A/N: So, I had an idea that may not be one of my better ones. It grew out of a Tumblr post. Says it all really. It's another Dragonborn arrives in Thedas, ends up in the Inquisition fic... with a difference.

The Dragonborn is Miraak. Who unlike Elisif, who is a sweet but fierce social justice warrior with a family and friends and strong ties to the Empire back home, is a self-centred prick all too keen to cut ties with his homeland and not that bothered about sorting Thedas's social problems out. He just wants to get the Veil fixed so Mora can't find him. This has the potential to be an Evil!Inquisitor fic, but I'm hoping more for Redemption Arc. I'm also aiming for eventual Miraak/Dorian, in which Dorian ends up as the real hero of the piece due to persuading the one-time Evil Overlord to change his ways.

So here it is. Miraak saving the world. Maker have mercy on us all.

Summary: When two Dragonborns fight, the results are never trivial, and there can be only one left standing. With the Last Dragonborn all set to be the victor, an unexpected disaster far away gives the First a chance to cheat death yet again, escaping Oblivion only to find himself in a completely different land with no hero to save it from unfolding catastrophe. No one but Miraak. Can the First Dragonborn overcome the habits of millennia to be the hero Thedas needs? Or will he prove to be a villain greater than anything Tevinter ever managed? Only time will tell - that and the efforts of one of Tevinter's outcast sons.

Damn that High Elf. Damn her to Oblivion. He didn't know how she'd got that good with fire magic, but the damage he'd thought to shrug off or that his robes might absorb had turned out to be near lethal twice and he wasn't about to sit around for a third time.

He was out of here… and then distantly they both heard it. The explosion that seemed to rock Oblivion itself, a vast tearing of the Veil. A way back without the tiresome need to go to the trouble of killing this Daedra-damn Altmer woman in the robes of an Archmage who wielded fire like it was part of her.

Let her have Solstheim. Miraak had new opportunities.

"GOL HAH DOV!"

Sahrotaar was back under his control again, and he was away and riding, seeking out the source of this new explosion, feeling its power, feeling magicka pouring out of Oblivion into Mundus, just needing to follow the power drain.

"Hey, get back here!" he heard the elf, Liriel he thought her name was, shout at him.

I am beyond you, elf. I hope Mora finds a use for you.

He was watching, of course, finding this new development of interest. If the Tentacled One was bothered about a hole in his realm, he wasn't showing it. He wasn't even stopping Miraak from fleeing. He was just watching. Seeming interested.

If Miraak had known it, Hermaeus Mora had seen things unfold, realised the source and realised several things at once. That Miraak was gone from his direct control regardless. That if he died, he'd be dead and of no further use to him. But if he were allowed to fly in that direction… he'd be able to spread Mora's influence to an entire land presently free of it.

Mora made his decision and let Miraak go. He had another Dragonborn at his disposal now anyway. Yes, he could definitely make use of the Reach-King's wife.

The flight had seemed to take a long time… but Miraak had time. He'd long ago learnt the art of using Oblivion's energy to stop himself ageing or becoming sick. Repeated applications of Bend Will kept Sahrotaar pliant, and together they flew over the endless green ocean… until a new land emerged.

It did feel different, this one. Yes, it looked like Mora's realm, but it felt different somehow. As if his influence ran thin, and lesser Daedra roamed freely. And below were many many small tears, rents in the Veil, all leading to a world beyond. Under water. Deserts. Cities. Palaces. Markets. Villages. Fields. Forests. Mountains. A hundred little glimpses, all of it vibrating to the same song. A strange singing metal underlying it all and channelling its power. No – two kinds? One blue, clear, Aetherial song… and a darker song, coming from red liquid, a song of evil and corruption. Power but at a price, and power like that had a will of its own.

Miraak had had his fill of power he couldn't control. And so he moved on, not fully realising that dragon blood had its own song, and perhaps the world below reacted.

At length the large rend opened up, a vast vortex of magicka spiralling into the world below, terrified Daedra being dragged along with it. And Sahrotaar wheeled away from it.

"What, Sahrotaar, are you afraid?" Miraak scolded, amused.

"If I fly near that, I lose my ability to fly," Sahrotaar said simply. "I will find you a smaller entrance, Thuri, there are many of them. There."

There was one, and stumbling up a stone staircase towards it were two figures, one in red and white robes that had been fine once before the muck of Oblivion found it. And another that looked like some sort of elf with a glowing hand. Someone had reached for Oblivion's power and got burned.

