Windhelm Docks, Argonian Assemblage

"You pushed Torbjorn into the water?!" Sal-Gheel made a sound that sounded like something between a surprised laugh and a shocked gasp. "You can't just do that to our boss!" he protested, white-faced and utterly horrified. He clapped a terrified hand to his mouth, the other holding his wife's. "He'll fire us on the spot!"

"Torbjorn is a rough around the edges man, Sal-Gheel," Shahvee placed a comforting hand on her husband's chest. "But he has humanity. We just need to dig deep down and find it. I'm sure he'll make the right decision in the end, my love."

Scouts-Many-Marshes scoffed and waved his hand dismissively. "Look, at this point, we don't give a skeever's tail anymore what Torbjorn says. We quit, and we're leaving anyway. Torbjorn can do whatever he wants. But he can't hurt us; not anymore."

He grinned from ear to ear and put a hand on Sal-Gheel's shoulder. "We've got the legendary Last Dragonborn and his Housecarl on our side now!"

"We've got Torbjorn in the Assemblage," Neetrenaza explained, pointing his thumb at the double doors beside him. "I'm sure he'll want to see you now that you're back home, Sal."

"Nalpa mahleel," was all Stands-in-Shallows hissed, gritting his teeth and glaring bitterly at the Assemblage doors. "Ojel. Tzilnech." he added in a low, barely audible voice.

Inside the Assemblage, Torbjorn sat at the dining table facing the roaring fire in the hearth. He had wrapped himself in many layers of blankets. He shivered uncontrollably. At the sound of the Argonians' approach, his expression turned as icy and hateful as the near-frozen water that had earlier almost swallowed him.

"Sal-Gheel Calidaseer. I oughta wring your neck after all you've done, or haven't done. You think you can just waltz in here like you own this damn place? You think you're going to get permission outta me after your long leave of absence? You must be out of your goddamn mind, scaleskin."

Sal, hardly fazed by the racial insult and chilling words, only stared at Torbjorn with sincere empathy painted across his face. "I'm sorry that I didn't inform you of my leave of absence from Windhelm, Torbjorn. That's my fault. I accept full responsibility for it. But I had to take it. I don't expect you to understand, and I'm beyond asking for your forgiveness."

Torbjorn snorted and turned to face the blazing fire. "You'll not get a single gold piece out of my hands, Sal-Gheel. Not you or your family, including your Housecarl. Achoo!" He sneezed noisily, causing the Argonians and Lydia to flinch and recoil backwards.

"Ugh!" he grimaced bitterly, as if disgusted by the very act of sickness that now afflicted him. "You did this to me! You scaly bastards! I'm going to kill every last one of you with my bare hands! You'll never leave Windhelm, do you hear me? I'll never let you go! Never!"

"We spoke to the Jarl, Torbjorn," Sal stepped forward towards the bundled, ill Nord. "Brunwulf gave his official permission for us to leave Windhelm. You know full well his word overrules yours. You know what he says is law. Regardless of what you may think, your claims are void, Torbjorn. Invalid. We have personal permission from Jarl Brunwulf Free-Winter himself to leave Windhelm."

His face turned adamant. Assertive. "We're going, Torbjorn. There's nothing you can do to stop us now."

Torbjorn's lip curled. His face contorted into a dark death glare. "I don't care what the Jarl says. I live by my own laws. My own word. They say you're not going anywhere!"

He spat the last line through gritted teeth. His hand shot out from beneath the blankets to smack Sal-Gheel across the face.

But the Argonian caught reflexively it by the wrist, his eyes never even wavering from the Nord's. Torbjorn gasped in shock.

"Do not touch me, Torbjorn," For a brief moment, Sal's cyan eyes glowed with a blinding golden aura. Echoes of a multitude of powerful voices joined his own with every word that poured from his mouth. His vice grip tightened around the Nord's wrist, claws digging into the raw and cold human flesh. Torbjorn cried out and crumpled under Sal's grip cutting off his blood circulation and pressing into his raw skin. "You don't want to be on the receiving end of my power. Better men and women than you have suffered far worse. Don't give me a reason to give you a taste of what I gave the Thalmor."

