The travellers made their way to Markarth. As they approached the city of stone, Vash told Muzgu and Yanakh about his potential candidate for a forge-wife for Mauhulakh: Ghorza, who was the city's resident blacksmith. They agreed in principle, though Muzgu's frown deepened the closer they got to Markarth.

'Why would anybody build something so gods-damned bleak?' she asked.

'At least some of it's Dwemer,' said Vash. He'd never spent long enough in the city to conduct a full examination of where the Dwemer construction ended and the Nord work began. With its narrow staircases, its history of violent conspiracy, and every surface the same dull grey stone, Markarth had always felt to him like a trap. Officially, they were past the age of the Forsworn. Gylhain had infiltrated their inner command, helped them escape prison, then slaughtered them once they thought they were safe. Then she'd spent months acting as a plague upon their kind. It was understood the Reach was free of them. But in the streets of Markarth, anybody could be a sympathiser.

Vash led them quickly down the path to the left of the main doors, then up a narrow stairway to where Ghorza and her apprentice Tacitus kept the forge. Ghorza was leaning on a ledge, watching Tacitus hammer out a shield.

'Archmage,' she said as the newcomers approached. 'Back to sweeten the deal? A legion of apprentices at my command? A magical forge that never goes cold?'

'Actually,' said Vash, 'I have a different offer, if you'll hear me out.'

'I'll listen,' said Ghorza. 'That's about all I can promise.'

'We're Malacath's agents in Skyrim. We're looking for wives for Chief Mauhulakh, out at Narzulbur.'

Ghorza's eyebrows went up, then she laughed. 'Playing matchmaker for that milk-drinker? Bit of a comedown in the world, Archmage.' She paused, and frowned. 'And you're asking me? Been a long time since I lived in a stronghold.'

'That's why we need you,' said Vash. 'Fresh blood, in a way.'

'My blood ain't that fresh,' said Ghorza. She looked at the floor, her frown deepening. Nearby, Tacitus had paused in his work to listen. Without looking up, Ghorza added, 'That shield decided to hammer itself, Tacitus?' The hammering resumed.

Yanakh was wandering about the smithy, examining the pieces. 'Narzulbur has a steady supply of ebony,' she said, almost off-hand.

'I had heard that,' admitted Ghorza. 'It's not often a smith gets a chance to work with ebony. I had also heard that Mauhulakh's wives die.'

'We took care of that,' said Muzgu.

'And you're stronger than they were,' added Vash.

'They say flattery will get you nowhere,' said Ghorza. 'This is not true.' She sighed. 'The more years I spend in this city, the wearier I get of it. And Tacitus is… competent.'

'Thank you, O wise blacksmithing one,' said Tacitus inbetween hammer strokes. Muzgu snorted.

'You have improved,' said Ghorza. 'You have improved a great deal since you first came to my forge. I was harsh with you because I wanted you to be better.'

Tacitus briefly turned from his work to look at her, a smile edging onto his face. 'I stayed, didn't I?' he said. Then he resumed hammering the shield.

Ghorza was silent for a minute. Vash wasn't quite sure where to look. Some part of him had always expected her to reject his offer outright, as she had with his previous one.

'I don't want to die in Markarth,' said Ghorza. 'It's a bad place for it.' She shook her head. 'I can't believe I'm doing this. My younger self would hate me.'

'My younger self just laughs at me a lot,' said Muzgu.

'I'll need a day, maybe two, to sort things out here.'

'I can stay,' said Yanakh. 'Make sure you get to Narzulbur in one piece.'

Vash's first inclination was to object, on purely selfish grounds. He wasn't sure he could handle Muzgu's mockery and more destructive tendencies on his own. But it was a good plan. It wouldn't do to have Mauhulakh's promised wife torn apart by bears on her way to her new home. So Yanakh remained in Markarth, while Muzgu and Vash continued on.