Both looked up as they saw the dragon fly overhead, and that was all the spider daedra following them needed. The elf died first, torn apart, the power in their hand flickering out and being absorbed back into Oblivion. And then it was the woman's turn, so close to freedom, staring out into a mountain scene that stank of burned flesh and smoke.

Not enough room for Sahrotaar to land, but he could hover. And Miraak shouted himself into Ethereality and leapt, landing like a cat in front of the rift in the Veil.

The woman died as he watched, eyes staring incomprehensibly at the robed stranger on a dragon with the strange mask who was stepping into the world beyond, Sahrotaar leaving, his job done. Miraak didn't know he was watching a religious leader perish, but he could sense another presence watching him. The Daedra that called this part of Apocrypha home, ruling away from Mora's eyes. A Daedra of fear, of nightmares, and it was wondering why he wasn't afraid.

"I'm never afraid when I'm winning," Miraak told it, grinning beneath the mask. "Pray I do not return."

The spiderlings chittered, all withdrawing, and Miraak stepped back into the free air of Vus. All would bear witness. All the world would listen, and all the world would see – and when the world remembered…

Someone had punched through the very walls of Oblivion to bring him into this world. How could Miraak do other than give this world the Dragonborn it required.

Of course, Vus had its own challenges, mainly that unless you wielded the Thu'um, it did not reshape itself to your whim but remained stubbornly as it was.

Specifically, the freezing cold air remained freezing, and the rift was about six feet off the ground that did not rise to meet his feet.

Miraak cried out as he hit the snowy ground in pain, suddenly exhausted and tired and hungry as his body no longer drew sustenance from Oblivion but instead became a physical being in a physical world again. Which meant the cuts and grazes on his hands and knees and the sprained ankle would need attending to, wouldn't they.

Restoration magic took care of that, and then he turned to see the rift in the sky behind him, some glowing silhouette of a woman still present in the Void beyond.

He should do something about that. In the deepest lore of the dragons, the origin story had had them as Akatosh's children intended to police the Veil between Vus and Feim, the lands of Laas and Ziil. They were gifted with wings to take them to tears in the Veil quickly, teeth and claws to rend interlopers limb from limb, and the Thu'um that could command it shut.

So he did that. One less means for Mora to snatch him back, was it not?

"STRIN FEIM FUS!"

Close Fade by Force. The Shout worked exactly as intended, pulling the sides of the rift closed, sealing it shut and then it was gone, as if it had never been.

A good start. Miraak felt rather pleased with himself. He just needed to get up, somehow, and find food and a warm bed, anywhere out of the dratted cold.

Footsteps and voices calling for… he didn't know what they were saying. Had the language changed so much? No, no, it hadn't, everyone in Tamriel spoke that elven-Cyrodiilic hybrid they called the Standard or just Tamrielic. Everyone in Tamriel knew to hail a stranger in that tongue.

So… was he not in Tamriel then? The place was certainly cold, snowy and mountainous enough to be somewhere in Solstheim or Skyrim.

The question of where he was would have to wait. There were soldiers approaching in an odd armour with a symbol of an eye and a sword on the cuirasses, and one blonde man in plainer armour with some sort of ruff that seemed to be the one in charge.

And Miraak was in no state to talk to them even if he had known the language. Closing his eyes, he passed out.

"And your soldiers just found him lying in the snow, the only living person in the area after an explosion he should not have survived. And no one knows who he is?"

Leliana stared at the man lying in the cell before her. A medical examination had revealed him to be in good health overall but clearly suffering from exhaustion. No injuries. Built like an Avvar barbarian, looked to be in his thirties maybe, longish blonde hair tied back out of his eyes but otherwise unstyled… and a mask and fancy robes that owed more to Orlais… but this was no Orlesian's mask.

Leliana held the thing in her arms, staring at the tentacled face and strange eyes and when she'd worn it, it had felt heavy… and it thrummed with power. She'd felt it in her blood, in her hands, the oddest of feelings, as if the power of the Fade was at her fingers and spellcasting within her grasp… she'd taken it off immediately. If this thing had the power to make anyone into a mage if they wore it… dangerous indeed.

"No," Cullen said grimly. "Come on, Leliana, look at him. We think he's a mage, but that's no Circle mage's robes. Not to mention the staff, and we still don't know what that sword is. Other than that it's clearly demonic."