Torbjorn struggled against Sal's tightening grip. "I'm…" he managed to whisper scathingly, despite the cramp now building in his left arm. "I'm going to throttle the life out of you, Sal-Gheel, with my bare hands. I want to feel the life leave your body as I suffocate the air from it. I want to watch the light leave your eyes. I'll whip your family and make them bleed. I'll break every one of your Housecarl's bones. I'll smother your hatchlings in snow. They'll never live to see the light of day."

"You shall touch neither the Last Dragonborn nor his family!"

The visage of a brass-colored, tentacle-mawed mask projected from Sal-Gheel's face, bellowing with righteous fury. Screaming at the top of his lungs, Torbjorn scrambled to free himself from the mass of blankets covering his body. But his chair only tipped sideways and slipped, throwing him to the floor.

Sal stood to his feet, the glowing visage of Miraak's mask moving with him. He approached the fallen Torbjorn tangled in blankets with bold, fearless steps.

"Torture me all you want, Torbjorn. But don't you dare hurt my family. I won't allow it. Miraak, the First Dragonborn, whose soul lives within me, won't allow it. You can throttle, whip, break, and smother me all day and night long. Miraak will be my guardian. But if you lay a single finger on my family, then mark my words, I will send the wrath of Dragons upon you. You've seen what the Dragons are capable of, Torbjorn. You've seen the destruction they've wrought, the havoc and death they once brought upon Skyrim. So ask yourself, do you really want their incomparable power unleashed upon your vulnerable person? Do you want to be Shouted apart, like Ulfric Stormcloak once did to High King Torygg?"

The vision of Miraak's spectral mask faded away, leaving Sal's face bare. The Argonian knelt down in front of Torbjorn, placing an empathetic hand on his shoulder.

"Torbjorn. I'm sorry that I wasn't there to help you and your wife in your hour of need. I'm sorry that you and Tova are grieving. I'm sorry that I wasn't there to save your daughters from the Butcher. The truth is, though, that no amount of drinking or spending or threatening is going to bring Friga or Nilsine back from the dead. Sure, we caught the Butcher and killed him. In the process, I even saved the Argonian maiden who is now my beloved wife from becoming one of his victims. I helped draw your wife back from the brink of suicide. Sure, I'm the legendary hero of Skyrim, the great and powerful Last Dragonborn. But…"

Sal averted his eyes, biting his lip. He suddenly looked crestfallen, remorseful. "But I can't save everyone, Torbjorn. Given the chance, I would have saved your daughters, without hesitation. I don't care that they're Nords and I'm an Argonian. I'd have saved them because it would be the right thing to do. I'm a hero; I save people. It's what I do. There's not a day that goes by where I don't regret that I couldn't save them."

When Torbjorn said nothing, Sal went on. "I know it feels like you're alone in your suffering, Torbjorn. But you're not. The truth is, I've lost people, too."

"Don't you dare talk to me about loss, Sal-Gheel!" Torbjorn snarled, practically seething through his chattering teeth. "You have no idea what loss is!"

"Yes, I do, Torbjorn," Sal stared down at the floor, despondent. "I've spent my entire life without ever knowing my parents. I lost the only person I ever had as a true parental figure in Cyrodiil. I've seen my comrades fall in battle in that pointless Civil War. I've witnessed innocents being burned and frozen alive by those monstrous Dragons. I've been forced to watch as the Thalmor executed their prisoners without mercy, all because they chose to worship the god that their unrighteous dominion abolished."

When he looked up at Torbjorn again, an ethereal fire now burned in his eyes, brighter than the fire blazing in the hearth. "But through all of it, I soldiered on. I learned to live with all of my grief, anger, confusion, frustration, anxiety, depression, desperation, and especially my rage. My emotions fueled my Thu'um. I poured everything I felt and thought into my Voice. Whenever I Shouted, I always did it for the people I loved and lost. Never for myself. I always Shouted for them."

He watched as Torbjorn pulled himself onto his back, still wrapped in the thick blankets. "What I'm trying to say, Torbjorn, is that if you don't let us go, then Shahvee and I will lose our children, too. We'll lose our hatchlings just like you lost your daughters. Are you sure that is what you want, Torbjorn? To wish the same harm and loss upon others just so you can feel better about your own suffering? Do you think that's what Tova would want? What Nilsine and Friga would want?"

