At last, it was over. The blight and the ash storms were ended, the people no longer had to suffer troubling dreams, and Morrowind was free of Dagoth Ur. I too was free, free to consider all that I had done and all that had been done to me. Azura had her revenge on the Tribunes, who had been forced to admit their use of the Heart to make themselves into gods. She had strengthened the old ways of the Dunmeri- ancestor worship and even worship of the "good" Daedra- while saving the people of Morrowind. For myself, I walked slowly along the dusty trails, oblivious to the cheerful gratitude of those who recognized me. I wanted only to reach Bal Isra, my stronghold. When at last I found myself in my private quarters, I carefully laid aside my sword and armor, vowing that I would never use them again. Next, I tried to lose myself in my books or in alchemy, but the visions of the past would give me no peace. The multitude of those I had slain thronged the shadows and clamored for my attention. The only way I could find to silence them was to take a drink- and another, and another.... The next several weeks went by in a haze of drunkenness and violent rages. Somewhere during that time, perhaps more than once, Athyn Sarethi came to see me. I have a feeling that I was unforgivably rude to him; fortunately, I don't actually recall.

One day, as I lay on my bed, suffering from a terrible hangover, there came a persistent knocking upon the door.

"Unless you've brought more brandy, go away," I shouted, and immediately regretted it as my head seemed to split into several pieces. The knocking continued and I roused myself enough to throw an empty bottle at the door. My satisfaction at the breakage was tempered by a repeat of the feeling that my head was trying to explode. However, it also seemed to have the desired result, as the knocking ceased. I thought I could hear someone giving orders, but the room had begun spinning in a nausea-inducing way, so I collapsed back onto the pillows. Just as the spinning began to slow, the doors to the room (there suddenly seemed to be three or four of them where there had only been one before) were flung open, and through each door marched several identical women wearing Redoran colors and bearing buckets. "Oh, goody," I mumbled, "A parade." The bucket-bearing apparitions stepped over the broken furniture and advanced upon the bed. Without a word, they upended the buckets, dousing me with icy-cold water. As I spluttered and choked, the figures blended into just one tall, dark-haired woman, holding an empty bucket and looking at me carefully. I lurched upright and roared,

"Who the Oblivion are you?" Again, shouting was a bad idea, and I clutched my head as lightning seemed to flash behind my eyes.

My visitor seemed as unimpressed by my shouting as she was by my appearance. She simply waited until I more or less collapsed back onto the bed, then said in an amused voice,

"If you are ready to behave civilly, I can cure your affliction. If not, I have a number of other buckets at my disposal."

She raised one eyebrow and waited for my response. A cure for the twenty or so tiny Dwemer smiths who had taken up residence in my head seemed a reasonable trade for a few minutes' conversation. Besides, the sooner she said whatever it was she had to say, the sooner she would leave. Then I could get back to some serious drinking. Rather than risk speaking again, I gave a short nod. With that encouragement, she placed a cool hand on either side of my head and spoke some words which I couldn't understand. A flash of burning cold seemed to enter my temples and exit through the soles of my feet, and then I was sober and clear-eyed for the first time in weeks. My mouth still tasted as if I had tried to swallow half the Ashlands, but at least I could think. My visitor had turned away and begun straightening the room while I took a moment to pull myself together. I observed her out of the corner of my eye as I stood and splashed more cold water on my face. She was of unmistakable Imperial heritage, a tall woman, dark-haired and dark-eyed. As she moved around the room, stopping to admire my glass armor, I realized that there was something familiar about her. Then it came to me and I said,

"You! It was you I saw in the Ashlander camps and Ald'ruhn! Who are you?"

She turned, made a mocking curtsey and said, "Since you ask so politely, how can I refuse to answer? I am Serene, formerly of Cyrodiil, now head of House Redoran. It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Trey."

She then explained that she, too, had been sent to Vvardenfell as an agent of the Emperor- and of Azura. One of her tasks had been to smooth the path for and watch over a certain stubborn Breton ex-prisoner. But the fulfillment of prophecy required that I make my choices freely, without direct aid from any outside source. So it was that Serene had gone before me, preparing the way, speaking for me, building a relationship with the Ashlanders so that they would be willing to accept an outlander as Nerevarine. But that was all in the past; today she wished to speak of the future and my place in it.

"House Redoran needs you; Morrowind needs you. So don't you think it's time you stopped feeling sorry for yourself?"

I snarled my answer, "I am done carrying a sword for anyone ever again. You will have to find another to do your killing for you."

Serene shook her head sadly. "I know how the deaths have weighed on you, Trey. I am a healer myself; I respect your desire to never fight again. But please listen. Although Dagoth Ur is gone, the land still needs to be healed. That is the task that lies before me. If you would agree to help, it will be much easier. No doubt you have encountered those people who call themselves 'Sleepers?' Now that Dagoth Ur no longer reaches into their dreams, they wander the land, unable to free themselves completely of his influence. As the Nerevarine, you alone can help them make that final step back to sanity. Won't you please help?"

What could I do except agree? Each Sleeper I saved would be part payment for a life I had taken. To finally have a chance to give life back to people appealed to me strongly, so I agreed to go back out into the world. Serene thanked me for my promise, then wrinkled her nose prettily.

"There is one other thing. I am to be married in a few days, and you would be an honored guest. If it isn't too much to ask, would you please take a bath before you come to my wedding?"

Postscript

Now, many years later, I look back over the pages that I have written and remember, too, the things not written. And as I wonder if it was all worth it, the door opens and she is there, her hair unbound and a lamp in her hand. She smiles fondly at me and says,

"Are you nearly finished? It's late and the children are already in bed."

That smile is all the answer I will ever need.