When Vash came down into Winterhold the following day, Borgakh was heading out on patrol, indominable in her new guard armour, the shield emblazoned with the crown motif. Vash commended her on her new position, Borgakh thanked him, and they perhaps would have gone on repeating themselves in that fashion for some time had Muzgu not intervened.

After Borgakh had gone on her way, Muzgu switched from pleasantries to business.

'You didn't tell us about Urag, huh? I had to ask one of them other mages what happened. The Dark Brotherhood had a contract on him? A librarian?'

Vash nodded. Those moments had a habit of playing over and over in his head, even after the couple of years that had passed since that night. He had come down to the Arcanaeum late at night, in search of just another book, and maybe a chat with Urag about it. The old orc had been lying in a pool of his own blood, the assassin fleeing the College.

'The Dark Brotherhood are gone,' he said.

'Killed all those assassins yourself, did you?' said Muzgu.

'I had some help. Gylhain, the Dragonborn. They'd tried to kill her wife. You could ask Dar'epha, she was with us too.'

Muzgu threw up her hands. 'Everybody knows everybody,' she said. 'Skyrim is just a fucking small town. A sprawling stupidly cold small town.'

'More or less,' said Vash. He looked up and down the main street of Winterhold. 'Where's Yanakh?'

'Getting drunk. Did you ever find out who ordered the contract?'

'Getting drunk? She doesn't seem the type.'

'Oh, we're full of surprises,' said Muzgu. 'Did you ever find out who ordered the contract?'

'Gylhain cut it out of the assassin, before she killed her,' said Vash. Muzgu's eyebrows went up. 'It was Farengar, the court mage down in Whiterun. It had something to do with some rare books Urag had outbid him on.'

'So you killed him,' said Muzgu.

'No,' said Vash. He thought for a moment. 'I don't think I've actually seen him since it happened.'

'But he killed your friend. Where's your revenge? I know I'd have been down there with a knife in his guts, soon as I found out.'

'The assassin killed my friend.'

'They were a tool,' said Muzgu. 'That little assassin wouldn't have come near Winterhold if this Farengar bastard hadn't set them on.'

Vash sighed. 'I have to concede that point, yes.' He had met Farengar once or twice since he became Archmage, but the regular correspondence Vash tried to keep up with the court mages around Skyrim had met with no replies from Farengar. And after finding out he had ordered the contract, Vash had not been inclined to try sending another letter. But perhaps there was something to what Muzgu was saying. It was a thread left dangling in his life. It would not be wise to stride into Dragonsreach and initiate a confrontation with another powerful mage. But something ought to happen. Vash snapped back to the moment as he realised Muzgu was speaking again.

'Anyway, I'm really here to say goodbye for a bit,' she said. 'I gotta go apologise or whatever to Dar'epha for my entirely correct and justifiable actions. Keep an eye on Yanakh, would you? She gets maudlin sometimes.'

Barely listening, Vash nodded and retreated to his chambers at the College. Again and again, the image of Urag's bloody corpse came to him, growing in clarity each time. He found himself standing in the Arcanaeum, staring at the spot where he had found his friend's body. Now it was just a blank section of the stone floor, superficially indistinguishable from the others. But Vash knew. He could all too easily fill that space with the spreading red bloom and the body laying as if in sleep.

He was halfway out of Winterhold before he even realised he'd made a decision. The carriage was away, so it was early evening by the time he came into Whiterun on foot. The guards at the gate recognised him, or at least his robes of office, and there was none of the tense anticipation of hatred that so marred his time in Windhelm. Up through the city then, to Dragonsreach.

Farengar was older than Vash remembered. An unsteady Nord man, sorting enchanting components into little piles on the desk in the alcove off the great hall that served for his room. His eyes flicked up, noticing Vash standing in the opening.

'Archmage,' he said. 'An honour, I'm sure, but I am very busy.' He returned to his soul gems. Vash trod quietly to stand on the other side of the desk, opposite Farengar.

'I know you ordered the contract on Urag,' said Vash softly.

Farengar's eyes flicked up very quickly, then down again. 'I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about.'

'Urag. The old librarian at the College.'

'I know who you mean. My mind hasn't entirely left me yet. I corresponded with him often enough. He was stingy with his books.'

'I had it from his assassin, before the Dragonborn and I killed her,' said Vash.

'A most trustworthy sort of people, those assassins,' said Farengar. 'Your friend the Dragonborn, that patron of death, has fled Skyrim. If you want to extract revenge, you'll have to do it yourself. Do you have that in you?'

'Is that a confession?'