As soon as they were past the exterior buildings of Markarth, on the road north, Muzgu asked, 'So did you and Yanakh fuck while I was out spying on Shel?'

Vash spluttered for a bit before saying, 'We did not.'

'Huh, I dunno what her deal is then,' said Muzgu.

'You're—you find her attractive?'

Muzgu shrugged. 'She's tall. I'm a simple orc. Tried it on down in Cyrodiil, without my usual success.'

'I'm sure,' said Vash.

'Figured she was only interested the male of the species,' she added, grinning at him. 'But maybe you're uniquely repulsive.'

'Further studies are needed, clearly,' said Vash, laying the sarcasm on thick.

'Clearly,' echoed Muzgu.

Things continued in a similar vein as they walked on, Muzgu concocting plans involving the theoretical strapping young Nords of Winterhold. At first Vash tried to tune her out, but soon found he was laughing despite himself.

Near the small town of Karthwasten, however, he was forced to stop and examine his map. There was no clear road from the south to Mor Khazgur. Nothing large enough to be marked on his map, anyway. A vague path heading off near the town seemed to head in the right direction, so he took it. Very quickly they were off the path entirely.

'I'm sure we're on the right track,' said Vash.

'There is no track,' said Muzgu. 'We're going fucking overland. This cannot be the way.'

'We'll get there just fine, I'm sure.'

'We definitely won't now that you've said that.'

In the end, all the jaunt overland cost them was thick mud on their boots and some scratches from the spiny bushes that still dotted the Reach, even that far north. Mor Khazgur appeared ahead of them, the gate around to the north-eastern side.

'What's this?' asked Muzgu, gesturing to the east as they stood waiting to be granted entrance. 'Could it be a gods-damned path?'

'So we might have taken the wrong route,' said Vash.

'Oh I think your mistakes go back a bit further than that. In fact, I'd like to have a word with your mother.'

They were welcomed into the stronghold, and invited to drink with Chief Larak, a well-muscled orc who went about without a shirt or other covering over his chest.

'If only Yanakh were here,' murmured Muzgu, and Vash elbowed her.

After the pleasantries were gotten through, Vash brought the conversation around to the business at hand. Larak insisted there were no pressing issues in the stronghold that required the assistance of the agents of Malacath. The place was prosperous, thanks to a rich orichalcum mine, and secure, built up against the solid face of a mountain. Vash then brought up the concern of Mauhulakh and his search for wives.

'I will not send one of my stronghold to that orc,' said Larak. 'How a chief who cannot keep his wives alive manages to run a stronghold does not make sense to me. Either he is cursed, or he is weak. Neither fill me with hope.'

'It was his aunts,' said Muzgu. 'We dealt with that. We found him one wife already, a strong one who will not bend to their will. Another of such strength would ensure his success.'

Larak narrowed his eyes. 'I do not doubt you believe this,' he said.

'But you still doubt Mauhulakh,' said Vash. Larak nodded. It came to Vash in a flash what he ought to do. 'Then I say this. If the measures we have put in place fail, and harm still comes to your kin, I will be responsible. You can extract your blood price from me.'

He snuck a glance at Muzgu, but she was silent, her expression unmoving. Larak, however, leaned back in his chair. He finished his drink, then nodded.

'That's good enough for me,' he said. He rose from his chair and called out, 'Borgakh!' Soon a younger female orc approached, dressed in full orcish armour and with a sword of the same make at her hip.

'Yes, father?' she said.

'It is decided that you shall marry Chief Mauhulakh, at Narzulbur,' said Larak. 'I know you will not disappoint me in this.'

There was a long silence. Vash shifted in his chair, wondering whether he ought to get up, or to say something. He looked at Muzgu, who seemed very interested in the bottom of her tankard.

At last, Borgakh said, 'Yes, father.'

Very quickly it seemed to Vash they were out of Mor Khazgur and on the road again, this time accompanied by Borgakh, a companion who maintained her silence until the path east narrowed between two cliffs of rock.

