Chapter 13

Liv had never cared much for Dwarven ruins. There was just something cold, forbidding, and unwelcoming about them, even without all the savage Falmer and hostile contraptions trying to kill you, as if the very fabric of the strongholds had been imbued with the Dwemer's distinctive hermitical aloofness. They also felt deeply unnatural, somehow apart from the world despite being built within mountains and the very foundations of the earth.

And then there were the lifts—or damn Dwemer death traps, as Liv often called them. The one presently lowering her and Miraak into Alftand trembled worryingly beneath her feet, while ancient gears and cogs clanked and whirred and rumbled around her in a headache-producing cacophony. Having explored every known Dwemer stronghold in Skyrim, she had plenty of experience with lifts, especially this one, and never had any trouble with them, but still she couldn't shake the fear of old gears suddenly failing, the lift freefalling, plunging her to a painful and gruesome death below. The stone walls surrounding her felt too close, the air too thin. Then there was Miraak's overbearing presence pressing heavily upon her awareness, more so than usual, only worsening that crowded, oppressed feeling. She couldn't have been more conscious of him in that seemingly small space if he stood stark naked before her eyes. It made her skin prickle and the small hairs on her neck stand on end. The sooner she got off this cursed contraption, the better.

It was he who broke the silence between them, that resonating voice of his contesting the din of working machinery, "Have you lost your wits?"

Liv was almost glad for the distraction. Almost. She breathed out an impatient sigh. Apparently she had done something to provoke His Majesty's displeasure again, as if she really had to exert herself there.

"I've read a few Elder Scrolls, so it's a distinct possibility," she replied casually, and almost immediately she could feel his eyes on her, scrutinizing for sure, probably trying to decide if she was joking or not. In the end, he chose to just ignore that she'd spoken.

"You should not have issued that challenge to the Dov while we are unprepared to face them. Never mind the threat Hermaeus Mora still poses to us. You have put us in an even more precarious position."

Liv sighed again. "We'll see. I think Odahviing might be wrong about them being too angry and full of revenge to listen. I think some of them might."

His disbelief was almost a palpable thing. "You have slain how many dragons, and still you have learned nothing about their nature—about your own nature? They are too proud to refuse a challenge."

"One dragon is not the same as another," Liv argued. "And one's nature can change. Some will be stubborn and stick to their old ways, of course, but others have chosen to overcome their nature and follow a new path, one of peace. It's possible for them to change, so maybe it's possible the ones at Skuldafn will change their minds. Maybe some will overcome their anger and desire for vengeance and listen to reason."

"And if they don't, if they will not listen and act upon your challenge, what then? How do you intend for us to stand against a potential army of dragons when I'm without my power and you are too weak in yours?"

Liv bridled at that. "Weak? Was it weak when I Shouted you to the ground multiple times?" Her voice grew in volume and anger as she spoke. "Was my power too weak when I defeated Durnehviir, who's never been defeated in battle before? Was I too weak when I brought down Alduin, the Firstborn of Akatosh? You know shit about my power!"

Miraak was unfazed by her temper. He looked a little too smug for her liking, in fact. "I know more than you think, more than you would wish me to know. I know you fought Alduin to a stalemate at the Monahven, and you barely survived. I admit I'm not entirely certain how you managed to defeat him in Sovngarde, but I suspect you had help. Perhaps from the Tongues."

Liv wasn't sure which infuriated her more, that he knew of her failure at the Throat of the World or that he was right in guessing the Tongues had aided her in Sovngarde. Or that he was making his point that she was too weak. "They had their own reasons for joining that battle," she said stubbornly. "I didn't ask for their help; I didn't need it. I was stronger in Sovngarde than I was at the Throat. I could've defeated Alduin on my own."

"Of course, Dragonborn, of course," he said with the air of one trying to humor a simple child. It made Liv want to stab an Ice Spike through his face. "But Alduin was only one dragon—an extremely powerful one, yes, but only one. And you had help defeating him, so your power has never been truly tested. You also don't have the necessary Shouts needed to take on an army of them." He held up a hand when she opened her mouth to fight him again. "I'm not insulting you; I'm merely stating a fact best acknowledged than ignored, for both our sakes."

Liv scoffed. As if she would ever believe he wasn't trying to insult her or gave one shit about her welfare. "Oh, please. I know the same Shouts you do, and then some."

Miraak glanced at her, a corner of his mouth twitching with amusement. "And you have the nerve to accuse me of arrogance. Have you forgotten to whom you speak? For all my service to Hermaeus Mora, you think the only thing I have to show for it is one Shout?"

Liv shrugged. "Actually, I thought it was two—Bend Will and Dragon Aspect."

"I did not learn Dragon Aspect; I created it," he all but spat at her, seemingly offended that she had not known that. "But your assumption was nonetheless correct. Mora rewarded my service with two Shouts; one you know, and another you don't."

Liv wanted to believe he was lying, talking out of his arse, but she got no sense that he was. And honestly, it wouldn't have surprised her if Mora had neglected to mention this other Shout to her. He wasn't big on sharing knowledge for the sake of sharing; he always expected something in return, and at least of equal value to what he was imparting.

