A/N: This release was originally going to contain four chapters, but I decided the ending to the next chapter felt sufficently cliffy, so it will only contain these two. The sixteenth and seventeenth chapters of this story will be released shortly, however.

"The sudden death of King Llethan, and the subsequent coronation of Barenziah's son Helseth, was the source of much discussion, but as one Nord diplomat famously put it, 'The new king is manipulative, ruthless, and calculating. He is exactly what Morrowind needs.'

The young king has been somewhat of an enigma, both to outside observers and to his own subjects. One of Helseth's first edicts as King seemed particularly designed to dismantle the traditional power structures of the Dunmer. In accordance with the longstanding wishes of the Empire, he outlawed slavery throughout Morrowind. The reaction to this was bloody, as could be predicted, though the alliances formed were far from expected. As Helseth himself put it in a speech to his people, 'If there is to be a revolution, it is best done by a King.'" - Pocket Guide to the Empire, Third Edition

Frost Fall 30, 4E1

(Densius Fidelis): Black Marsh

There was no path this deep in the wilderness, we were just using our compasses to head roughly in the direction of Helstrom with some detouring guideance by M'Nahrahe, who I'd discovered had an annoying tendency to tac a khajiiti dialect onto her speech despite her Nibenian accent. She was far ahead of me, the green light from my hand just barely brushed her tail as she lead us, and her lower body was constantly dissappearing through shrubbery. I guessed it was her natural night-eye that made able to walk through the darkness ahead. M'Nahrahe was leading us to a place she thought was a good spot to stop to start a fire, pitch a tent, and set up those bug repellent torches. Then we could catch and cook something to eat, and end this epic day

Bizarre animal noises occasionally joined the constant chirping of bugs. This place was a bit eerie. Of course, most people's main quibble with a swamp was its smell, but thank the Nine my sense of smell was very poor, even for a human. Regardless, I wasn't going to complain about anything here until it mattered medically, because it was my orders that brought us here. In fact, I'd been silent since we left Gideon because it seemed awkward to talk with them after I'd forced them into this. Ferrand clearly didn't harbor any feelings of ill-will towards me for, but I wasn't sure about the girls.

Branches and leaves slapped my leather armor as I walked through the greedily abundant shubbery. Then I ducked under the thin, crooked trunk of a tree, the likes of which were unseen in Cyrodiil but the norm here.

"I'm getting terribly hungry," Ferrand said "I do hope we're close to that creek." I could feel the tension on M'Nahrahe's temper even before she responded.

"Your hopes won't bring us there any sooner." She said, annoyance evident in her tone. I'd spent my cash allowance a bit wiser than Ferrand had apparantly, spending my last ten septims on fruits and mead: enough to keep my digestive system content up until dinner. Right now, every one of us might as well have been in a parellel universe.

I felt a prick of pain on my hand and shook it violently. No doubt another bug bite. Pricks of pain and itch were something that was common place in this swamp.

Yet as we continued forward I noticed the shubbery parting to reveal a bald spot, a relatively large areas with only mud, dead leaves, and twigs on the ground. At the opposite edge of the bald spot the only plants were reeds, and it looked like there was a creek shortly beyond them. This must have been the area M'Nahrahe was talking about.

Once M'Nahrahe was in the center of that relatively clear spot, she was starting to turn around.

Then when she was facing in our direction, she riggled and twisted with her backpack until she was hugging it to her chest with one hand. Our camp. Now that we'd really need to start working toghether, maybe I'd find out how much ill-will they harbored towards me for bringing us deeper into the marsh. I'd just go with the flow and see how they treated me.

As M'Nahrahe worked to take out some contents of her back pack, I surveyed the outer reaches of scene. The creek was so stagnant it looked like a brown-tinted mirror. On its other side I noticed more knarled trees, but these ones had roots so high and abundant arching into the water that the other side of the creek looked like a wicker basket.

When I put my gaze back on the M'Nahrahe, she was laying a blanket of sorts down on part of our would-be campsite. When it was on the ground, she put her back-pack on it, then looked back at us.

"Get all the rocks and driest sticks you can find." She said. We were going to start another fire.

Soch-Eeena turned to Ferrand, her eyes also jumping to me briefly in acknowledgement "There are bound to stones in the creek when you're ready."

Then she crouched down and picked up a branch from the ground.

I had quite a wide selections of sticks to chose from without even moving more than a few steps, so I decided that, like her, I'd gather those first. To my right I turned to see a piece of knarled, leafless shrubbery. It seemed like it would provide enough sticks for me to do my part in constructing the fire. I walked to it.

I cracked a branch off. It seemed relatively dry.