'The bandits are fond of ambushing here,' she said quietly. She drew her sword and angled her steel shield to block her body. Vash prepared an ice spear in one hand and a ward in the other. Muzgu had a dagger in one hand, and Vash could see her other hand was clutching something as well, but her cloak prevented him from seeing what it was.

They edged through the pass. Nobody leapt from behind a crag to assail them with a blunt axe and demand their gold. Spells were dismissed and weapons put away.

'Can't be too careful,' said Vash.

'You definitely can,' said Muzgu.

Borgakh fell silent again, and they walked on. After the pass, the way opened out into a wide valley ringed by mountains, the peaks shielding the cradle from the worst of the weather. Borgakh directed them north, where a road coiled in and out of the valley. Once back on its more even surface, they made easy time east, then a short detour south, coming out on the main road that Vash recognised as being just north of the town of Dragon Bridge. There they found a carriage to take them across Skyrim.

Sitting in the back as they rumbled over the long road eastwards, Vash felt he had to say something to Borgakh. He was going over the possibilities in his head when Muzgu got there before him.

'This isn't what you wanted,' she said.

Borgakh paused for a moment before answering. 'Does that matter? This is how it is.'

'Course it matters,' said Muzgu. 'Mauhulakh can manage with one wife if he has to. Many have.'

'But it has been decided,' said Borgakh. 'I do not know how his other wives died, but I do not think such a thing will befall me.'

'I promised to pay blood price to your father if anything happens to you,' said Vash.

Borgakh flinched. She looked at him with surprise, and another emotion that he couldn't read. 'Why would you do such a thing?' she asked.

The strength of her gaze forced Vash's to look away. 'I'm the agent of Malacath,' he managed to get out. 'You're—all orcs in Skyrim are my responsibility.'

'I can handle myself,' said Borgakh.

'I—I'm sure you can,' said Vash. He noticed Muzgu was grinning at him. 'It seemed like the right thing to do. I didn't know that this wasn't what you wanted. I didn't know who your father would pick, everything happened so fast.'

'He's not my birth-father,' said Borgakh. There was a pause. 'He took me in when I was small. He has been kind, but he has long ceased trying to understand me.'

'I'm sorry,' said Vash. 'I can try and find someone else. There are plenty of orcs in Skyrim, even outside the strongholds, I'm sure someone would want to—'

'No,' said Borgakh. Her gaze softened and it was easier for Vash to look into her dark eyes. 'Thank you, but no. The deal has been made. I will fulfil it to the best of my ability.'

The rest of the journey passed in an easier silence, or in talking of less serious things. Borgakh, it turned out, was yet another person who had known Gylhain. They had briefly fought together, clearing out some bandit hideouts and ruins near Mor Khazgur. Borgakh had been in awe of the Dragonborn's combat prowess, but had found being in her actual company to be less than ideal.

'She seemed to have a death wish,' said Borgakh. 'And the ruins… narrow corridors beneath the dirt.' She shook her head. 'I prefer the open sky above me.'

Eventually the road to Winterhold branched off, and Vash alighted from the carriage, the other two continuing on, the driver willing to carry them as far as Kynesgrove. Vash wished them well, though his mood was dampened by the resigned expression on Borgakh's face and the concerned one on Muzgu's, the latter clearly restrained from speaking by the presence of the former.

As the carriage rattled away, Vash turned his weary steps northwards. The snow crunched under his boots, and if he wasn't mistaken, more was about to start falling. He quickened his pace, hoping he could be back in time for a quick supper with Tolfdir, to catch up on all the College goings-on that had happened in his absence.

He smiled as he saw the lights of Winterhold appear in the distance. The trip around to the strongholds hadn't gone as badly as he expected. At certain points he had even felt comfortable in those spaces, competent in his role. But it hadn't destroyed the feeling he always got at this precise moment, as he saw the little town and the towers of the College beyond. Home, he thought.