"Okay, so there's another Shout," she spoke. "Should I even bother asking you what it is? I mean, if it can help us, I'd think you'd want to share that knowledge and give us an edge over the Dov, but I know how petty and childish you can be. You'd probably keep it to yourself just to spite me."

Miraak was quiet for a time. He might have been considering her request or the best way to murder her and dispose of her corpse, or he might have decided the conversation was over; Liv couldn't really tell. She found herself staring at him through the silence, longer than was justifiable, her traitorous eyes feasting on his well-defined features and tall, powerful physique. It wasn't the first time—or the second—she had...noticed those things, and she immediately felt shitty and guilty and ashamed. She shouldn't have been looking at him like that, and not just because he was a villainous bastard. She shouldn't have been looking at any man. It was too soon; way too soon. Cyrus, her husband, was barely cold in his grave, and here she was noticing another man. It felt like she was betraying Cyrus in the worst possible way, and that made her resent Miraak even more as a result. She knew it wasn't fair—after all, it wasn't his fault he was absurdly attractive—but she couldn't help the way she felt either.

"I might consider it," Miraak finally spoke, seemingly unaware she'd been ogling him the whole time. "But first, a question: why do you refuse to use the Bend Will Shout?"

Liv glowered at him and spat, "Because it feels wrong when I do; because it is wrong. Some things are forbidden for good reason."

Miraak nodded as if that was the answer he had expected. "Then sharing my knowledge would be a waste of my time. You clearly don't have the stomach or the spine to wield true power. A shame, as it would have helped us tremendously against the dragons."

Liv was about to suggest a rude place he could stick his opinion, but then the lift finally touched down in Alftand's Cathedral and she didn't get the chance. She barely got the chance to save them both.

A Dwarven Ballista was stationed not fifty paces away from the lift, tendrils of steam curling out from its coppery flanks, the gleaming point of a spear-sized bolt aimed right at the intruders.

No time for spell or Shout. Barely time to even think. There was a hiss and a clank as the bolt was released, and Liv hurled herself into Miraak's side, hoping to get them both out of the bolt's path. But she hadn't slept well and she was slow. As they both stumbled into the wall on their right, Miraak spitting a curse, Liv felt a searing pain across her ribs, so potent it momentarily stole her breath. The bolt smashed into the back wall of the lift and exploded in a shower of splinters.

Liv pushed off the wall, willing a shock spell to hand, but stilled as the business end of a familiar stalhrim blade suddenly hovered over her heart, an irate Miraak glaring from its hilt. She could hear the Ballista clanking and whirring, no doubt in the process of reloading another bolt. So maybe he had been considering how to murder her a moment ago. And with the very sword she'd given him, no less. One could almost appreciate the irony.

Liv inhaled, preparing to Shout him into a wall—and hopefully through it—but then he spoke.

"You will never intervene on my behalf again." His blue-green eyes were narrowed and fierce, daring her to oppose him.

And of course, Liv did just that, but not before she put a hand to the flat of the stalhrim blade and shoved it away from her. "If I hadn't intervened, you would've been skewered!"

"Never again."

With that Miraak turned away and marched from the lift, right at the Ballista.

"Dick," Liv hissed through a curled lip as she stomped after him, her right fist sparking with tiny currents of bright blue energy. She angrily flung out her glowing hand and a bolt of lightning surged outward, past the other Dragonborn, striking the Ballista.

The Ballista seemed to almost convulse as threads of shock energy crawled over its rotund form, gouts of steam bursting from its sides. Miraak was on it seconds later and proceeded to take his anger out on it with Frostbite. He and the stalhrim sword cut through the contraption as if it was paper, bits of Ballista clattering on the stone floor with every bash, slash and thrust.

Liv watched with raised brows. The way he was going at the thing, one could almost assume he was trying to prove something. She knew it was possible to dismantle parts of an automata during a fight—Karl, the former miner from Dawnstar, had managed to do it to a Dwarven Sphere with just a pickaxe and Leif had done it countless times with his greatsword—but this was the first time she'd ever seen one completely reduced to scrap metal, then the scrap metal reduced to scrap metal. The physical power it must've taken to do that... It made Liv wonder if Miraak might have been holding back during their brief fight in Apocrypha. It seemed an absurd notion, and she saw no reason why he might have held back, but then if this was the kind of strength he possessed without his power, couldn't he have put up more of a fight in Apocrypha while in his power and wearing his Dragon Aspect to boot? As Liv recalled, she had struggled mightily to withstand him then, but she had withstood him, enough to get Tsun's Shout off.

When Miraak was done demolishing the Ballista, Liv found herself asking that question before her brain could decide if it was a good idea or not, "Did you hold back in Apocrypha?"

Miraak froze in the process of sheathing Frostbite and stared at her for one long, awkward moment. Then he let out a low chuckle that surprised her. "Why would I hold back?"

Liv chewed at her bottom lip, shrugged. "I don't know. I suppose you wouldn't. I know that fight didn't last very long, but it just seems like you could have done…more, even in that short amount of time."

"Perhaps I could have," he admitted coldly, finally sliding the blade home in its scabbard. "Perhaps I was holding back. Perhaps I wanted to prolong the battle."

