Choice

He watched her from a far; each Dovah soul she claimed made her stronger. Her thu'um was impressive when they had first met, but with help he knew it could rival his own. Hermaeus Mora, his master, the one who had doomed him to wander Apocrypha for eternity, had favored her and it was because of that, that she was able to gain the knowledge to end his tyranny, once and for all.

Somewhere, deep inside, he knew he could never be free of his curse. He chose his fate centuries ago and it was his burden to bare. Was it foolish, though? To want an escape? Even birds tire of their cages and wish to fly free.

In Apocrypha, he knew every book by name and walked the halls so many times that he probably knew them better than the Daedra that created them. The foul creatures that made their home there were little more than wandering ghosts and the trapped souls never paid him notice. If it wasn't for his stubborn Nordic nature along with the lust for power due to his dragon blood, he would have become one of those lost souls.

And now he stood, eyes to the sky. The shadow ever growing, carrying his doom. He turned his mask in hand, wondering whether he had made the right choice. The familiar roar of the beast dragged him from his thoughts and with a small smile he covered his face.

The dragon landed. She stepped forward.

"And so," he said, "the first dragonborn meets the last dragonborn at the summit of Apocrypha."

She stared at him through pierce red eyes; the pain she had endured and the hatred for him was there for all to witness. She didn't need to hide behind a mask.

She did not answer, for what answer could she give him? They both knew what had to be done.

"You will die. And with the power of your soul, I will return to Solstheim and be master of my own fate again."

And as the battle took place, Hermaeus Mora watched, his interest never waning. He had a decision: to chose between the first and the last dragonborn, a choice both dragonborns knew. What they didn't know was, he had made his choice long ago.

"Did you think to escape me Miraak?" Hermaeus roared and lifted him into the sky. "You can hide nothing from me here!"

The spike plunged into his stomach, but no scream of pain past his lips; no plea for his life. Even though he knew he did not have long before his life was taken away, he was determined to not show weakness.

"No matter! I have found a new dragonborn to serve me!"

Miraak turned to face the dragonborn one last time, spitting blood as he spoke: "May she be rewarded for her service as I am!"

Both a warning, and a curse.

He gritted his teeth with what little strength remained as his soul was ripped from his body. The shadows consumed him, and yet he took comfort in knowing that he was finally free.