He took a moment to let his words sink in. Torbjorn turned away from Sal and stared into the fire, thinking over what he had said. Sal let a full minute pass before finally saying,

"Torbjorn. Please. You have to let us go. Be the better man. You know you can do the right thing. What would you want, Torbjorn? For a pair of innocent and helpless children to live their entire lives without ever knowing who their parents were? Or for a hopeful married couple to never know the divine blessings and mortal responsibilities of being parents to the children they've so long expected?"

Nord and Argonian met each other's eyes. Torbjorn could not mistake the authentic sympathy and empathy in Sal-Gheel's face. The Saxhleel's words sank deep into his heart and penetrated the deepest depths of his soul. After a short while, he heaved a heavy sigh of resignation.

"All right. Okay. You've made a strong case. I cannot deny that. You're right that my wife and daughters wouldn't want me to continue enslaving you, keeping you here like prisoners of war. No, you're exactly right, Sal-Gheel. You can leave Windhelm; you and your family. I mean that. It might take pulling some strings, but I'll make sure you'll suffer no serious consequences."

Everyone in the room breathed sighs and exhales of relief. Lydia even wiped the back of her hand across her brow. Sal stood up and held out his hand to Torbjorn. He stared hesitantly at the leafy-green scaly hand for a long moment.

Then he reluctantly swung out his hand and took it. Sal helped Torbjorn to his feet and patted him on the shoulder.

"You did a good thing, Torbjorn Shatter-Shield. I'm sure your wife and daughters would be proud of you. You should be proud of yourself, too."

"I just hope I haven't made a huge mistake that'll come back to haunt me in the future," Torbjorn confessed somberly, worried and anxious as he met Sal's eyes once more.

"You haven't, Torbjorn," Sal smiled, a warm, realistic, caring smile. "I'll make sure of that."

Turning away from the Nord, he strode the length of the room back to the Assemblage doors. Opening them up, he called out to the docks,

"Guards! Please escort Torbjorn Shatter-Shield to the Temple of Talos immediately. See that his medical needs are attended to posthaste. Hypothermia is a cruel suffering."

"Whew! Okay!" Scouts-Many-Marshes reclined on his bed, laying flat on his back and putting his hands behind his head. "Now that we have consent from both Jarl Brunwulf Free-Winter and Torbjorn to leave Windhelm, now we have to figure out the big question."

He threw his hands straight up in the air. "Where the hell are we going?!"

"That's a real stumper," Neetrenaza, sitting in Torbjorn's former place at the dining table, put a hand to his mouth, thinking. "We have three Holds vying for our inhabitancy. It's as if they're all competing with each other, to have the mighty Last Dragonborn and his kin dwelling in their lands, as if we're some prizes to be won. But how do we know which one to choose?"

Sal turned to Lydia, who stood beside the dining table with her arms crossed, leaning back against the hearth. "Did the Stewards provide anything else in their letters?"

"Let me see…" Lydia picked up the envelopes from the table and sifted through them. "Yeah, here's something…"

She pulled out a triple-folded sheet of paper from the Dawnstar letter and mindfully unfolded it. "Looks like some kind of brochure. 'Heljarchen Hall, south of the Pale and far north of Whiterun, with a distant view of Dragonsreach. Closest landmarks are the Dwemer Tower of Mzark, the Loreius Farm, and a giant camp called Blizzard's Rest.'"

"Looks like the other two Holds did the same," Neetrenaza added, opening up the brochure from Falkreath. "Falkreath has Lakeview Manor, directly north of Pinewatch, a bandit's hideout cottage. Located between Falkreath and Riverwood, and apparently it comes with a beautiful view of Lake Illinalta."

Stands-in-Shallows, who sat on Shahvee's other side, shoved his last bite of bread into his mouth and picked up the letter from Morthal, licking crumbs from his fingers. "The last one is Windstad Manor in Hjaalmarch. It's located in the north of the hold, not too far south of Solitude. Ustengrav and an abandoned shack are the closest landmarks here. Reportedly, that shack was once used by the Dark Brotherhood for their shady recruitment methods. Thankfully, the Town Guard cleared them out weeks ago."

