There was probably no true need to go back to Narzulbur, to complete the scene they'd set up in Windhelm, but they went through with it anyway. A route the three of them had become very familiar with, through Kynesgrove and then up the mountain path. The further they got from Windhelm, the more Vash's anger faded. It was hard to be angry, out there walking in the clear air, two friends beside him, all apart from the world and its petty frustrations.

'That was satisfying,' said Yanakh eventually. 'But there'll be consequences for it.'

'Oh, fuck them,' said Muzgu. 'Shittiest city in Skyrim.'

'A toss-up with Markarth, I think,' said Vash.

'What happened to you in there?' asked Yanakh.

Vash scratched his scalp. 'I don't know,' he said. It scared him, how easy it had been to become that person. Perhaps it had always been inside him, growing, waiting to be pushed far enough. 'Before she left, Gylhain, the Dragonborn, she seemed so tired. Helping these people who can't solve their own problems but also don't want to be helped. Things change and things don't change. Skyrim is more tolerant than it was, but how many Stormcloaks went right back home after the war ended? Got their old jobs back in the guard or wherever?'

'Look, I take the piss,' said Muzgu, 'but Dushnikh Yal would be a bandit stronghold without you. Orc heads on spikes. And Mauhulakh would still be weeping up in his graveyard. And Borgakh would be… I don't know, but you get my point.'

'And you've done so much for Winterhold,' added Yanakh. 'You should be proud of that.'

'Yes,' said Vash. 'And it's been uphill every step to turn Winterhold into the only place in Skyrim where I don't feel like a monster from a story.'

'We're all monsters,' said Muzgu. 'The Nords and the elves and whoever too. All our histories are full of blood. We just have these big teeth, so we look the part.'

The sounds of industry reached them before Narzulbur itself came into view. The work was well underway, workers hauling up stone, shaping it, and laying the blocks. Ghorza, who was overseeing the operations, hailed them. Vash was impressed, and told her so. When the work was done, the stronghold would be well ensconced on the side of the mountain, unassailable by ordinary means. There were difficulties, of course, arising from the hired labourers' inability to come inside the stronghold, not being bloodkin, but Ghorza had worked out a system of handling the work that seemed to function perfectly, orcs and non-orcs alike working together. Mauhulakh looked very proud.

They ended up staying for some time. A few days turned into a few weeks. Vash levitated the larger blocks of stone into place, even imbuing some of them with enchantments so a stray bolt of magic wouldn't blow all their hard work into rubble. Yanakh fell in with the stone miners, hewing the blocks from the side of the mountain. Muzgu would disappear for half a day and then reappear dragging a huge deer for dinner.

The works were finished in what seemed to Vash to be very good time. A great feast was held to celebrate, and Mauhulakh rose, somewhat flushed with drink, and inducted all the workers as bloodkin, saying they had brought glory to the tribe and were welcome at any time. In the days to come, as the workers returned to their homes across Eastmarch and beyond, the stories they carried with them were of a hardy people, who valued community above all else.

Eventually, Vash returned to Winterhold. The place had not caught fire during his extended absence, he noticed. In the street of the town he ran into the Imperial woman Astene, who owned and operated Whistling Mine, just outside of town.

'Noticed you've been spending some time away,' she said.

Vash shrugged. 'The College mostly runs itself these days,' he said. And so it did. Tolfdir still came to him with problems, but these were mostly trivial, and when Vash was not there, Tolfdir and the others inevitably found ways to solve them quickly and painlessly.

The months passed. Vash divided his time between his various duties. He spent time with his colleagues, assisting them with their magical experiments and studies. He trained the newer students, Emelia and Falin, both of whom showed great promise, soon advancing into areas of specialisation where they were more skilled than him. The town prospered. Dushnamub brought the forge into production, smithing the iron and quicksilver that was brought in from Whistling Mine, generating great income for Winterhold. Jarl Kraldar seemed more content than Vash had ever seen him. Elsewise, Vash spent his time at the strongholds, or in the wilds between them, travelling, sometimes accompanied by Yanakh or Muzgu or both or neither. Dushnikh Yal and Mor Khazgur had both expressed interest in fortifying themselves in the same manner as Narzulbur, and preparations for that were underway.

