had fully entered the room by now, black pits of ooze bubbling from the floor, and a large grotesque eye growing from the wall directly facing Miraak. “As all my agreements are, it is simple. Knowledge, for knowledge.”
“On a world far from your own, and beyond even the Daedra's reach, there lives a being that possesses knowledge that has not yet been added to my library. In exchange for the power to free yourself from my service, you must bring me this being and the knowledge they have. Then I shall return you to Tamriel, if you so desire.”
Miraak was hesitant to accept. Becoming master of his own fate again was what Miraak wanted most in the world, even more than his desire for power. But he did not know the exact terms of this agreement. He knew not know what knowledge he needed, or where he was going. He did not even know who he was bringing to Mora.
“And who, exactly, would I be bringing to you?” Miraak asked, still contemplating whether or not to agree.
“A princess, in a castle on a mountain,” Hermaeus Mora answered cryptically, his one eye blinking slothfully at the end of the sentence. “You do not need the specifics, for all will become clear once you accept. So say I, Hermaeus Mora, master of the tides of Fate.” His voice became increasingly louder and more aggressive in tone as the words came out, but suddenly fell to a whisper on the word 'fate'.
“She holds the secrets that rightfully belong to me. You will bring her to me, and then you shall have your freedom.”
Miraak was torn on his decision. He despised the thought of working for Mora again. Servitude was unbecoming of a Dragonborn, and just thinking of continuing to serve the will of the hideous Daedra repulsed him. On the other hand, if he performed this final task he would be free of him forever. When it came down to it, Miraak had two options: imprisonment and possibly death, or one final quest and the return of his free-will. He made his decision.
“I accept, Mora,” Miraak said, uncrossing his arms, “but if you even think of betraying me, your deal is off.”
“I would think you would understand this after so long under my influence, Miraak,” Hermaeus Mora replied softly, his voice echoing oddly in the small prison of books. “My word is as true as fate, as inevitable as destiny. You know that if you bring me what I desire, you shall have what you desire.”
“And before I set you loose on this unwary world, know this: I have stifled your power as Dragonborn, as punishment for your... insubordination. I have not completely taken back my gifts to you, for that is beyond even my power. But they are lost to you for now, though they will return to you in time. And as a token of good faith, I bestow upon you your weapons again. They will serve you well. I have foreseen it. Now go, and return with what belongs to me.”
On these final words, a swarm of black, viscous liquid sprang up from the ground at Miraak's feet, enveloping him entirely. He reached out a hand to they sky, subconsciously trying to escape its hold on him, but it was in vain. It sucked him in, and as everything went black, Miraak heard Hermaeus Mora's laugh echoing in his head.
Miraak awoke somewhere new for the second time that day. For once in centuries, he could hear the sounds of birds chirping, and felt the wind rustle through the folds of his robes. The sensation was completely alien to him, having been trapped in Apocrypha for eons, where there is no wind, nor any birds. He opened his eyes to a bright blue sky, which was infinitely more beautiful than than the pale green haze of Hermaeus Mora's realm.
He turned over on his side, getting a better view of his surroundings. He found himself lying on a grassy hill, flanked by a trio of trees and overlooking rolling plains. Miraak slowly got to his feet, mesmerized and baffled by the sight. It was the first time in thousands of years that he had seen grass, and the sky, and trees with his own two eyes. He thought to himself that if he was a weaker man, he would have been brought to tears by the sight. He knew it was nowhere near where he was born, or even Mundus at that point, but to Miraak it felt like coming home after a long time away.
He saw a range of mountains far off in the distance with the bright, beaming sun hovering above it, and decided that since his goal was a castle on a mountain, he would begin his search there. He took a step forward, but instead of stepping on dirt and grass, he booted foot pressed on something wood. Miraak looked down, and found that he had stepped on his staff, lying next to his sword still swirling with Hermaeus Mora's trademarked tentacles. He reached down and plucked the staff up with a gloved hand.
“So, Mora, you were not lying,” Miraak said softly to himself, studying the twisted shaft of wood that he held. “These may yet prove useful indeed.” Miraak picked up his curved sword from the ground, and slid it into a loop on his belt. Although he was pleased to still have his weapons at hand, Miraak was still angered at the knowledge that his Dragonborn powers had been taken from him, at least momentarily. He guarded his power jealously, and for it to be taken from him in such a manner... well. Miraak would certainly pay Hermaeus back for it ten-fold upon his return.
Miraak put one foot in front of the other, moving east in the direction of the mountains and the rising sun. The earth below him softened his footfalls, making him much quieter as opposed to the echoing thuds of the stone of Apocrypha. There were many things about the world that Miraak would have to reacquaint himself with. He was tempted to remove his mask and feel the wind blow directly on his face, but thought better of it. He was already weak enough as is. He would not remove his most powerful item and make himself even more vulnerable. While this new place seemed peaceful, it could be deception. There might be some creature lurking beneath the ground or in the sky waiting for the time to strike. The mask lent him power, and he often drew upon it to strengthen himself when he needed it. He seemed to remember that long ago when he was still a priest in the dragon cult that when the highest members of the order held a meeting, many of them would remove their own masks of power to look each other in the eye. Miraak often neglected to remove his own, which some of the others may have seen as slightly disrespectful. He did not care. They and their codes and ethics were beneath him. Besides, they were long dead, and he was not. It did him little to think about the past.
As Miraak walked on, he paid little attention to his current surroundings, focusing on the mountains on the horizon, his goal. If he had looked around a bit longer, he would have noticed something following him at a distance, wary of the new arrival in Equestria.