"Oh, and all of the Houses come with their own personal appointed Housecarls, carriage drivers, bards, and stewards, too." Lydia concluded. She passed the Heljarchen Hall brochure to Sal and Shahvee, and the others did the same.

Sal looked over each brochure meticulously, absorbing the details of each into his mind. "What do you think of all this, Shav?" he at length asked Shahvee. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and held her close to his side, their backs to the fire.

Shahvee hummed thoughtfully and draped a large, thick bear-fur shawl across Stands-in-Shallow's back. She then leaned into her husband's side, placing one hand on his chest. "I only want to choose the House that we know for sure will be the best for our family and our hatchlings."

"In that case, the only logical choice has to be Lakeview Manor," Sal presumed, stroking the side of Shahvee's head with his thumb. "It's near water. It'll be just like living in Black Marsh, without actually living there, you know?"

"But Heljarchen Hall is in close proximity to Whiterun," Lydia mentioned, holding up the Dawnstar envelope. "Wouldn't it better for us to stay close to a spot of familiarity? That way, we can always pick up things from Breezehome whenever we need them."

"I'm sure we'll come up with some way to make that work, Lydia," Sal reassured the Nord maiden. He took her hand and squeezed it comfortingly. "Let's solve one problem at a time."

"Windstad Manor doesn't sound like much, to be honest," Stands-in-Shallows shrugged nonchalantly. "Personally, I don't see Ustengrav being much of a tourist attraction, if you know what I mean."

At the memory, Sal shuddered. "Yeah, I don't like the idea of having Ustengrav in my backyard, either. Going through that labyrinth to find Jurgen Windcaller's Horn was already difficult enough the first time, even with the Thu'um on my side."

Neetrenaza rubbed his chin, thinking out loud. "Lakeview Manor is more susceptible from wild animal attacks. Bears, wolves, Frostbite spiders, mammoths. Not to mention the occasional bandit attack. But then again," he looked round at Sal and Lydia, grinning from ear to ear. "Those shouldn't be a problem when we have you two defending us, right?"

"Don't forget Miraak," Sal tapped the side of his head with a humble smile.

"Of course," Neetrenaza snorted and rolled his eyes, his tone playfully sarcastic mixed with deadpan snark. "One of the only Nords in all of Skyrim who isn't constantly trying to kill or enslave us."

"Well, I believe the hatchlings will love Lakeview Manor," Sal suggested to the others. "It'll be good for us to be close to water, too, so we can always keep our scales moist. That's something the other Houses might not have."

"So, Lakeview's our final decision, then?" Scouts-Many-Marshes sat up in bed, putting his arms down by his sides. "It's got everything we need for us."

"All in favor of Lakeview Manor in Falkreath Hold?" Sal raised his hand. Shahvee followed suit. Their fellow Argonians looked around at each other, nodding. Lydia thought for a short moment, before also nodding her consent and raising her hand.

"I've always wanted to live near a lake," Lydia admitted, shrugging coolly. "Whiterun's canalworks has never done it for me. I'm certain it'll look absolutely breathtaking."

"Then it's decided!" Sal proclaimed, raising a triumphant fist in the air. "We're finally leaving this frostbitten hellhole called Windhelm! We're moving to Falkreath!"

Windhelm Stables

"Check this out!"

Alfarinn pulled back a large tarp that lay over a massive wooden construct. It unfurled to reveal a large carriage, bigger and more reinforced than its predecessor.

"Look here," Alfarinn traced his finger along Misty's new harness. "Folded steel and double-layered leather. More support, defense, and flexibility all in one for my girl. And do you see these runes?"

He pointed out arcane sigils lining the sides of the carriage, each symbolizing its own school of magic. "These will provide complete protection from any arcane attacks! Our very own Wuunferth the Unliving put those here himself, to ensure that what happened to my last carriage never happens again!"

The Nord turned over his shoulder to spit bitterly on the snowy ground. "My curses upon that wretched Elenwen. May her body and soul know naught else but eternal torture in Molag Bal's Coldharbour. Mark my words: I spit upon her grave!"