A poison blade made of writhing tentacles? What else would it be. And the staff oozed an unholy energy. All of it did, which is why they'd put Templars on watch until he woke up. At least he didn't seem to be Tevinter, but if not Tevinter, what was he? The Avvar had mages, but he was far too well-dressed to be one of the mountain barbarians.

Witch of the Wilds, a voice whispered in her ear. An apostate like Morrigan. Or Flemeth.

An unknown apostate with gear that spoke of wealth, power and trafficking with demons, and no one knew who he was. And he'd spoken words at a Fade rift and banished it completely.

They'd had the other unknown apostate examining him. A bald elf called Solas, who'd frowned, concerned.

"Well, Solas, what are your thoughts?" Leliana asked. "Do you know anything?"

"He's an apostate mage and likely a powerful one, but no, I do not know him," Solas said, getting up. "However, he has a power I only heard the vaguest of whispers of. An old Avvar tale of one with the power of dragons, who could shout and their Voice could remake the world. I know very little else. It was always a rare power even in the ancient Avvar homeland, and no one in Thedas has ever wielded it that we know of. For a wielder of it to turn up here, for it even to be real in the first place… it is unbelievable and unlikely to be a coincidence."

"You think he caused the explosion, then?" Leliana asked, narrowing her eyes. For all their searching, they'd found no one and nothing else to indicate who might have caused it. Just an unknown mage wielding dangerous power.

The door to the prison clattered open and Cassandra strode into the room, the Right Hand of a dead Divine looking for something, anything, to punish for the massacre that had rent open the Veil and claimed the lives of hundreds.

"Is that the maleficar," Cassandra snapped, drawing her sword. "He still lives, I notice."

"We're not stabbing him in his sleep, Cassandra," Cullen said, folding his arms, and glancing at Leliana who was coldly staring at the mage still and who was clearly contemplating doing exactly that.

"Who knows what he's capable of," Leliana said softly. "Even if he didn't cause this, he could be a worse monster than the one who did."

"Or he could be every bit the Dovekkin hero the Avvar claim his kind are," Solas said. "You argue for mage rights, Leliana. Give this man the chance to defend himself. Besides, we know one thing for certain. He has power over the rifts. No one else can close them. Assuming he is not the one that caused the explosion, you need him alive."

"Who else would it have been," Cassandra said, narrowing her eyes at him. "He is a mage of unknown power, no one knows who he is and he was found alive near the explosion site. He is our only suspect."

"It is also why it wasn't him," Solas said, standing his ground, facing up to a heavily armed Seeker of the Truth and not remotely intimidated despite the peasant hedge mage outfit he had on. "If he were truly responsible, he would have fled the scene if healthy enough to do so, or had a plan to return and take advantage, he would not have let us find him in this weakened state. If he had fled into the Fade, he would have returned via a rift much further away than the one he came out of. And if his voice can close a rift without fuss, it could open one without an explosion. No. Something else did this, and this man was caught in the crossfire. Of course, that says little about his intentions. You will not find those out until he wakes. Regardless, a giant hole in the sky threatens us all. He might agree to help."

He might. Or he might make things worse. And Cassandra could only think that if he was not the culprit, that meant there were two dangerous mages on the loose. Still, she was a Seeker of Truth who believed in the justice system, much as she believed this one should hang or be made Tranquil for the safety of all.

"Then we will question him when he wakes. I want Templars on him at all times until he does."

No one disagreed with that. With Templars watching the still sleeping mage, everyone filed out. They had a crisis outside demanding their attention after all.

Miraak woke and said nothing, looking about him, glancing at the armoured warriors who were guarding his cell, seeing solid steel armour with a flaming sword, and seeing them reacting, shouting something at him, and then they hit him with something, some spell or other… and his magic was gone.

Interesting. They had mage warriors who could cast magic that could stop another mage's magic. And they feared him, oh yes, they feared him.

Miraak could cope with ruling by fear, and while they'd shackled his hands, his voice was still available.

"HON ZUL HAH!"

Hear speech and know it. Miraak sat back, and the unintelligible language became intelligible as the soldiers drew swords and shouted at him to hold still, say nothing, make no sudden moves.

So Miraak said nothing and did not move, watching as one left, presumably to get the actual leader. Good. He would negotiate with one who had power, not these watchmen.

Maybe she'd have his mask with her. He'd really like it back. Not that his magicka was low without it, of course not… but he was Miraak. The dragon priest mask was what told everyone who he was and what he was, it was what his dragon cult followers had seen as the symbol of rank, and what his latter day cultists had seen in their dreams as his face. He barely took it off. And now it was gone, and everyone could see his face.

