Elder Scrolls One-Shots (Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim Fanfiction)

Revenge

"What in the-" The Dragonborn spoke aloud in shock at what she found before her. She was inside Miraak's temple once more, in the large chamber where the cages hung. It had been months since she defeated the First Dragonborn and this was her first time back since then.

The female warrior was surprised to find that someone had placed a skeleton on Miraak's throne. It was unusually tall, and sat bent forward with its arms hanging down.

That had not been there before, the woman was sure of that. She wasn't sure why anyone would even do this. The Dragonborn was about to turn around and leave it alone when a thought crossed her mind.

What if...?

The woman turned back to the throne and narrowed her eyes. They then widened when she realized who was on the throne. Miraak.

There was no one else she had encountered that was as tall as him. And she now recognized his bones, having last seen them in Apocrypha. She had a good memory for these things, being a necromancer as well as the Last Dragonborn.

Was this some sort of joke from Hermaeus Mora? Let only Miraak's remains enjoy the freedom of Nirn while his soul was trapped somewhere else? It could have been. And to her, it seemed a fitting end for the former Dragon Priest.

The woman gazed at the figure on the throne and another idea crossed her mind. Miraak had caused a lot of problems for her. She believed he got what he deserved in the end. But because of him, Hermaeus Mora now had his sights on her. It was his fault she was in this predicament now.

As the Dragonborn, she was allowed to be a little petty, was she not? It looked like her potential 'Master' was as well.

The Last Dragonborn was a skilled necromancer. She had mastered her chosen school some time ago. Miraak's skeleton was fully intact and therefore she might be able to do as she wanted.

The female warrior raised her hands and focused. Her hands glowed blue with a Conjuration spell. She let it loose at the figure on the throne. The glowing ball of Magicka hit the bones, making them rattle and shake.

But nothing happened. The glow dissipated quickly.

It was as expected. The spell had been low level. The woman had been hoping that it would work, just to add another insult to Miraak.

The mage then tried the next level spell. But that did not work either. After a few more tries, she tried her most powerful spell. Dead Thrall.

But again nothing happened. At least at first. The Dragonborn could swear the bones moved a little by themselves a few seconds after the spell dissipated.

So the female warrior tried again, focusing once more. The blue glow engulfed the skeleton, lingering now. But now she was sure there was movement.

Once more the necromancer concentrated, sweat beading her forehead. She cast the spell again. And again.

Finally, after many tries, it took.

The ethereal blue glow swirled around Miraak, suffusing his remains with a steady blue aura. Then, he began to move. The skeletal Miraak placed his hands on the rests of the throne and pushed himself up. He moved awkwardly, jumbled and stuttering.

He jumped off the ledge, stumbling and almost falling to the ground before standing in front of her.

The woman found herself feeling rather triumphant. She smiled at the still figure. The great Miraak was now a servant of the Dragonborn he once mocked.

The warrior felt a sense of satisfaction at what she had done. Her display of vindictiveness felt good. Yes, she should be above this sort of thing but this man had tried to kill her. And left her with a Daedric Lord sized problem. This petty bit of revenge was nothing compared to that. It was pretty harmless, really.

The Last Dragonborn wondered wherever Miraak was now, if he was aware what was happening to his remains. And if he raged at what she had done.

She hoped he was.

With that done, the Dragonborn began to do what she came here for: scrounging up whatever valuables she could. She needed a bit more funds for her manor. Once it was finished, she planned to retire from this whole Dragonborn business and work on her necromancy.

Just a few more months and it would be done. Then she could get back to her books and research.

The Dragonborn commanded her new servant to follow and he did, now moving a little more gracefully. She picked up an abandoned longsword and handed it to the thrall as they headed deeper into the temple.

**********

A few encounters with the odd creature or bandit later, the woman and her thrall began to head back to the entrance of the temple. Miraak had done well in combat. Maybe she would keep him permanently, though she would have to make sure if he was ever 'killed' she would be able to revive him once more. Skeletons that had been torn apart were notoriously hard to revive. She was capable of it, however it was time consuming to reassemble all the pieces. That was the reason she rarely raised skeletons anymore. They were usually only useful the one time.

But maybe, the Dragonborn thought, she could bind Miraak's bones someway to make sure he did not fall apart when defeated? A smith might be able to help her with that. Maybe-

The Dragonborn inhaled sharply and stopped mid stride. The woman opened her mouth but a gurgle was all she could manage. Blood trickled from her mouth as she slowly looked down.

There was a blade protruding from her abdomen.

She could not believe it at first.

How?

It then twisted sharply, and pulled out with a wet sound, causing the woman to scream in pain. She turned around as she fell, seeing Miraak's skeleton towering over her, the longsword in his hand dripping with blood. Her own blood.

The Dragonborn tried to get up but could not move. The weapon had done too much damage. Her body was going into shock and she was bleeding out too fast.

Unable to breathe as the fluid began to fill her throat and mouth, the female Dragonborn's vision began to fade. She coughed up blood as the figure in front of her stood impassively.

It was just watching her die.

Her body began to glow and for the first time, the woman understood what it felt like to have her soul be torn from her. It hurt. Even more than her physical wound.

The dragon souls left her first, all turning into stream of bright colours as they erupted from her body. As the woman breathed her last, all she dimly saw was the flesh and sinew forming on the skeleton, still standing beside her, and now absorbing all the souls that fled her dying body.

**********

Just another quick one from my Google doc of fic ideas. I still have a bunch of other stuff I want to write from there too. ;p The link to that is in my profile if anyone is curious.