Farengar bared his teeth. 'A passing fit of rage,' he said. 'Ancient history. I regret it. But we cannot go about extracting a blood price for every moment of passion. There would be little of this province left.'

'Quite a long fit of rage, to perform the Black Sacrament, to meet with the Dark Brotherhood, to arrange payment.'

'Are you going to kill me?' asked Farengar. 'I would prefer that to a lecture.'

Vash stood there in contemplation. Those he had killed at Dushnikh Yal, and before, still hung heavy with him. But those had all been in the heat of battle. This would be different, cold and calculated, a conscious decision to let blood lead to blood.

'No,' he said. 'But I will tell the Jarl what I know.'

Farengar hissed. 'I will lose my position, at the very least.'

'I imagine so,' said Vash.

'Your arrogance. Just because you have spoken with Malacath does not mean you can play god.'

Vash paused. 'That wasn't in my book.'

'You left it out, but it was obvious,' said Farengar. 'How else would you survive in the Ashpit? The favour of your orcish master.'

Vash took a slow breath in and out. Then he turned and strode back into Dragonsreach proper. Balgruuf was still on his throne, it would be an easy matter to advise him of the situation. Before Vash had taken more than three steps, however, a firebolt slammed into his back.

He staggered forward, conjured some ice to douse the fire, and swung around, forming a ward in front of him. He could hear the guards and Irileth, the Jarl's housecarl, shouting and approaching. All his attention was focused on his rival mage. Farengar cursed and struggled with a spell, the lights stuttering in his hands. Eventually a fire atronach appeared, soaring over the desk.

Vash cast without thinking. A bound blade formed in his hand and he flung it towards the atronach. The blade, horizontal, spun once in the air and then cut the atronach in two. The resulting explosion made Vash's ward stagger, and obscured all of Farengar's alcove in a huge burst of fire.

He put out the flames with huge swathes of ice, all the while expecting some spell to strike him. But when all was done, there was nothing but the smell of smoke and the smouldering remains of what had been Farengar. Vash stood looking down at the body, Irileth by his side. It should have been easy enough for a mage of Farengar's stature to summon a ward. Had he really slipped that far?

Balgruuf, leaning heavily on his sword, came into the alcove. 'Archmage, what in the hells is going on?'

Vash looked at all the Whiterun guards that had gathered. He looked again at the body of Farengar. This was revenge, he supposed. He hated that there had been a rush of victory in his heart at seeing the body. But now that had dissipated, and he was left alone with his loss again. He asked the Jarl for some privacy to explain. Balgruuf narrowed his eyes, but waved away the guards. In short terms, Vash explained to Balgruuf and Irileth about Urag, about the Dark Brotherhood, and about the short confrontation with Farengar.

'Well,' said Balgruuf. 'The gods shame me for saying it, but I could believe that of Farengar. The man was rather rash, for a scholar.'

'Better the story doesn't get out,' said Irileth.

Vash nodded his agreement. He looked around the scarred remains of the mage's alcove. Despite the damage caused by fire and ice, it wouldn't take much to put the place into working order again.

'Did he have no apprentice?' he asked.

'No,' said Balgruuf. 'Though I recommended it many times, he never took one. Do you have any mages at the College you can spare, Archmage?'

Vash pondered this. Most of the senior members would never agree to leave the College. Of the younger mages, Falin was building a new life in Winterhold with her husband, and Emelia was too new. That left the colleagues who had joined at the same time as Vash had: Brelyna Maryon, and J'zargo. Dragonsreach was made of wood, so that meant J'zargo was ruled out.

'There is a Dunmer named Brelyna who may accept,' said Vash. 'She is… given to experiments, losing herself in her pursuits, but she is knowledgeable across all the schools of magic, and will happily advise you on whatever matters you ask of her.'

Balgruuf looked briefly at Irileth, who gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod.

'That will do very well,' he said. 'Thank you, Archmage.'

He went slowly from the alcove. Vash and Irileth watched him go.

'Every time I try to steady him, he tells me to go to hell,' said Irileth. She shook Vash's hand. 'Good to see you. Next time you have a magic fight, do me a favour and have it outside.' She followed the Jarl.

Vash took one final look at Farengar's body, then headed out of Dragonsreach. It was late enough that he perhaps ought to have spent the night in Whiterun, but he wanted to be away from the scene of such a disaster as quickly as possible. The carriage was sitting waiting outside the city, and Vash paid extra to make the journey through the night, insisting that he was the Archmage and could more than adequately deal with any rogue trolls or bandits along the way. The driver set to the reins and the carriage rumbled northwards. Vash kept his eyes open, hoping the images of the passing terrain and the stars above would keep the images of death from appearing before him again.