He returned from Red Mountain, his ebony armour caked with ash, the light of a god in his eyes and the legendary tools of deicide hanging from his belt. The brawny Redguard arrived back in Balmora, a town that held so many fond memories for the hardened warrior, and where he planned to retire to, now his destiny was fulfilled.

Maybe he'd help train youngsters in the Fighter's Guild, he thought, or maybe open a little inn somewhere. He'd traveled from Ald'ruhn, and as he stepped off the Guild platform he noticed the place was rather empty. He jogged up the stairs, wondering if his news had arrived here yet, it had seemed to have traveled on the wind to Ald'ruhn, where he'd been met with a small, if enthusiastic crowd.

At the front door to the guild he finally met someone, a rather tired looking Altmer, who smiled politely.
"I have returned from Red Mountain," he declared, "the monster is dead. The blight is no more."
The Altmer nodded, "That is a relief, thank you friend."
That was it? The Redguard frowned; maybe wizards didn't really get all the implications – spending all their time indoors as they did.

He stepped outside to see the rest of the mages, or at least some of them, sitting and drinking tea, regarding the… Telvanni towers? In Balmora?
"What happened here?" he asked, staring at them in amazement.
"Winterbell happened here," a middle-aged Kaijit told him.
"Don't worry, it's all over now," the Altmer said, following him out.
The Kaijit smiled, a little wistfully, "I hope they're happy, wherever they are."

They were an odd pair, the guard thought, that rather grand old lady and her…friend, bodyguard, consort – whatever the hell he was. They didn't have much luggage, but what they had was stunningly expensive. With the blight miraculously gone the quarantine had been lifted and they were obviously making the most of it, leaving their Expected Date of Return spot blank on the forms.

It was all rather mysterious. The lady had thrown something to that little swamp rat, Fargoth, and he'd run off, clutching it to his chest and practically crying.

"What was that about?" Marayan asked, watching the Bosmer dash off with bemusement.
"You don't want to know," Winterbell chuckled, still leaning heavily on the staff, but looking amazingly recovered, thanks to Ajira's potions.

They boarded the ship, and stood on deck, watching Seyda Neen shrink towards the horizon.
"Summer's coming," Marayan remarked, looking up at the sky.
"I was only here for a year," Winterbell said, still looking at the smudge of dark green on the horizon, "A year and another spring, anyway." She smiled, "I'm glad I got two."
"Are you all right?" he asked, leaning around to look at her face.
"Oh piss off, Dren," she muttered, blinking fast.
"Never."

The End

A.N. (You are under no obligation to read any of this) And that is, indeed, the end. To those of you who have stuck with me this far, who have put up with variations in quality and infuriatingly long delays, I can only give you my sincere thanks and marvel at your commitment.

Morrowind is a beautiful and inspiring game. A complete world for us to play in, with characters and places already sketched in and waiting for us to breathe life into them, whether we are writing fanfiction or playing the game itself. Oblivion is coming soon, and I can't wait, but even if it surpasses the high standards set by Morrowind, it will never hold quite the same place in my heart.

I don't ever intend to write a fanfiction as long as this one again. I started off with no plan, and it shows. I lost interest. I regained interest but lost the plot. Those who manage to write in installments without losing the plot have my undying admiration. I learned many lessons from A Second Spring, some about writing, and some more character-building. I've made friends without losing any in the process (what an achievement!), and most importantly I got it finished – something that was constantly in doubt. Many times it was only sheer inertia that prevented me from putting the dreaded 'On Hiatus' in the summary, and essentially condemning the story to the limbo of perpetual works in progress.

Since I started writing A Second Spring I've written two other novels, both original and both umm...better edited, and when put together they roughly equal the length of this story. And it is you, gentle, and not so gentle, readers, who have given me the confidence to do so. If I've given you some entertainment along the way, you've given me an immeasurable amount of hope and courage. And if I end up being published, I will owe that, in part, to you as well.

Farewell, Outlanders,

D