Something I spewed out. Because believe me, given the chance, I would join Miraak and his sexy voice in a heartbeat.
The Fool and The Traitor
When the Traitor had offered her his golden hand and a place by his side high above the creatures of Skyrim, how could she refuse?
The need for power was inherent, as much a part of her as her hands or legs or the blood that ran through her veins. Another gift of the dovah sos she had been granted at the day of her birth. The thought of ruling over all made her soul yearn and her throat parched at the thought- thirsty for dominion and supremacy, to see lesser vermin cower at the sight of her. It was something they did already, but as the ruler of all they would not even dare to raise their eyes to her.
Miraak offered all this and more, staring at her through the slits of his mask, his glowing silhouette contrasting with the dark and gloom of Apocrypha. But there was a reason they called him Traitor, and she was not foolish enough to trust him.
She left Apocrypha and cut down those who possessed the knowledge to stop him, the blonde Skaal warrior and her shaman father, and with their heads terrified the rest of their people to submission. As each day passed his temples grew ever larger, ever stronger.
He teaches her to hone her Thu'um. Mul Qah Diiv, Gol Hah Dov, countless shouts that even Paarthurnax could never teach. Sometimes she thinks of him; sharply scolding herself when she did, for what was Paarthurnax but a hypocrite and a liar? If she had allowed him to live, he would've turned the dragons against her, for all dragons instinctively aspire to dominance, and when the time came they always betrayed their allies for their own ends.
She finds herself admiring her teacher sometimes, watching him as he demonstrates a new Thu'um. She sees his shape when his robes strain against his body as he moves, strong and muscular underneath. The mask he wears maddens her. How does he look like, beneath the mask? Grotesque, scarred, plain, handsome? She has never seen him take it off. Does he wear it to sleep? Sometimes he catches her looking at him, and while most girls would look away, cheeks colouring, she stares back until he returns to his task.
Her nights are spent in Apocrypha, for she is still mortal despite her divine blood, and her body still aches at the sight of a bed after a long day. Sometimes Miraak joins her. The First Dragonborn is a man underneath his robes, after all, and has not shared anyone's bed in thousands of years. On her part- well. She had been admiring him from afar for all this time, and if she would admit to one weakness, it was her lust. He leaves his mask on, even when they lie together; ancient breath hot, he whispers in her ears, promising her Solstheim and all its peoples. Moving against her, he murmurs why limit the possiblities- Skyrim, all of Tamriel, then Akavir, Atmora, and the undiscovered lands beyond the horizon. Nirn will be theirs to rule for all time.
He is still the Traitor, and she still refuses to trust him, but all the same she yields to his touch and presses her lips to his mask.
When at last the temples stood complete and it was finally time for the First Dragonborn to return to Mundus in his true and terrible form, there is only one last obstacle to overcome. But she had seen her fair share of Daedric Princes before, and why should she stop now?
"You can never stand against me, Miraak." The voice of Hermaeus-Mora is almost playful as a lazy eye gazes down on them. "You would never be here if you did not have my assistance."
Miraak steps backwards and unsheathes his sword, prompting her to follow suit. "Perhaps. But I have two Dragonborn souls, the First and the Last, at my disposal."
And she tightens her grip on her sword, about to move on the writhing vortex of tentacles, when suddenly she is impaled through her chest. It is not a black, slimy limb that protrudes from her body but a glowing green sword. She turns her head, and behind her Miraak stands, his sword buried to the hilt. She cannot see his eyes.
Hermaeus-Mora's laughter reverberates through the air, echoing mockingly. "Traitor to the end, Miraak." His sword makes a slick, wet sound as it is pulled out of her body, and she falls to her knees, her sword clattering to the ground and her palms moving to her wound, instinctively trying to stem the flow of blood. It runs thickly, running down her armour and pooling around her knees.
Suddenly she understands. It was all a ploy, all those sweet words and empty promises- the real scheme was to steal her soul in the end and become all-powerful. She is a fool, she realises dimly, her thought overshadowed by the sight of so much of her blood, of her soul disintegrating at its fringes. A damned fool.
Because she knew that Miraak was called the Traitor, and that all dragons sought dominance, but she trusted him anyway.