He really didn't like people being able to see his real face. Probably because it looked so normal. He'd seen all the speculation among his followers over what he really looked like. Many of them had settled on a man who, under the mask, was part dragon himself, with half his face scaled over and one eye being that of a dragon.

Alas, it wasn't true. Under the mask was the face of a Nord man of thirty seven years, blonde hair that he kept tied back so it didn't bother him but grown out because who cropped their hair in a climate like Solstheim's, clean-shaven because facial hair did not go with a mask, but not freshly shaven because frankly who had time. He removed it when it started itching or becoming uncomfortable under the mask, but otherwise cared little for it. As for his eyes, they were perfectly normal blue eyes common to the Nordic people. Nothing odd here, although people had told him he was attractive. No mate for him though, not since Saering had died. Part of Miraak had died with him.

Miraak wasn't really after a replacement any time soon either. No, what he really wanted was the use of a razor. And a bath. He suspected those might be some way off though.

It wasn't long before she arrived, a woman in the eye and sword armour, leather skirts flapping around armour clad legs as she strode in, dark eyes flashing, light brown skin speaking of a homeland warm and sunny, and dark hair cropped short, no doubt for practicality. And the scar on her cheek spoke of practical battle experience.

So, a warrior then. And given the way the others stood to attention as she passed, a high-ranking one.

"Tell me why we shouldn't kill you now!" she shouted at him.

Whatever he'd done, he'd clearly managed to offend already. No matter. This type was easily dealt with. Remain polite. Calm. Do not let them get to you and merely answer their questions.

"Drem Yol Lok. Do I have the pleasure of speaking to the Thur of this strunmah? My apologies, krosis, if I have trespassed or broken any of your laws. I am a stranger to this land, but I intend no hostility. I wish only to have tinvaak, to talk. As a gesture of good faith, I have remained in this cell and not killed your soldiers, despite easily possessing the ability to do so. My name is Miraak, what should I call you?"

The woman growled at him, clearly not won over. Well. He'd not really expected her to be, but at least start civil, no? However, she did sheathe her sword.

"I am Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast, the Right Hand of Divine Justinia, our Most Holy. She perished at the explosion that destroyed the Temple of Sacred Ashes and we are seeking her killer. So far, you are our only suspect."

Ah. He really should have asked Sahrotaar to drop him further from the big rift.

"Seeker. I was far from the explosion when it happened. I promise you, I did not cause it."

"So how did you get here?" Cassandra snapped. "Who even are you? And what is that thing you do with your voice? We all heard it. At the rift when you closed it and just now. What is it."

"You have never heard of the Thu'um?" Miraak asked, only a little surprised. No matter. They would all know it by the time he was through. "It is the ability to shout in the tongue of dragons and affect the world. I spent many years learning it. Yes, I sealed the hole in the Veil for you. I would expect thanks for this."

Cassandra narrowed her eyes, lip curling back.

"Dragons do not talk," she informed him. "Some say they have intelligence of a sort, but most scholars agree they are only beasts."

Despite everything, despite all the dragons he'd killed or enslaved or taken the souls of to prolong his own existence, Miraak could still feel offended on behalf of an entire species.

"The mighty Dov can and do talk, Seeker. They are far more than mere beasts. But… perhaps you have never had occasion to have tinvaak with one. Or the dragons here are different. If they are, give thanks you have never met a true Dovah. They are creatures to be feared."

"Are they," Cassandra said, clearly disbelieving. "You should know my ancestors are famed for their dragon hunting skills, and we did not only hunt the small ones. High Dragons fell to Pentaghast blades. Most of my kin these days have grown fat and lazy, but you should know I have remained in fighting form."

He could believe that.

"I would like to see you fight a Dovah, Seeker. I truly would."

Cassandra just grunted in response, definitely not fond of him. He could bear that. She wasn't mate material anyway.

"So, if you say you were not responsible for the explosion, how did you get here. People do not just fall out of the Fade then shout it shut. How did you even get into the Fade in the first place?"

"A Daedra- no, a demon lord thought I would make a useful servant and snatched me away to his realm. I have been trapped there ever since. I was making plans to escape when the explosion happened. I took my chance and fled, selecting one of the many holes in the Veil to escape through. I used my Thu'um to close it behind me but was too weary to do more. The Shout you heard just now was me crafting one to let me understand your tongue. So far, it is working."

