Markus had picked up the odd habit of turning his head to the side every so often. He kept looking for his braid, and then remembering why he no longer had it. At least his foray into Blackreach had taken his mind off the whole thing.

Now he was on his way out, riding the elevator upwards for what seemed like miles. He sprawled against one of the walls, feeling the vibrations through his back and legs and trying not to think about the endless drop below the metal floor. He'd found the Elder Scroll, and had made the mistake of looking at it. It had made his head ache and brought tears of cosmic bewilderment to his eyes.

He was almost asleep when the machine juddered to a halt, and cold, fresh air stabbed at his sinuses. It woke him up at least, and he blinked at the sunlight reflecting off the snow. Too bright out here. Too cold. He hefted his pack onto his back and hauled himself to his feet. Divines knew where he was; certainly miles from where he'd entered.

He groaned at the thought of the long walk back down the mountain and stumbled over the first snowdrift, falling to his knees.

"Markus!"

Oh, listen to that; he was hallucinating through his ears. And then someone had practically landed on top of him and was hugging his head. He knew those robes. And that voice.

"Quaranir? Hey, stop. Can't breathe-" He tilted his head up and was dazzled by blonde hair and green eyes set against a rare blue sky. "It is you."

"I couldn't work out where you were," he said. "The things I saw through the manascope were amazing, but I wasn't game to guess and end up stuck inside a mountain."

"Blackreach," Markus said. "Wait, what are you doing here? You said you had to go back and be psychic."

"Yes, well, that." Quaranir released him and sat back. "I asked for a sabbatical."

"That's it? And they said yes?"

"Actually no. They want at least five years notice for that sort of thing." He shrugged, "I missed you. And then I realised I'm a Psijic Monk; master of the arts of mysticism. How were they going to stop me leaving?"

Markus stared at him for a few moments and then cracked up. "You ran away! Hah! You bad monk you."

"I took some research with me," he said defensively. "So I'll be doing some work while I'm here."

"While you're here? How long are you staying?" Markus asked.

Quaranir shrugged, and Markus noticed his severed braid was tucked securely into his belt. "As long as you want me to be."

A slow smile spread across Markus's face. "That might be a long time."

"Yes."

"Maybe years even."

"I'm prepared for that."

Markus reached up and cupped his cheek, and Quaranir bent into the touch until he could kiss him.

"How fast can you get us down the mountain?" Markus asked, their foreheads pressed together as they grinned stupidly at each other.

"Very fast."

"Can you get us somewhere warm? Maybe with a fireplace, and a bed."

"And sweetrolls."

"And them. And then I can explain how much I missed you."

"I'd like that."

"And you can see if you can make sense of this stupid Elder Scroll-"

"Wait, what?"

"I'll show you later, let's just go."

Flakes of magica drifted onto the snow, and then melted away as if they'd never been.