With a simple task at hand, my mind began wondering, preparing itself for the more encompassing parts of life. Now that we had found a place to settle down, the bracelet was back on my mind. Were my group members coming in and out of the range of the charm spell during this trip? We'd never gotten very far apart, but we certainly hadn't stayed in the range of a typical conversation the whole time. I snapped another stick off that knarled bush and transferred it to my left hand.

Had M'Nahrahe been out of range while she lead us to this creek? And what about this morning, had they been within range of the charm when they were chatting before waking me up?

I managed to snap off another branch, then I proceeded to walk around to get another angle of reach for the rest.

Was this bracelet really effecting the prisoner's cooperation? I stopped to break off another branch. Would they ever notice how odd it was for me to wear a leather bracelet and then ask some questions? After all, when you took away its charm powers, it was an accesory that could be justified by neither practicality nor fashion, as far as I could tell with my limited sense of aethetics.

Even as I thought about them, I twisted my hand to disconnect another stick from the plant, peeling one half of the branch from the other, showing the inner wood. Then I made a final tug. Four more, I decided, then I would take the batch back to M'Nahrahe.

How would they react if they learned I was manipulating them? What ever trust was between us would get broken I could predict, and they'd probably make some kind of clear reprecussions. Regardless, it would be awkward, and I certaintly couldn't expect anything resembling the kind of opened, connected friendships I had in the Legion with the bracelet as any kind of factor.

I cracked off another twig, then was once again forced to pull and peel off some extra wood to get it fully off.

With Cicero and Zaheen dead, I knew it would be a while before I felt like I had true friendship again. Since their deaths the closest thing I had to friendship were tense attempts to make good impressions, while balancing those with my other goals, and then enduring grueling self-critique afterwards.

Trying to crack off another branch, I bent it at a 90 degree angle, then gave the splintering wood a quick pull.

Cicero and Zaheen. "selfish gains in other provinces," With their deaths came a reminder of the biases in Tamriel I so hated; the sadness was soon converted into an energizing focus on the destruction of the anti-Imperial biases and hypocrisy that this new Era seemed to be fraught with. I violently pulled a branch downward and twisted it off the fracture.

I noticed I'd lost count of the sticks I'd cracked off...it felt like enough, though. It was time to give them to M'Nahrahe, then look for those rocks. Unfortunately I had gotten caught in another hate trip, the politics I'd previously left behind coming back. "Protect and serve the people?" There was an encroaching sick feeling as I thought about the world of double-standards I'd left behind coming here, walking towards M'Nahrahe to drop off the sticks.

When I got close, I dropped the sticks infront of her. They slightly rolled and bounced but remained in sufficently close proximity with eachother before I started heading for the creek to get stones.

As I walked towards the reeds, all those disingenuous dogmas back from my days in the Mages Guild also began to taunt me. "If your land was stolen you'd be doing exactly what those Renrijra Krin are doing." Leave it to a fellow Cyrodiil to make a comment that idiotically simple-minded. Through the tall reeds, the ground gradually got muddier. Then it was outright wet. My feet were in a few inches of water as I came to the edge of the reeds.

I crouched down and plunged my hand into the creek as I felt the water seep into the leather sleeve. Soon I was pretty sure I was feeling a stone. This task seemed annoyingly meager when I had anger bubbling inside me. I removed the object (indeed a stone) and placed the smooth gray stone on a tiny piece of reedless shore, then crouched down again, soaking the same hand. "Why doesn't the Cyrodiil pick on someone its own size?" There IS no one Cyrodiil's size, except for Akavir, and they whine endlessly about the Empire's ventures there. Why is it people like him must preach that which even they don't believe?

I grabbed a second stone in the creek, a bit smaller, and lifted it out.

I struggled within myself as to whether or not I should let my thoughts get swept away by my angry past, but I kept the struggle at bay long enough to decide to bring back the rocks when I reached five. But then, imagining what the fire would look like...I decided to go with seven instead. I crouched down again. As I gathered the next five stones, I thought about just how much the Mages Guild had shaped my current existance:

It was there I witnessed my first case of close mindedness, people I previously considered friends acting like rabid animals when put in the presence of Imperial politics, taking the argument in circles, and acting like a piece of their mind had been removed when they came upon the subject. It was in the Arcane University I witnessed what had grown into the biggest killer of the new Era: anti-Imperial bias. It was then that my patriotism became part of my identity. I felt my body heating up as I thought about it, so deep in angry reflection.

I knew I was going to have to go back to the camp soon, so it might have been a good idea to get untangled from the hate-trip I'd gotten caught up in, but the thoughts clung viciously to my mind:

You don't want to appear distracted and angry when you gather around to discuss the hunt.

Why not?

Because they'll think you have something against them, obviously!

So?

So then they won't trust you and therefore won't cooperate!