"And the woman," Cassandra pressed. "The soldiers say they saw a woman in the Fade behind you. Who was she?"

Miraak shrugged. "I have no idea. She wore red and white robes that covered her hair, although I do not think her young. I believe she was someone of status. But the demons got to her before I could intervene. She is likely dead. My apologies if she was known to you."

Cassandra closed her eyes and whispered "Most Holy" to herself. She took a few moments to compose herself before reaching for the cell keys and unlocking the door.

"I can promise you a trial, no more. But if you help us deal with the rifts and the demons, I will ensure it is a fair one and speak in your favour."

Miraak could do that. And trials took time to organise, didn't they? Miraak could manage a lot in that time. The will of mortals was an easy thing to manipulate if you knew how.

"Very well. I will help close the rifts for you. Onikaan koraav gein miraad. It is wise to recognise when you have only one choice."

"Do not make me regret it," Cassandra snapped, unlocking his shackles. "Do you wish that ridiculous mask back?"

Yes. Yes he would. He'd felt naked without it. Sadly, while the mask was soon returned, it looked like he'd have to wait longer for his weapons. Alas.

He would tolerate it for now. Ni tiid ov. Trust was earned, not given. So he followed Cassandra Pentaghast up out of the cells and into what was some manner of temple, or had been once. More of those armoured soldiers with the flaming sword all looking suspicious, and a few women in red and white. Some sort of religious order maybe? But he sensed no magic in them. How you had priestesses with no magic was beyond Miraak's comprehension.

The small town outside was worse, everyone watching with suspicion, and more of the round helmed soldiers in light armour that seemed to represent the main troops of whatever order was running this place. Strange. For all that the religious leader had been killed, this didn't look like a capital.

Maybe the capital had been the destroyed temple on the mountain. Which looked annoyingly far away, and Miraak cursed at having to walk the entire distance. The huge portal in the sky was dominating the sky, very far away and spewing raw magicka into the world. It would keep his full, but it also irritated him. Like a particularly persistent small child bouncing up and down behind him to get his attention.

Yes, yes, you were big and glowy and he'd noticed, all right? Now this Dovahkiin would have no choice but to dispose of you. Who but a fool would leave a door like that open for Mora to potentially find him through.

Following the Seeker up the mountain trail, which stubbornly refused to get any smaller no matter how much he wished it, Miraak quietly prayed for something interesting to happen. He got his wish about fifteen minutes later as they reached a bridge over the frozen river beneath. He was almost halfway across when green light smashed into it, the bridge exploding and only a hasty ward shielding him from damage from flying splinters.

The snowbank by the river side saved him from damage on landing and he looked up to see who else had survived. Particularly that Pentaghast woman. Annoying as she was, she was giving him a chance to prove himself and it wouldn't look good if she died on his watch.

Fortunately she'd survived, but the light appeared to have been caused by two Daedra crashing into Nirn, both of which were attacking the Seeker… and one had seen him and was heading his way.

Neither looked like denizens of Apocrypha, thankfully. Meaning they'd been dragged into this as unintentionally as he had been, and Mora wasn't hunting him.

None of that would stop Miraak defending himself. Even with no weapon, his magic was still formidable.

Frost magic. Fire magic. A lightning bolt. And for good measure, Alteration magic on the ice below it, sending its dying remains sinking to the bottom.

Miraak had truly missed a real fight. Apocrypha just wasn't the same as the real world.

Alas for Cassandra having finished hers off and approaching with her sword drawn.

"Drop your-!" She saw no weapon in his hands and her eyebrows shot up. "You do not need your staff."

"No," Miraak purred. "I don't need the sword either. But they're treasures hard-won and I like to have them. Come now, Seeker, did you really think a man who can shout the Veil shut needs anything as mundane as a blade?"

Cassandra grimaced but she did sheathe her sword.

"I should remember you are not attempting to flee," Cassandra said grimly. "And I suppose I cannot fault you for defending yourself from a demon. There will likely be more. I will not always be able to protect you."

"Onikaan koraav gein miraad," Miraak said cheerfully, electing not to repeat the translation, although the look on her face indicated she remembered his earlier words all too well. "Lead on, Seeker."

Cassandra just grimaced again but did at least give him access to her supply of healing potions now. Not that he really needed them, but she didn't need to know just how good he was at Restoration magic.