Folding up the tarp and tossing it aside into the horse pen, he threw one arm around Misty, the other on his hip. "They can burn and freeze and shock my carriage anytime they like! But nobody—and I mean, nobody—hurts my Misty! As I told you before, my carriage is replaceable. But my Misty is not!"

Sal couldn't wipe the proud smile off his face. "We're all very happy for you and Misty, Alfarinn. We're so glad you were able to get a new carriage."

"What do you think of the new ride, Misty?" Scouts-Many-Marshes asked Misty. The hardy bay horse made an enthusiastic whinnying sound, as if in approval, and brushed her nose on Scouts' face. Scouts chuckled and gave Misty a loving hug around her neck, delicately stroking her mane with his claws.

"Wow. You horses really do have your own language, don't you?"

"She's real excited," Alfarinn pointed out, coming around Misty's left and caressing the lower half of her mane. "She's never been to Falkreath before. It'll be a real opportunity for a new adventure for her."

Shahvee, her hands daintily clasped together, approached Alfarinn. "I really don't know how to thank you for everything you did for Sal-Gheel and Lydia. We owe both you and Misty an unpayable debt."

But Alfarinn snorted and smiled a humble smile, waving his hand dismissively. "There is no debt, Shahvee. You owe me and Misty nothing at all. And I mean that from the bottom of my heart. We got to go on an adventure with the Last Dragonborn himself!"

He pointed at Shahvee's shoulder at Sal-Gheel. He was helping stack the last of the crates and boxes into the carriage bed. "How many people in Skyrim can say they've done that, eh?" he asked with a cheeky, toothy grin.

Shahvee chuckled and reached out to take Alfarinn's hands in her own. "Well, in that case, all I can say is, thank you, Alfarinn. For everything."

Alfarinn gladly curled his fingers into Shahvee's. "I'll miss all of you. I hope you'll come back and visit us whenever you get the chance. It won't be the same without you all here."

"We'll do the best we can, Al," Lydia nodded, putting a comforting hand on her fellow Nord's shoulder. "And we'll bring the hatchlings, too."

"Don't you go flirting with any other carriage drivers in Falkreath, you hear?" Alfarinn pretended to point an accusatory finger at the Argonians. "Me and Misty are your one and only, aye?"

Neetrenaza snorted with a mock dismissive shake of his head. "Now that we can't promise, Alfarinn. You Nords are all the same. Always so stuck-up and full of yourselves. All talk and bravado, and not enough guts and spirit."

Alfarinn, acting hurt by Neetrenaza's words, pouted and folded his arms over his chest, his expression turning petulant. "Hmmm, and here I thought what we had was something special…"

When all the Argonians looked at him sideways (Lydia put a hand to her mouth to hide her snickering), Alfarinn surprised them with a sudden roar of laughter.

"Ah, I'm just pulling your tails!" He stepped up into the driver's seat of his carriage with wide beckons of his arms. "Come on, let's go!"

"Here, Shav," Sal passed Shahvee the eggs, wrapped cozily and securely in an enormous blanket and baskets. Shavhee, with the help of Scouts-Many-Marshes and Neetrenaza, climbed into the carriage bed.

As Sal put his hands up to board the carriage, he looked through his peripheral vision. Several Nords stood at the front of the long bridge leading to Windhelm's gates, giving him dirty, bitter looks. He swore he could feel Torbjorn Shatter-Shield's eyes on from afar.

Mind them not, Dragonborn, spoke a familiar voice in his head. They are powerless to stop what is to come. They cannot hurt you or your family. Not anymore.

"No, they can't…" Sal whispered to himself. "You're right, Miraak. They wouldn't dare to hurt us. Not this time."

"What shall we do about the Assemblage now that you're gone?" one of the city guards asked Sal, snapping him out of his reverie.

"Convert it into a warehouse?" Sal suggested, his voice deadpan and not the least bit caring. "Open a soup kitchen? Build a barracks? Look, that's your problem, not mine. I'm more than certain Jarl Brunwulf will come up with the best idea of what to do with it. But my family and I want nothing to do with it anymore. That's final. It's yours now. Do what you want with it."