Some part of me knew I was being ridiculous by insisting on keeping myself in those infuriating memories. I eventually had to continously swat them away to keep them at bay before I calmed down. I tried to focus on another part of my mages guild career:

It was also there that I learned the four spells I'd come to know today: Organic Luminescence, Hypothermal Projection, Projected Cardiovascular Suppression, and Magicka-Repellent Pulse (or, as they were know in their collilquial forms, Light-on-self spell, Ranged Frost spell, Ranged Drain Fatigue spell, and Dispel-on-self). All of those were useful in Legion duties.

After signing up with the Legion as a battlemage came my time in Morrowind, where I was tasked with helping to quell the bloody reaction to the abolition. That was quite an adventure, with the province's bizarre animals and surreal plant-life. It was so otherwordly it might as well have been a plane of Oblivion. Even most of the Argonians there looked alien, as most of the Argonian slaves were descended from tribes of the inner swamps captured long ago, before that area of Black Marsh became so much more deadly. We were the same squad back then as we were in Elsweyr, except Gilan and Mercator hadn't been killed and replaced with Hermanus and Hienrich.

As I removed my dripping hand with a stone from the river again, I noticed I'd lost count of how many rocks I'd gathered. Was this the last one? I placed it down on the few square feet of sandy shore that wasn't covered by greenery and counted. 1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8. I remembered I'd originally wanted seven, but one extra wouldn't hurt.

I crouched down to pick them all up to bring to M'Nahrahe.

Putting my right arm agianst my leather chest, and using my left hand to pick up the wet stones, I stacked them in a row in the space between. Then I slowly raised myself again. Cradling in the stones with one arm, I treaded carefully back towards the camp site, keeping my foot falls soft, leaves slapping against the leather of my armor. Over the reeds, I could see Soch-Eena standing, looking down at the ground.

When I came to see M'Nahrahe again, she was already in the process of putting the finishing touches on the pile of sticks. I got close, crouched, and dumped the rocks beside her. As I got back into normal stance I could see a pile of rocks by Soch-Eena too. Then I heard more russeling and cracking twigs as the final rock gatherer arrived; Ferrand, carrying and dropping the stones similar, had just given her the final component of the fire.

"M'Nahrahe will handle the fire." She said, her choice to make herself a stereotype by ignoring the first-person putting one more barrier between us "Just leave her on her own."

But I complied. I thought briefly about what else I could do.

I remembered I'd need to re-adjust my Hypothermal Projection techniques to the humidity of this area before I could be effective with that spell here. I decided to go look for a good target to practice my 'Frost Spell' on; I'd have to adjust to this new level of humidity, as that would certainly effect how long the projectile would take until it became a snowball and crashed into the ground. I wanted to get some distance from the crowd, though, as it seemed pretty ingracious to practice lethal spells in their promiximity in these circumstances. I began walking ahead, hoping to eventually come upon a sufficently thick and distant target. However, I kept my path reasonably straight so it would be easy to retrace.

Most of the tree trunks here were so thin that none of them looked like they'd make good targets. This province was inconvienient in so many ways. I stepped over the tangled roots hoping to find a tree with a thicker trunk or something along those lines, still seeing nothing of promise.

I passed by some pointy, ray-like-leafed plants, stepped over fallen sticks, and pushed aside greenery to seek out a more promising target.

Then I could make out a moss cover rock, a bit more than a couple feet tall. Frustratingly enough it was probably the best target I could find without risking getting lost from the group. I was only about twenty feet from it, so I wasn't sure the humidity would visibly factor into this, but I figured it would take a while to find a target more promising than this. Maybe this practice would mean nothing, but I had nothing more productive to do.

I transferred magicka to my hand, breezed through the intricate cognitive tasks required to process it, and then thrust it into the air. The frigid ball flew through the air briefly, dissipating onto the rock.

There was a bit of snow on the point of impact afterwards, and I felt like the projectile had sunk only an inch or so. Still, the "sink" factor was hard to determine because the target was so close. Shooting at a target twenty feet away felt outright ridiculous.

Maybe I'd just shoot the projectile ahead, aiming for nothing in particular, and see how far it sunk by the time it was interceppted by something solid, or shoot it into the sky and see how long it took to become a snowball and plummet back down.

(Fights-up-close): Encampment, Black Marsh

"There!" M'Nahrahe said as the branches ignited and the orange flames began grabbing at the air "This should last at least long enough to the boil water." She turned to my left and said "Ferrand, you take the pot and get some water from the creek for boiling. M'Nahrahe will make the other preparations."