More demons, more climbing, more fighting and then the sound of a battle up ahead.

"Who's fighting, more of your soldiers?"

"You'll see soon enough," Cassandra said grimly. "Come, we must help them."

In the remains of what had once been a side room in the Temple of Sacred Ashes, Daedra had emerged from a smaller rift and were fighting Cassandra's soldiers, along with two others not in uniform.

One was clearly an elf, although not exactly any kind of mer Miraak was familiar with. He actually resembled the Snow Elves except shorter. But Miraak was also sure that wasn't right either.

The other… not a juvenile. But the short legs gave him the height of one. And that crossbow – Dwemer make?

Dwemer weren't that short and they looked more elven than this man, and he also knew they'd all disappeared. So what was this man?

The demons left him little time to think on this. In particular, one large one looking like a lava demon was making straight for him.

"IIZ SLEN NUS!"

The Thu'um of the Winter froze it solid, and then Cassandra's sword shattered it. With the other demons falling to the elf's magic or the other one's crossbow, that just left the rift. A few moments to get his breath back, and then he shouted at the rift.

Just as before, the rift sealed shut and it was one less eye for Mora to watch him by. He really shouldn't let childish emotions get the better of him, but damn if he didn't find this rift-sealing business enjoyable.

The reactions of the soldiers were quite pleasing too. They were cheering! Excellent. Future cultists one and all. Difficult to prosecute the rift-sealing saviour. Miraak approved of the way this was going.

He especially approved of the way the elf and the short one were watching him, especially the shock on the elf's face.

"So, our mysterious survivor is awake," the elf said, gathering himself. "And the stories are clearly true. You do have power over the Rifts."

"Yes," Miraak purred. "Yes I do. This displeases you."

The elf's expression swiftly cleared itself.

"It is simply unexpected, that's all. Avvar tales of voice mages were always ridiculously embellished and there was no evidence that anyone on Thedas had ever practised the art. To see that it is not only real but to see a practitioner of the art in the flesh… tell me, how on earth did you learn this? Your robes indicate a sophistication that I've never seen in any of the Avvar tribesmen here."

"I am not from here," Miraak replied, making a mental note to look into these Avvar. "My arrival here was… accidental. I was held prisoner for a long time by a lord of the demonic realms. The explosion gave me the chance to escape and I took it. My original homeland is far from here. There dragons can talk and their words have power. When I was young they ruled as gods and so I served in their priesthood. It was there I discovered I could wield the Voice like they did. It was that ability that attracted the demon lord's attention. Alas for being young and foolish. But I got away at last. Now… now we have a common cause in sealing that. I am not keen for the demon that captured me to come looking for me."

"I imagine not," Solas said, irritation giving way to interest. "You say you were physically held prisoner in the Fade? How long for exactly?"

Four thousand years, give or take. But none of them were ready to hear that.

"Yes," Miraak said shortly. "And it was long enough. I have no desire to return."

"And you returned uncorrupted. Yourself in all respects."

He stated this as if it were fact. Well, of course it was. Wasn't it?

"Yes," Miraak said, hands on his hips. "Many others who ended up in that realm fell prey to it of course. But not me."

"But not you," the elf echoed. "Fascinating! You and I will have to have further conversations. My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions. I was called in to observe you when you arrived, after the healers had finished examining you."

"He means he talked them out of killing you while you slept," the short man said, rolling his eyes. "Varric Tethras, at your service. Storyteller, businessman, occasional unwelcome tagalong."

This was said with a wink at Cassandra, who grimaced in response. Miraak was more concerned that he'd nearly been stabbed in his sleep.

"You would really have killed me while unconscious?" Miraak asked, still raising an eyebrow despite the fact no one could see this behind the mask. Cassandra looked uncomfortable but did not deny it.

"It was an option under consideration, but eventually we ruled it out. Solas rightly pointed out you should have a chance to explain yourself. Also you are the only one with any power over the rifts, and therefore our only hope of sealing the large one. Your willingness to help close it is speaking in your favour."

"I'm more concerned about the being taken prisoner in the Fade by a demon part," Varric said, frowning. "Is that common? I've heard of demons wanting to invade our world and possessing mages but never taking one prisoner in the Fade."

