For a moment, Miraak was afraid of the flat, alien sky above him, wisps of white drifting across it. Then he remembered that this was the color the sky was supposed to be, not green clouds and tentacles and eyes. This was Mundus, Nirn, Tamriel. This was home, not the horrors of Oblivion.

"You're awake at last."

The Dragon Priest sat up sharply and looked around. He was on an island of snow and stone in the middle of the sky – no, no, the summit of a mountain. It had to be the Monahven; no other mountain was so high that no others could be seen, that the air was so thin.

There was a dragon perched atop a blank Word Wall not too far away. He briefly considered using Bend Will, then decided against it. He felt weak and shaky and cold, even though someone had gone through the trouble of wrapping him in a think cloak to stave off the wind. If he missed or failed, he wasn't up for a fight.

Not yet.

"Greetings," he replied in dovahzul, "Who are you?"

"I am Paarthurnax."

Miraak jolted a little at that. "You were Alduin's lieutenant."

"I was. So were you, in a way, and both of us rebelled against his lordship." Paarthurnax hummed softly. "The Dragonborn was worried when you did not wake right away. I convinced her to go get you some food. She should be back shortly."

Miraak nodded in acknowledgement and staggered to his feet, wobbling about on watery legs. He was careful to stay away from the edges, but he couldn't resist looking out over the world.

Skyrim had changed greatly since he had seen her last. The holds called Eastmarch and the Rift were spread out before him, richly gold and green in the sunlight, rivers gleaming as they flowed, creatures bounding through the trees.

Miraak squeezed his eyes shut and inhaled shakily, then became aware of a familiar presence drawing near. He turned in time to see the other Dovahkiin reach the summit, tailed by four strangers – two men in matching armor, brothers by their looks; a Dunmer clad head-to-toe in black and red armor; and a vampiress in a blackout cloak.

The strangers eyed him suspiciously, but the Dragonborn came right over, spread out a blanket and some furs in the shadow of the Word Wall, and unpacked the food she'd been carrying. It was simple fare, loaves of bread, wedges of cheese, strips of jerky, and some kind of herb butter in a little stone tub, but it looked better than anything he'd seen in four millennia.

Miraak hesitated, unsure what the protocol was here, and exchanged a glance with Paarthurnax. The dragon gave him the equivalent of a smile and a shrug. Then the Priest walked over and warily sank down in the space left open for him, pleased he hadn't stumbled or tripped.

The Dragonborn removed her mask. Her hair was long and silvery, her skin a pale gold, which made her blue eyes seem all the more vivid. With an eye color like that, she had to have some Nordic blood in there somewhere. Otherwise she was purely Altmer, elegance and grace with an undercurrent of draconic violence.

He approved, and removed his own mask even though he was unsure what he looked like after so many years in Apocrypha. She didn't seem horrified, and no one else reacted negatively, so he assumed the answer was "okay" and called it a victory. He peeled off his gloves.

The bread was warm and thick in his hands. He took a moment to just look at it and smell and feel it – warm, crisp golden brown and distinctly wheaty – before tearing off a piece and putting it in his mouth. It tasted just as good, and he forced himself to chew slowly despite the sudden sharp stab of hunger in his gut.

His soulmate noticed, and offered him the herb butter. "How long were you trapped in Apocrypha?"

Her voice was smooth and lyrical; she made even the Oblivion Realm's name sound beautiful. Miraak did some quick mental math, then said, "About forty-one hundred years."

One of the brothers visibly gaped at him, while the other nearly spat out his mouthful of mead. The vampiress looked oddly sympathetic, and the Dunmer looked shocked in her own way, eyebrows nearly disappearing into her hairline before her face went blank.

"By Talos," said the longer-haired brother after he managed to swallow without choking, "I guess I can understand you being desperate to escape, then. Farkas." He held out a hand.

The Dragon Priest shook it. "Miraak, but I suppose you knew that already."

His brother introduced himself as Vilkas. The vampiress was Serana. The Dunmer was Tindala Hlenhis. And his soulmate-

"Amlugdaril Astarume Aedore Anaedaerith."

"Your parents were big fans of alliteration, I see."

She snorted and smiled, and was radiant.

High Hrothgar was disturbingly like Apocrypha with its walls, damp and cold. Miraak woke several times during the night, convinced he was still in Oblivion and Hermaeus Mora was playing with him, indulging his desire to be free before yanking him back into that green hell.

Amlugdaril seemed to sense it, and touched him skin to skin in reassurance. The first time she did it he nearly stabbed her, still caught in the grips of a nightmare, but she was able to catch his wrist before the blade made contact. After the third time, she dragged her blankets over and whispered, "Scoot over," before sliding in next to him and pulling the blankets over them both.

They both slept through the night after that.

Wisely, no one said anything.

Bromjunaar – Labyrinthian – was a ruin. Miraak had known about it being abandoned, read about the slow exodus, but it was another thing entirely to see the place desolate with his own eyes.

He noticed Amlugdaril's questioning look, even from behind Konahrik, and said, "All Dragon Priests were trained here. When I was trained here, these streets were packed with people at nearly all hours, and most trade passed through here. Silks and spices and spells…" He ran a hand over a low wall, brushing off some snow. "Now it's just dust and echoes."

Without even looking, he shot an ice spear back through the skull of a frost troll charging him from behind. "And trolls. Because Divines forbid I forget them."

"Look at them go."

Neither Dragonborn appeared aware of the crowd they had attracted, instead focused entirely on each other. They had started off with just a simple spar to help Miraak adjust to being back on Nirn, but it had escalated quickly into a resumption of their interrupted battle in Oblivion. Civilians, city guards, and soldiers alike had all climbed to the battlements of Castle Dour to look down on the fight takin place in its only ward. Even General Tulius and Legate Rikke had come out of the war room to watch.

"And 'Daril thought she didn't have the makings of an assassin."

"Only when her blood is up, 'Dala. And it only gets this high with him."

The fight lasted for nearly an hour, their dragon souls giving them inhuman stamina. But their flesh gave out before the fight in them did, both of them staggering back away from each other after one last, fierce clash. Miraak kept his feet by leaning heavily on his staff, but Amlugdaril recovered faster. Then they both saluted one another with their weapons – only to nearly jump out of their skins when the crowd cheered – screaming and applauding.

Miraak flinched at all the noise and people; he was still trying to adjust after so long alone in Oblivion. Amlugdaril noticed, and signaled her friends before guiding the Dragon Priest away to get cleaned up.

"We're going to have to talk about this eventually."

"I don't think it'll matter if we're responsible adults if we don't stop Alduin from eating everything he claps eyes on," Amlugdaril replied as she rubbed her hair dry.

"Mm." Miraak was more than half way asleep, the master bed of Proudspire Manor being the most comfortable thing he'd ever slept on.

"Go to sleep, idiot."

"You're my soulmate," the Dragon Priest slurred, "If I'm the idiot, what does that say about you?"

"That we can be foolish together. Go to sleep."