[Special] The Camp, the Dragonborn, and the Watching God
Meanwhile, a certain Dragonborn was surrounded by a group of brats who looked half sick and stared at him with almost pitiful expressions, like abandoned puppies.
Miraak watched them with obvious annoyance.
Then he simply cast a healing spell.
All of them were cured instantly.
And they began smiling around Miraak, who only responded with a slightly irritated expression.
He continued healing the bothersome children who seemed to have completely lost their fear of him.
At that moment he was honestly wondering where exactly he had gone wrong.
It had already been almost fifteen days since Percy and the others had left on their quest for the Golden Fleece, and since he had accepted a small agreement with the goddess of the hearth.
First it had been the blacksmiths, led by the head of their cabin, whose name Miraak did not even care to remember. After he helped the boy forge a sword that was at least somewhat acceptable compared to the garbage he had been producing before, the kid followed him around for hours asking questions about metallurgy.
Even when Miraak answered in a dry or openly disdainful tone, the boy wrote everything down quickly before running off excitedly, as if he had received a divine blessing.
Seeing this, the rest of the blacksmiths quickly gathered around the anvil. They had witnessed the creation of a weapon clearly superior to the previous ones, and when they asked how he had done it, the result was immediate.
The next moment, half the camp was surrounding Miraak.
Then the swordsmen came.
They surrounded the blacksmiths to obtain the new swords, convinced that with them they would become far stronger than before.
And they began waving their weapons around Miraak.
When he saw how terrible their movements were, he could not tolerate it any longer.
With an annoyed snort, and in his very particular style of teaching, he gave them a quick and precise beating, striking every weakness in their stance, their balance, and their way of attacking.
While hitting them, he even pointed out each of their mistakes.
Instead of being frightened or running off to cry for their parents, the swordsmen simply stood up again.
And asked for more guidance.
Normally Miraak would have rejected them without a second thought.
But those absurdly similar faces to that of his idiotic disciple made him do the opposite of ignoring them.
Instead, he simply beat them again.
This time longer.
And even then they looked proud, trying to challenge him again and again.
After all, how many people could say they were facing a god head on while learning something in the process?
During one of the attacks by flying monsters; gargoyles and harpies that were not affiliated with the camp; Miraak was about to raise his hand and wipe them all out in a single instant.
But before doing so he saw the camp's archers begin firing arrows desperately in every direction.
So he stopped.
And a better idea came to mind.
Would it not be more convenient if these brats handled clearing the sky for him?
After all, he was not breaking the agreement he had made with the goddess.
So he walked over to where the archers were and began pointing out everything they were doing wrong.
Their stance.
Their breathing.
The way they drew the string.
Even how they held the bow.
Then he took one of the bows.
And fired an arrow with absolute ease.
The arrow pierced through ten harpies in a single trajectory before disappearing into the sky.
The archers were completely stunned.
Surprised.
And also extremely excited.
Almost immediately they began asking for his tutelage.
And before he realized it, Miraak was surrounded by practically the entire camp asking him for guidance.
That made Miraak let out a long, tired sigh.
It was easier to face dragons than deal with all those ignorant brats.
Miraak wore a slightly irritated expression when he noticed the goddess of the hearth watching him from the central fire of the camp.
Hestia was smiling softly as she watched him do far more than he was actually obligated to do according to their agreement.
That seemed to annoy Miraak slightly.
He waved his hand.
Scattering all the children.
Yet many of them still continued following him in a long line.
Which only irritated him even more.
And at that moment he was fairly certain he would give his disciple a beating for taking so long to finish that stupid mission.
…
"You're actually doing a good job. I didn't expect you to help them this much," said a young girl as she approached Miraak, who had finally gained a bit of freedom from the brats, who were now seriously entering the training fields.
Meanwhile, he was sitting on the roof of Cabin Three, opening a can of beer.
And every time he opened alcohol inside the camp, he could feel an annoyed, almost murderous gaze directed at him.
But at this point Miraak simply ignored it.
"They're annoying, but at least they do my work for me," he said calmly, not looking directly at Hestia while watching the archery field, where the archers were trying to pierce several vines lined up in a row.
But most arrows barely made it through the first.
"I still don't understand your interest in having me protect these brats. Isn't your boss still declaring me an enemy? We still have a battle pending," Miraak said lightly.
"The same could be said about you. You accepted guarding the camp of your supposed enemies," Hestia replied calmly while watching the children train.
A faint smile formed on her lips as she watched them run or practice with their swords with such seriousness.
"Sometimes I wish I had another divinity. Perhaps something similar to yours; where I could free them from the terrible destinies children are born with. I thought that if you were near them, it might help at least a little. So… thank you," Hestia said.
Miraak shifted his gaze slightly toward her.
She still looked barely nine or ten years old.
But he could feel the enormous power she tried to hide. Perhaps only Zeus could compare to it.
And even so, that power was wrapped in a strange calm; almost peaceful.
"You don't have children among those brats like the others do. Why do you try so hard?" Miraak asked after a moment.
Hestia looked at him with a truly gentle smile.
"Don't you do the same for Poseidon's son? He doesn't share your blood, yet you take care of him like a father," she said.
"I'm his teacher, not his father," Miraak replied seriously.
"If that's how you want to see it, then…" Hestia looked back toward the young campers.
"I would like to consider that I am the teacher of all of them," she added with a maternal smile.
Miraak silently watched the brats for a moment before speaking again.
"You could do something about that guy. He's honestly becoming more annoying than the brats," Miraak added, pointing toward the Big House.
Hestia smiled slightly.
"Well, there isn't much I can help with there. It's the alcohol that makes him like that. After all, it's forbidden to him for a hundred years," she said calmly.
"But he won't do anything. After all, he owes me a lot."
She paused for a moment.
"That's also why I haven't told Zeus you're here."
After saying that, she turned and began walking away slowly.
Miraak watched her back for a moment before looking again toward the brats.
There were really very few Olympian gods who could earn even a bit of his respect.
In truth, none.
But seeing Hestia…
Ah. And perhaps the man of the Underworld as well, with whom he had once had a rather interesting fight. Even though he had been at a complete disadvantage at the time, the other had simply explained why he had captured Sally and eventually reached an agreement with Miraak.
Well, it also helped that someone had intervened on his behalf.
Someone sent by Odin.
"Lord Miraak! I forged a new sword using the technique you taught me. Please check if it's good!" a muscular young man shouted as he appeared near Cabin Three, calling up toward the roof with an excited expression while carefully holding a newly made sword.
Miraak glanced down at him from the roof.
Then he let out an annoyed snort.
And climbed down.
…
Meanwhile, a certain god of thunder, carrying a large hammer, appeared right at the edge of a camp full of demigods training in perfect order, directed by young people who looked serious and committed.
One of them stood with a sword, swinging it through the air with a focused expression, his face covered in sweat.
With every slash he made through the air, small almost invisible sparks of static leapt from the blade.
The smile of the god of thunder widened slightly when he saw that. Lightning flickered faintly in his eyes.