I guessed I was being left in the background. Good. I had a lot to think about, especially after the soldier had denied me the ability to go off on my own: that might have allowed me some time to review the Argonian Royal Court and help me determine who was really the greater evil before making any final decisions about helping the Elder Council. But no one was expecting anything of me right now, and it finally occurred to me to take advantage of that. Now that we'd settled down, it felt like some layer of my mind had been peeled back to reveal a vaster, proportionally emptier reality in which I could see my deeper problems.

Thoughts about this matter were unpleasantly flooding my mind. If I could trust the Legion to just destroy the Argonian Royal Court and then leave Argonia my compliance with them in this situation would be a no-brainer, but the thought of an annexation stressed me. It was disease that kept the Empire at bay, but if disease wasn't going to keep this party at bay, then why would it still keep the Empire? Something had changed, apparently. It felt unlikely Ferrand's medical pouch contained some epic medical breakthrough that had recently become standard for healers, but the words of that politician made it seem so. After we found the palace and brought back proof, why wouldn't the Empire annex the province and do the same evils they did on the coastal regions? The desecration of sacred land, ignorance of tribal borders, even the Argonian Royal Court itself had been an Imperial creation, but one that turned on its masters.

Maybe there was some sly way to get the soldier's honest opinion about what would happen after we brought back the proof. He'd know the way they thought best. Maybe that could push me one way or another. Yes, I could stop this sluggish thought, I had come up with an objective. I could save the rest of my thinking for after I'd gotten his opinion. With that realization came a spurt of euphoria.

Ferrand emerged from the foliage holding the black pot with two hands. He gently set it down on top of its obvious holding place above the fire, then stood back up straight again. The boiling process really didn't matter for me thanks to my physiology so it was better to drink before it got really hot. Like last time, I quickly grabbed one of the nearby cups, leaned in towards the pot and grabbed the dipper that rested on the rim. Then I used it to pour in the water.

Then I sat back down. Knowing I had concluded my next objective to help end my inner dilemma, my mind was more at ease. The entrancing fire, the water in my cup, the chorus of chirping insects, and the swamp smell all made the mood relaxed and amiable.

I took a sip from the cup, the tangy water's temperature uneffected by the short contact with the fire. It even pacified my hunger a bit.

M'Nahrahe's voice broke into the entrancing moment. "Hunting comes after we've had our fill of water. Then we can pitch a tent and wrap up the day." She said. "Someone had better keep watch to make sure we don't become the prey of one of the larger creatures here, but I think we all know who that will be." I involuntarily snorted at the humor, as she was no doubt talking about the soldier. He can't sleep that late for free.

Then, right on cue, I heard a russeling from behind us, and the sound of soft earth giving in under his feet.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw him take a seat between Ferrand and I. I was content now in the orange glow of the fire that was steadily growing, causing the sticks to break, shrivel and blacken.

"Well," Ferrand began with a bit of laughter in his voice, "I must say this province is quite different from what I'm used to. Those flesh flies already put a rash on my hand."

Flesh flies: one more problem the soft-skins had here. Laughing a little, I commented "They don't seem fond of scales. I only have to worry about the big bugs." There was an extremely pleasant feeling of unity in the group now.

"We'll start burning the chemical torches once we've settled down for the night. We must hunt before that." M'Nahrahe responded in a serious tone, not quite intune with comradery between the rest of us, but that didn't concern me.

The fire was now licking the bottom of the pot.

I took another sip of water. Everyone was silent for a few moments.

"No contact with the locals yet." Densius said, throwing another sentence into the air for conversation. I assumed he was referring to the tribals.

Feeling cheerful and unreserved, I eagerly said "I'm pretty sure the tribals in this area mostly keep to themselves, but they're too focused on fighting the other tribes to even think of caring about what we're here for."

"Good." he responded, low and gravelly. Even a shallow discussion like this felt immensely satisfying and invigorating with my choice of allegiance out of my thoughts.

Then came M'Nahrahe's voice again "It's the animals who are the real predators here. This one's sure you've never dealt with the kinds of creatures this swamp is home to."

The soldier didn't respond. I took another sip of water.

My mind danced around for some way to break the silence, all the while wondering if someone else would. The bugs continued to saturate the night with sound, but no one had more to say.

Then I saw a wisp of steam rise from the pot. M'Nahrahe pushed her self up from the sitting position until she was upright enough to see inside the pot. "That should be enough." She said.

Densius leaned in and put his hand a significant distance above the pot, like last time we stopped for a drink. He casted a frost spell into the water to cool it quickly. The pot hissed violently and a massive cloud of steam poured out. Then he took the dipper and used a small quantity of water to douse the flame below. It too hissed, becoming nothing more than a few sleepy embers.

He then walked over to get a cup.

M'Nahrahe began speaking again "Now, its time we discuss the hunt. M'Nahrahe's sure none of you are familiar with the hunting in this swamp."