Spinning on his heels, he turned his back to the guards and mounted the carriage, sitting down beside Shahvee. He put one arm around her shoulders, the other helping to hold the eggs.

"Think we'll miss it?" Scouts-Many-Marshes asked, turning around in his seat to look back at Windhelm.

"I certainly won't," Neetrenaza admitted cynically without a second of hesitation. He spat bitterly out of the carriage on the frost-covered ground below.

"No wintrier cold keeping us awake at night," Stands-in-Shallows mused aloud, leaning forward and putting his hands together, elbows perched on his knees. "No more frostbite in our scales or snow clawing at our flesh." He looked out at the road beyond, a smile of hopeful excitement and interest now spreading across his face. "At last, we'll finally be free from it all."

"Giddyup, Misty! We're going to Falkreath!" Alfarinn announced. Misty whinnied; her excitement unbridled and noisier than all the howling freezing winds of Eastmarch.

As she pulled her carriage onto the road, her passengers dared not to look back at Windhelm, even when it was little more than an unrecognizable speck in the distance.

Lake Geir, The Rift, en route to Falkreath

"Lydia, are you sure you don't want to make a quick pit stop at Whiterun? We can pick up whatever you need from Breezehome."

On the shores of Lake Geir outside of Ivarstead, the septet sat beneath a canopy of trees around a campfire in the early afternoon. Misty stood close by, unharnessed from her carriage. She chewed casually on grass and fresh hay replacements that her stablehand packed from home.

"At the moment, I don't think I need anything from Breezehome," Lydia thought aloud, accepting bread, cheese, and venison from Scouts-Many-Marshes. "Besides, I'd much rather focus on your property for now, Sal. After we buy the land parcel and build the house, maybe then I'll think about going back to Whiterun and seeing what we can move from there to Falkreath."

"Are you even allowed to do that?" Neetrenaza asked, who sat on Scouts' other side, stopping his slice of bread halfway to his mouth. "Don't you need permission from Sal-Gheel to remove things from Breezehome, since it's his property?"

"Technically speaking, Breezehome is under my name, not Sal's," Lydia explained, stoking the fire with the blade of her Iron Sword.

"She's right," Sal nodded to confirm Lydia's words as the Nord maiden ate her bread. "I transferred the deed of Breezehome's ownership to her before I started living with you guys in Windhelm. It's her house, so she says what goes and what stays."

"I've still got the large chest in the upstairs master bedroom," Lydia mentioned, swallowing her bite of her cheese sandwich. "All the treasures from mine and Sal's adventures are there. Everything from the caves around Whiterun and Ustengrav, our old weapons from the Civil War, and little trinkets we might've…stolen…from the Thalmor Embassy."

When the others looked at her agape, except Sal who snickered, Lydia snorted and broke into laughter. "Relax, guys. It's not like the Thalmor are alive to care."

"I've kept Miraak's weapons in that chest as well," Sal, who had sat between Scouts-Many-Marshes and Shahvee, suddenly stood up. He shoved the last of his venison and cheese sandwich into his mouth. "Speaking of whom…"

He held his claws to his temples and spoke aloud, "Whenever you're ready."

Suddenly, a murky midnight-blue aura enveloped Sal's entire body from head to tail to toes. Before everyone's eyes, it seemed to detach itself from Sal and float through the air of its own unearthly power.

The shapeless aura drifted to the nearest unoccupied spot in front of the campfire. Then it began to take a more defined shape.

A brass-colored, tentacle-mawed mask resembling the Seekers of Apocrypha formed from the top of the mass. Black-brown robes laced in golden threads, metallic armaments, and a sizable belt buckle in the shape of some otherworldly symbol followed it. These were all complemented by a pair of thick priestly gloves and light metal boots.

"Well?" Sal asked, grinning proudly at the figure who had materialized. "Aren't you going to introduce yourself?"