"You never met a demon lord," Miraak said, wishing the perils of Daedra were as straightforward as that. "This one had a realm of his own in Oblivion, what you call the Fade. He had every desire for power and influence in Vus, the mortal world. But he had little desire to come here in person. Does a king wishing to extend his domains feel the need to go to his new dominions himself? So it was with this one. I won't speak his name. But he lured me in with promises of power, persuaded me to lead a rebellion against my earthly masters, and when they finally came to put me down, snatched me away to his realm. And there I remained until the chance for escape. That is my story, Varric Tethras. A morality tale for young mages. Do not trust demons or trade with them for power. They will take every hold over you they can get."

Seeing the unnerved look on the man's face, he patted him on the back.

"Do not worry. We'll get these rifts closed, firm up the Veil, get rid of these lesser Daedra. It should prevent his minions coming after me."

He was aware of the elf, Solas, watching him with interest, and Cassandra looking a little less grudging, and Varric looked surprised.

"You know, Tentacles, for an apostate who's trafficked with demons by his own admission, you're sounding an awful lot like a Circle mage."

"Is that good – wait, Tentacles?"

Varric seemed utterly unrepentant.

"Come on, we all got a look at your weapons when you were brought in. The staff, the sword, the mask – there's a theme going on here. I've have gone for some facial characteristics but, well, you're not exactly keen on showing those off, are you."

Amusement from Solas, and by Akatosh, this man was on very thin ice.

"Can you even see our faces from down there," Miraak snapped, and far from being cowed or even offended, Varric Tethras actually laughed.

"Oof! Good sir, you have wounded me to the quick. But it was a good comeback, I'll give you that. You should know though that while I am known for my sense of humour, many of my fellow dwarves are known for, well, their over-seriousness. In particular, you'll find a lot of the Carta dwarves left their sense of humour in the same place they left their dwarven honour, and would probably kneecap you for saying things like that."

"Is that the furthest they can reach," Miraak said, starting to see the funny side, and no two ways about it, Solas was laughing outright by this point and even Cassandra was definitely warming up to him, and this was strange. This… making people laugh thing. He liked it. It was gratifying. It was… were these people starting to like him? Accept him as one of them?

It was such an alien concept that Miraak banished it immediately. No. These people were resources. A means to an end and that end was power in this world, and ensuring no one from the next came hunting him. He definitely didn't care about their opinions and he definitely didn't enjoy the sensation of people admiring him not because they had no choice but because they genuinely thought well of him.

Miraak the Dragon Priest had no concept of love or friendship or anything but power and defending it. Miraak the First Dragonborn barely even remembered his childhood by this point, but he'd learned the lessons of his dragon masters well.

But Miraak the human still had a human's social instincts. Somewhere in Miraak's heart, the seeds of something long dormant sensed a change in the climate and started to germinate. Varric Tethras was an annoying dwarf with a smart mouth… but Miraak, far from blasting him off the face of Nirn, started to feel the urge to keep him around. Because the dwarf made life interesting. No other reason, of course.

Miraak did not do friendship. Miraak only had nemeses, pawns and minions. Sadly for him, no one had told Varric that.

"This is where we found you, falling out of a rift and shouting it shut then passing out."

It did look familiar. Miraak had seen demolished walls and just assumed he'd landed in an old ruin. It hadn't fully occurred to him it had been the lobby of an actual functioning temple only days (hours?) before his arrival.

Miraak wasn't easily bothered by death and violence, of course. All the same, it seemed such a waste. He could have done so much as God-King of this place. Now look at it.

Of course, the power vacuum left behind did present opportunities. He'd already learned no one was really in charge any more, with the Divine's death and the loss of a great many potential successors in the explosion. All that was left were the Left and Right Hands of the Divine, and the Divine's administrator Chancellor Roderick. Who was calling for his imprisonment and transport to Val Royeaux pending the election of a new Divine.

Thankfully Cassandra had pulled rank and insisted on taking charge, and her comrade Leliana the Left Hand had also seemed reasonable. They'd let him decide how best to climb the summit – with the soldiers or via a side path. Miraak had never been one to press for open battle for the sake of it, and so the side path it had been. There'd been demons. More rifts. And saving a party of soldiers who might not have made it otherwise and who were grateful for the rescue.

Specifically, they were grateful to him for closing the rift, and there it was again, that strange feeling of warmth in his chest as they thanked him, pleasure at the awe in their eyes as they stared at the one who could banish the rifts.

I think I like being here. Chaotic as this is… I like doing this.

It was an odd feeling, one Miraak would unpack later, but for now it was enough that he felt more alive on this cold day in a foreign land than he had in four millennia in Apocrypha.

