Work Text:
For the first time in forever there were two Dragonborn in Apocrypha. The elder noticed before his younger ‘sibling’ did, having been both around dragons and in the realm longer. Perhaps ‘rival’ was a better term. It wasn’t hard to work out what was in store for him if this newcomer stayed, or allied themselves with the Prince. Namely the newblood would earn his title and positions... and he would earn a hole in the ground, if that.
Naturally his first instinct was to kill the younger dovah but he paused. All he really needed was this new dragonborn gone so his plan could be completed. And he didn’t particularly want to kill them, not with the dreading suspicion that was exactly what Hermaeus Mora wanted.
And if all he needed was to scare the little one off, well, there were ways of doing that without violence.
Miraak cleared his throat and started pacing, punctuating his sung soliloquy with (what he thought were) dramatic poses.
“What if I don’t take over the world? Angst! When will my plan be unfurled? Angst!” By now he had garnered the attention of the dragons, Dragonborn, and even the seekers in their own, tentacled way. He stole a sideways glance at the Dragonborn, who was staring slackjawed at him.
Good.
“But no! I am absolutely deserving of the position for which I am destined, regardless of the unfortunate accident of my birth into the wrong species.” Miraak gestured to Kruziikrel, who pitched his head and stared at him, wondering if the strange mortal he was bound to had finally lost his mind.
“So you see...” He turned to face his rival. They actually took a step back and gulped.
“I don’t have any angst-” He managed to say that with a straight face. “Any angst!” He shouted. At that point the Prince arrived, a seething mass of tentacles and squinting eye.
That was a mercy, as he couldn’t think of anything sufficiently intimidating to sing next.
“You know what? s’not worth it.” The Dragonborn said before the Prince could even speak. The tentacles twitched. Under his mask Miraak had the broadest smile. The Dragonborn walked back to the fallen Black Book and held it open.
“Where are you going, Champion?” Hermaeus Mora demanded-
“I don’t want to end up like that!” The new Dragonborn yelled, shooting an arm in Miraak’s direction. He couldn’t laugh now: if he started laughing now he wouldn’t be able to breathe. Gods, this was working so perfectly.
The Dragonborn massaged their temples before holding their arms up in surrender. “You’re a Daedric Prince, this is your realm: you can handle this yourself. I’m out.”
With that the Dragonborn slapped their hand down on the pages of the Black Book and disappeared back to Nirn. Back to Tamriel, where they could await his now unhindered return.
Now he laughed. Could that have worked any more perfectly? And the look on that poor soul’s face-
His laughter was cut short as a tentacle wrapped around his leg and dragged him into the air to face the barely open eye of Hermaeus Mora. Miraak coughed nervously, still smiling like an idiot underneath the mask and very, very grateful the Prince couldn’t see that. At least he didn’t think he could.
“I’m going to have to hurt you.” Hermaeus Mora growled, the grip on his leg tightening until he couldn’t feel anything else.
Miraak swallowed and reminded himself two things. He was still the Prince’s only Dragonborn champion and - despite their disagreements, something of a favorite. And he was never, ever going to regret this. The dragons nodded to each other and flew away, leaving him alone with the Prince.
Miraak swallowed. He hoped he wasn’t going to regret this.