@kohledrogue
The dragon was a smoldering pile of bones at last, but Miraak seemed not to notice - nor care that despite the fact he knelt directly before it, the soul had not gone to him. He was on his knees in the dirt, head bent, blood pouring down his lips and the bridge of his nose white-hot with pain. His hands were cupped around golden metal sat in his palms, jagged and without the shine it had once had, splattering with his falling gore - his mask, snapped roughly in half. Age, perhaps, had weakened it more so than he realised - it had certainly taken more punishment than this and remained undamaged before. But this was to be its last dragon and its last effort for him - which he had to appreciate. If this was what the boulder he had been tossed against did to metal, he would hate to see what it might have done to his skull.
He hesitated to look up, hands curling around the broken remains of his most faithful companion, his most hated reminder of Alduin’s cult. Already he felt exposed without it, half compelled to cover his face with the shards. Easy, soothing, but devoid of dignity - no, he would not her see what weakness festered inside of him.
“So ends an era,” he muttered as he got slowly to his feet “You did well to survive that. Had I known it was going to be so powerful, I would not have brought you.”