And now he was here, at the Temple itself, picking his way through rubble strewn corridors, and then Leliana was behind them with a small group of soldiers.

"Did you have trouble getting here?" Cassandra asked her.

"We lost a few good soldiers. I hope it was worth it," she replied, glancing at Miraak. "Are we ready?"

Miraak glanced up at the hole in the Veil, dubbed the Breach by those who'd seen it, and while his Thu'um was mighty, it was a long way up.

"I would need a Dovah's wings to get up there," Miraak said, eyeing it carefully. "You do not have one to hand, of course."

"Of course not," Cassandra sighed. "Solas, you had thoughts?"

"You need not close the Breach direct. The rift down there, it was the first and is the heart. If you close that one, it may do the rest. But be warned. We will attract attention from the other side."

"That means demons," Cassandra snapped. "Come, let us get down there."

That part wasn't hard. But Miraak wasn't prepared for the glowing red rock that was singing to him, promising him power, all the power he could ever want…

Flashes of Apocrypha, of endless green sky and green-black ocean and black tentacles reaching out for him…

Miraak cried out and staggered back from it, fighting the urge to vomit.

"What is it?" he managed to get out.

"Red lyrium," Varric said grimly. "It's evil, don't touch it! Seeker, what's it doing here?"

"I see it, Varric," was all that Cassandra said, which was as good an admission of ignorance as any.

"Perhaps there was lyrium under the temple, and magic corrupted it," Solas said, but Miraak had his doubts. Something else had brought this vile substance here, something unholy and Daedric. Miraak didn't think it was Mora necessarily but he could sense its evil and wanted no part of it. Quickening his pace, he moved on.

At least until the voices echoed out and the visions started.

"Now is the hour of our victory!"

"Why are you doing this? You, of all people!"

"Keep the sacrifice still!"

"That's Divine Justinia!" Cassandra cried. "But who's that with her?"

The male speaker's appearance seemed obscured, a dark humanoid cloud with glowing red eyes and little else. But the voice, while certainly commanding and distinctive, was not Miraak's.

"That would be your murderer," Miraak said calmly. "Note my absence from this scene."

"What's going on here?" A stranger, and while none knew who it was, Solas said the voice sounded elven, and Varric identified a Free Marches accent.

"Run while you can! Warn them!" Divine Justinia crying out to the interloper.

"An intruder! Kill them."

The vision went silent. Miraak wondered if the intruder had been the elf he'd seen die. Either way, he could see how this ended. But how elf and Divine had ended up in the Fade was beyond him. Had the explosion flung them both through the Breach? Why hadn't it killed them? And why had this mysterious killer triggered it at all? Or maybe he'd not intended to. Had he survived as well? Was he better equipped to deal with demons and in the Fade still? Or was he making it back to Vus via a rift even now.

One thing Miraak did know. He had a rival out there. One who had power and wasn't shy about showing it. And Dragonborns did not like rivals.

When I have fixed the mess you have made of the sky, I will find you and demonstrate whose Thu'um is the stronger. Count on it, Hokoroni.

"Come," Miraak growled. "Let us seal that rift."

A/N: I've never really written Miraak before. I hope he's coming across as, well, himself. I suspect this fic will be more based on romance and character development rather than action, due to Miraak being an OP Thu'um-wielding demigod, but that doesn't mean there won't be a bit of excitement to come. We all want to see Corypheus and Miraak monologuing at each other, don't we?

Miraak has a Varric nickname already. Oh dear. Still, at least he's got a sense of humour. Who knew?

Notes on the Dovah, although I'm not translating vanilla Skyrim Shouts - UESP has those:

Thuri - my lord. Thur means lord or ruler.

Vus - Mundus, the world of mortals

Feim - the Fade, the world of spirits

Strin Feim Fus - Close Fade Force. Sorts out tears in the Veil. Anchor, what Anchor? Miraak needs no Anchor.

Hon Zul Hah - Hear Language Understand. Shout it and you know a whole new language.

Drem Yol Lok - Peace fire sky, not actually a Thu'um but a greeting in Dovahzul

Strunmah - stronghold or headquarters, home.

Krosis - sorry.

Tinvaak - conversation, usually a significant or deep one.

Onikaan koraav gein miraad. - lit. Wisdom only has one doorway, but usually translated in the way Miraak gives.

Ni tiid ov - not the time for trust (yet)

Hokoroni - my enemy.

The Dragonborn Miraak was fleeing was Liriel from my other fics.