There was no armed conflict with Windhelm. No army climbed the hill towards Narzulbur. As the months following Vash's threat passed, it became clearer and clearer that Jarl Brunwulf was a fearful man, unwilling to force open battle. So much the better for them all, thought Vash. Trade continued to flow, the ebony ore bringing gold to orcs and Nords both. Vash never returned to Windhelm, but Muzgu, on a brief jaunt, reported that the guards gave her a ludicrously wide berth, and she struggled to keep her laughter in check during her time in the city.

Time rolled into the year 210 of the fourth era. One evening, not far into that new year, a guest came up to Vash's quarters. Despite the time that had passed, he recognised her straight away as Serana, the vampire who had accompanied his old friend Kara when she'd come asking to borrow the elder scroll. Her eyes, Vash noticed, were a different colour now, a rich green instead of the yellow of before. She carried a heavy pack, and she travelled alone.

'I have to thank you,' she said. She pulled the elder scroll she'd borrowed and slid it onto Vash's table. 'We never would have beat Harkon without it.' Following that, she silently slid two more elder scrolls alongside the first. Vash's mouth fell open.

'You really—you said, of course, but I never truly…'

'I probably wouldn't have believed me either,' said Serana. 'Ancient prophecies, the sun turning dark, hidden temples lost for thousands of years. It was all pretty far-fetched.'

'Even the Dragonborn only found one scroll,' said Vash. 'This is a priceless gift, truly.'

Serana shrugged. 'They're heavy. Better you keep them than I lug them around all the time.' She reached back into her pack and pulled out a small stack of books, and some loose papers bound together with string. Vash took them with care. 'Those are in some kind of Falmer script,' added Serana, pointing at the books. 'I couldn't make any sense of them. And those are pages by an elf called Jiub.'

'Saint Jiub? He died in the Oblivion Crisis.'

'Ran into him in the Soul Cairn. He said this was his opus. Promised to bring it back.'

'Thank you,' said Vash again, setting the finds aside. 'It sounds like you've had an incredible adventure.' There was a pause, during which Serana looked away. 'Is Kara not with you?'

'She went her own way,' said Serana. 'I don't know where she is.' Her voice broke a little on this last part.

Vash nodded. He wished he could help, but there was only so much he could do for those who actively did not want to be found. Maybe it was better to respect that, and let Kara come to her own resolution in time.

'And what about you?' he asked.

'The Dawnguard might look for me,' she said. 'Better you don't have anything to tell them.'

'They won't hear anything from me,' said Vash. He extended a hand, and Serana, though clearly surprised, took it. 'Good luck to you,' he said. 'You're welcome in Winterhold any time. And if you see Kara again, you can tell her the same.'

Serana peered at him, seemingly assessing him for sincerity. She looked close to tears. She nodded, murmured her thanks, and quickly departed, almost bowling over Tolfdir on his way in.

Tolfdir hesitated. 'Archmage, there are two matters,' he said. 'I am unsure how to present them.'

Vash tried very hard not to smile. 'Just one and then the other will be fine, Tolfdir.'

'The issue is, they relate to two of your, ah, responsibilities, Archmage. One is a College matter, the other is, ah, an orc matter. I do not know how you wish to prioritise them.'

'If you tell me what they are, I will be able to decide that,' said Vash.

'Yes. Yes, of course, Archmage.' Tolfdir straightened his robes and cleared his throat. 'There is a new student seeking admittance. A young Redguard woman. She dresses more like a mercenary than a mage, but when I pressed her she executed a flawless turn undead spell.' He paused for a moment. 'The other matter involves one of the guards. Borgakh, I believe her name is. She says she wishes to… apologise to her father? She seems to want your company for such an errand.'

Vash nodded. 'Thank you, Tolfdir.'

Tolfdir hesitated, then said, 'They are both waiting. Which matter would you like to see to?'

It was so clear in Vash's mind now. He was the Archmage, he was the agent of Malacath. They did not cancel each other out. He could train students, he could rebuild Winterhold, he could help the orcs. It was chaos, it was endless variety. He had never been happier, never more at home than in this shifting mess where he had so many homes.

'Both,' said Vash. 'I want to do both.'