Chapter Text
“Beg for your life, dragonborn.”
Briar felt eerily calm as the man twice her size lifted her, one hand clutching her bicep and the other curled painfully under her jaw. He wasn’t choking her, but she felt as if her head might pop off from being dragged down by her own weight. She could only see his eyes through the golden mask, dark like her own mer eyes but different.
When she did not reply, the hand under her jaw began applying pressure. “I wonder if it is defiance or obliviousness that you refuse to speak to me. Tell me what you thought to accomplish by coming here. Did you seek to murder me here, in Apocrypha, where I have dwelled longer than you have existed?”
If she could’ve spoken, she would’ve told him that she wanted to see what kind of man sent two followers against someone with the soul of a dragon in a heavily populated city with well trained guards. If she could’ve spoken, she would’ve said that she was not motivated by revenge, but curiosity. The words did not, and could not come. They were not stuck in her throat by slight but uncomfortable pressure of his hand. They simply existed only in her mind. Her last words were spoken in very young childhood, before they were squeezed from her throat by someone full of hatred.
Now, hands were at her throat again. She closed her eyes and saw the face from before, over a hundred years in the past. She swallowed hard and suddenly Miraak gave her a shake. Her teeth clicked together painfully and her eyes opened.
“Are you losing consciousness?” He scoffed. “I’ve barely touched you.”
She tried to shake her head but his grip was too tight. Feeling her resistance, he dropped her to the floor. She landed hard on her knees, and her hands went out to sooth the ache away as he stared down at her.
“Speak, dragonborn.” He repeated, and she could only shake her head in reply. “You will not? What kind of dragon refuses to speak?”
She shook her head again. She pointed to the mouth of her own mask, and shook her head once more.
“I see. You cannot speak.” He laughed. “What thu’um could a speechless dragon possible possess?”
Irritation welled up in her. The dragon tongue was different than that of man, and Miraak should’ve known this. The words, the power, came directly from her Sil, her soul. She could not speak, but she could shout.
She struggled to her feet and he watched with interest. She found the word in her mind, felt it in her soul, but only managed to shout “Fo!” before he reached out and grabbed her neck again, fingers digging under her jaw and forcing her mouth shut. His other hand reached out as if to pull off her mask, before withdrawing. A thin coat of frost covered him, but he seemed to pay it no mind.
“Interesting.” His fingers dug in deeper. “But not something I will concern myself with.”
His own shout tossed her backwards, and suddenly she found herself back in Solstheim.