Miraak turned to nod at Sal, then to the others. "I am Miraak, the First Dragonborn. In the tongue of the dov, my name means 'Allegiance-Guide'. In my time, what you now know as the Merethic Era, I was the greatest of the Dragon Priests on the island of Solstheim. The will of Hermaeus Mora granted me the power of the Thu'um through the use of one of his forbidden Black Books. I used this power to bend Dragons to my will, and stamped out and eradicated all who dared to resist my newfound divine superiority. In the Fourth Era, I used my same powers to oppose the Last Dragonborn, before he achieved his victory over me. Once I was his enemy. Now, I am his ally; and, as of this moment, also yours."

Shahvee immediately jumped to her feet, as did Lydia.

"Miraak!" Shahvee cried out, both horrified and impressed. The other Argonians and Alfarinn all climbed to their feet. Misty, hardly having notice Miraak's appearance, stepped slightly deeper into the forest brush in search of more grass to eat. "How—how the—how on earth—?"

"Whoa! You can exist independently of Sal-Gheel now?" Lydia asked, looking both dumbfounded and curious about the spectral, colored Dragon Priest.

"Indeed, I can," Miraak explained. "The Last Dragonborn and I reached an agreement. As a further reward for helping him free his mind from the chains of Alduin the World-Eater, I am free to exist independently of his body and soul. I am now allowed to wander the mortal plane as I please, in my fullest power. Death has not diminished my abilities. I may now be deceased, a permanent state of existence which no magical or mundane power can reverse. But in my unliving state, I am more powerful than I have ever been and could be when I lived as a mortal man. I still possess my Thu'um, a wide arsenal of Mundus magical powers, as well as the Daedric magic I gleaned from my time in Apocrypha."

"So, let me get this straight," Neetrenaza held out a cautious hand. Scouts-Many-Marshes stared fascinated at the Dragon Priest. Stands-in-Shallows and Alfarinn both scratched their heads and furrowed their brows and shrugged at each other, thoroughly confused. "You're technically dead, but also simultaneously alive? If you're dead and existing as an earthbound spirit, why do we see you in full color and opaque? Why are you not transparent and that bright blue color we are accustomed to seeing from ghosts in Skyrim, like those we find in the old Nordic barrows?"

"Perhaps it is the soul of the dov that exists within me that enables me to materialize in the same shape as I did in my mortal life," Miraak shrugged slightly. "Of course, that is only loose speculation."

When no one else said a word, Miraak looked around at the group. "I sense you all have many questions. Time is our ally. Ask away. Rest assured I am no longer your enemy, but your…friend. I shall answer with all honesty."

"How did you save yourself from being consumed by the Daedric Princes during the Apocalypse Anathema?" Lydia posed, resting her weight on one hip and leg while folding her arms over her chest, inspecting the Dragon Priest somewhat suspiciously.

"Perhaps one of the most important questions of this discussion, if not the single most important." Miraak admitted with an empathetic nod. He copied Lydia's pose effortlessly, also folding his arms over his robed chest. "As the Last Dragonborn has no doubt informed you, the Thalmor cast their dreaded Apocalypse Anathema upon him to violate his body and strip him of the Thu'um. Boethiah, Molag Bal, Mephala consumed all of the Dragon Souls he held within himself to tear the Thu'um away from him."

Miraak stared down at the campfire. Sal sensed a strange regret overcome the masked and robed Nord, laced with slight tinges of fear and inner conflict. "They would have consumed me as well, were it not for all the magic of Hermaeus Mora and the strength of my own Thu'um to save me from their clutches. They sensed that power within me and sought to claim it for themselves. They desired to consume me as they had consumed the souls of the Dragons."

He glanced up again at the group. A murky blackness covered the eye sockets of his mask. Behind it, flickering flames of pure Dragon's fire. "But I fought back. A lengthy and arduous battle that spanned many hours. But from your mortal perspectives, it lasted a fraction of a second. I fought with all of my might and strength and spirit. The Daedric Princes realized that even with all of their capabilities, they could not win against me. They let me be. But not without begrudging, and plenty of profane, accursed language which I do not dare to repeat here in this sacred place."

He shifted his weight, resting it now on the opposite leg and leaning to the other side. "When it was over, the Dragonborn had lost his power and the Thalmor stood over him, victorious and supreme. I found myself alone in the stone stairways that led in and out of the Eldergleam Sanctuary. After the Thalmor had left, I went to torture the Dragonborn further. The Thalmor brought a physical torment to the Last Dragonborn. I brought a psychological, mental torture. But, of course, it did not last long. You all know what happened next."