Liv raised a brow. "But why?"

"You are full of stupid questions today," Miraak sneered. "Why do you think? The victory was obviously mine. I just wanted to make you suffer before I claimed it."

Liv narrowed her eyes, not believing him. He'd vowed multiple times that he would make her suffer for all she'd done when he got the chance, and she'd believed he meant it; she'd sensed his conviction, the depth of his anger and hatred a promise in itself. But that was not what she sensed in his words now. They felt shallow, thin, forced. The anger and hate were there, but the depth was not. It was like he was wearing a familiar mask to allay any suspicion, to conceal something. Liv knew he was lying, and boldly called him out on it.

"I think you're lying. I don't think you spent all that time planning your escape under Mora's very nose just to risk your only chance or even delay your freedom for the opportunity to make me suffer. You hate me, okay, but I think you hated being a prisoner of Apocrypha more."

The sneer on his face was wiped clean off, leaving nothing but an icy stare in its wake. "I don't care what you think."

And that was the end of that. Miraak turned from her and went to inspect the Dwarven mechanism that took up the center of the room, what Liv knew opened the way into Blackreach. Unfortunately, the mechanism had an inconvenient reset function as a security measure, so the stairs leading down to the door into Blackreach were once again concealed in the floor, inaccessible unless you had an attunement sphere. Fortunately, Liv had had the presence of mind to bring hers.

For the moment she let Miraak sate his curiosity for Dwemer engineering while she healed the wound in her side. Thankfully, the bolt had only winged her, slicing out an eight inch line in her robe and flesh, somewhat deep. There was blood, but she'd suffered worse. Her healing spell closed the wound in seconds, leaving behind a warm, tingly feeling, brief but pleasant.

She was going to sift through the Ballista wreckage for anything useful next—specifically Dwarven oil, as it could be rendered into a potion that restored magicka when combined with certain other ingredients—but one look at it told her the oil vessel hadn't survived Miraak's wrath. The soul gem hadn't either, its blue-purple crystalline shards winking in the gaslight among the ruin of copper-like metal.

"Are you finished?" Miraak asked, voice gruff with impatience.

"Aye. Are you?" she shot back.

He ignored her. "Where do we go from here?"

"Where you're standing." Liv adjusted the straps of her knapsacks so they weren't digging so much into her shoulders, then joined him at the mechanism. "It opens to the door into Blackreach."

"It appears to require a key of some sort," he said, indicating the spherical recess set into the top of the mechanism. "You claim to have been here before, so I assume you know where to find it."

Liv reached inside one of her knapsacks, shifting some things around before she pulled out the attunement sphere. "Right here. Had a feeling we were going to need it." She thrust it out at him and grinned. "Since you seem fond of these Dwarven contraptions, you may have the honor."

"You are too kind," Miraak replied dryly, then took the sphere from her hand and sat it into the recess.

There was a sound like a massive lock unlatching, then a rumble that could be felt as well as heard. The floor around the mechanism, except where Liv and Miraak were standing, sank down into a narrow flight of stairs.

"After you," Miraak rumbled with mocking gallantry, extending a hand toward the stairs.

"He has manners!" Liv retorted with sarcastic amazement. Then she rolled her eyes and started down the stairs.

Miraak followed, close and looming in a way she suspected was meant to be menacing. Liv tried to ignore the anticipatory prickle she felt between her shoulder blades, where a sword could go through her at any moment. It was the perfect opportunity; her back was turned, there was no one there to stop him, and he would get away with it scot-free. But the blow never came, and soon they reached the bottom of the stairway, where a huge door made of Dwarven metal stood in their way. Liv leaned into it with her hands and pushed with all her might, but the door wouldn't budge.

"Don't just stand there. Help me!" she grunted, now turning the other way round to put her back into it. "Damn door weighs a mammoth, maybe two."

Miraak stepped up alongside her, put his hand—one hand, Liv noted with annoyance—to the door and pushed with no noticeable effort. The door groaned open and Liv stumbled backward through it, arms flailing for balance and finding none. She fell back hard on her arse with an audible oof. Miraak casually stepped over her as if she were merely a minor obstacle and not a human being, and proceeded into Blackreach. After picking herself up off the ground and adjusting her knapsacks to a more comfortable position, Liv followed.

Blackreach was another world; a murky realm of undefinable size, its soaring ceiling lost in deep shadow, and where bioluminescent fungi grew taller than giants and as big as houses, their bluish glow the only source of light for much of Blackreach.

The pair of Dragonborn followed a badly cobbled avenue that sloped down into a wide area flanked on the left by a squat Dwarven tower. Liv froze in her tracks, a gasp leaving her.

Some ways ahead, the avenue and much of the surrounding area was a sea of gleaming copper; automata, from Spiders to Centurions, and in numbers Liv had never witnessed before.

"By the gods. It's an army."

A/N: I hope you're all staying safe and healthy. Sorry for the shorter than usual chapter and for any typos or grammatical errors, as I didn't get a chance to proofread. It's been months and I just wanted to get something posted. Hopefully it'll provide an escape from this crazy world we're living in, even if for a short while.