"So…you're on our side now?" Scouts-Many-Marshes asked, cautious. "You'll no longer try to destroy Sal-Gheel? Or any of us?"

Miraak shook his head to reassure the Argonian. "I have learned my lessons from the past. I've found my redemption through helping the Last Dragonborn banish Alduin the World-Eater once and for all. Even if it was a facsimile. I recognize him as the true Dragonborn. The title of a "False" Dragonborn no longer befits him. He has demonstrated the strength of his Thu'um multiple times over. He is the Dragonborn Skyrim needs and deserves. I shall no longer deny that. I am willing to put my past villainous ways behind me in the present. I wish to devote my ethereal existence to serving Skyrim, rather than destroying it."

The others looked around at each other, engaged in a silent nonverbal debate over what to decide. Miraak waited, but after a solid minute passed in silence, he voiced the beliefs on everyone's minds.

"You do not have to believe my words. You need only listen to them. I no longer desire power or dominance or supremacy as I once did. I, Miraak, First of the Dragonborns and greatest of the Dragon Priests, will be your immortal, eternal protector, for you and your family. If you will have me."

"Guys," Sal stepped forward toward his family, speaking gently, empathetically. "Alduin the World-Eater may be destroyed. The Thalmor may be eradicated. Miraak's quest to conquer Solsthiem was thwarted. Hell, he's even standing right here, right now, before us in the spirit!"

He gestured to Miraak beside him, who did not react. "But even after all of that, there are still more dangers out there in Skyrim. Wild animals. Bandits. Giants and mammoths. Frostbite Spiders. Falmer and Chaurus. Dwemer constructs. Necromancers. Rogue mages. Dragons who did not conform to Paarthurnax's Way of the Voice. Maybe even…"

He quickly wracked his brains. "Vampires, or something! I don't know! Look, my point is," he reached out more desperately now, almost pleading. "Skyrim still needs its legendary protector. It needs a Dragonborn. And now, it has two! Whatever threats may come our way to destroy Skyrim, Miraak and I are powerful enough together to combat them! We've proven it! And as much as I'd like to put my adventuring days behind me for good, there will come a day when I'll be needed again. The next danger that comes along in Skyrim, I may not be powerful enough to fight on my own. That's why I—we—need Miraak."

Another minute passed in utter silence, broken only by the chaotic crackling of the fire. Alfarinn stared over his shoulder, keeping his eyes on the still-eating Misty. Sal stared around at his family, desperately, with bated breath. Miraak did and said nothing.

"You're right, Sal-Gheel," Shahvee agreed at length. "Skyrim will always be in need of its guardian—or guardians, I should say, in this case." She nodded at Miraak, who seemed to unwind his spectral form in relief. "Miraak, you've asserted yourself boldly and sincerely. Your redemption is genuine. Your words are true. You have truly forsaken your villainous past and turned to the side of good. Yes, we will have you, Miraak. Welcome to our family."

Sal breathed an enormous exhale of relief, relaxing. He took Shahvee into his arms in a bear hug, swaying from side to side.

"Thank you, Shahvee," he whispered to her. "Thank you so much, my love."

"I can promise no perfection," Miraak confessed, crossing harmlessly through the fire to meet Lydia, Alfarinn, and the Argonians. The roaring flames licked his spirit but left neither mark nor burn upon him. "But I would be willing to sacrifice myself for you, and for your hatchlings. My Thu'um and the powers of Oblivion are yours."

"All we can say, Miraak," Scouts-Many-Marshes offered his hand, which Miraak took and shook heartily. "Is that we're so glad you're here, and on our side."

Miraak shook everyone's hand gratefully, including Alfarinn's.

"So, how much farther to Falkreath, Al?" Sal asked Alfarinn, he and Shahvee still wrapped in each other's arms.

Alfarinn pointed down the southwest road extending far into the horizon past the river. "Well, if this good weather holds up, we should reach Falkreath within the hour. So let's not waste any more time. Jarl Siddgeir is expecting us. We should all know better than to keep a Jarl and his court waiting!"