A/N: Well... it's been a long time. I was worried about the length of this hiatus, that people would lose interest - but to be honest, this story has been going so long that the people who are going to lose interest would have done so years ago. The reason for my absence is that I moved house, left my job, got married and went on honeymoon. Which was like totally awesome by the way. BUT I DIGRESS.

So where do we stand? Morgiah's interludes are finished, and we have followed her from teenagerdom in Wayrest right up until her decision to leave Firsthold to rejoin her family in Morrowind, thirty years later. In the present timeline, her Highness plus her esteemed recruits have investigated Helseth to the point that Nenya and Bomba 'Lurrina believe his Majesty is reconditioning the shattered golem in the centre of Red Mountain, in order to build his own empire. Dogged by mysterious assassins and hampered by the puzzling death of his spymaster in a terrible manor fire, Helseth nevertheless continues his plans. To create the Mantella, the artefact which will form the heart the golem, Helseth has persuaded the mad god Vivec (using the decrepit mage Nulfaga's knowledge of Aetherius) to ambush and soultrap the King of Worms. He had hoped to achieve this in the utmost secrecy. Unfortunately Morgiah, though the connection she has to Hermaeus Mora which Helseth is totally unaware of, was forewarned and witnessed the attack. She knows, Helseth. She knows.

As the golem nears completion, the forces draw their alliances and close ranks. Helseth has begun hus journey to Red Mountain - via the city of Vivec - to oversee the activation of the golem. The pieces are in place. There's a checkmate on the horizon.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Goldenflower And The Madness Of The King

Forvus Graccus dipped his quill in a fine silver inkwell and reflected on the week.

It had been a most hectic few days. The provisions made for Ser Curio's new paramour (he supposed Goldenflower was a paramour? It was all a little odd) had thrown the regular business out of a loop as guards and supplies were relocated to her safehouse. The administration, of course, had fallen to Forvus. He was proud to say that everything had been achieved with impeccable efficiency. Ser Curio had been most appreciative – although, Forvus thought as his skin spontaneously flushed scarlet, the congratulatory pats on the backside had not quite been necessary.

There was a commotion in the entrance hall. Forvus looked up expecting to see the blonde ringlets and fussing retinue of Ser Curio's newest distraction, only for his eyes to fall on a very different sight indeed.

She was blonde, certainly. But the mysterious Goldenflower would probably rather die than let her hair get in such a windblown mess, and her taste in fashion did not generally run towards full plate armour and warhammers the approximate size of a small child.

"Hail!" said the blonde apparition cheerfully, pulling off her gauntlets and tossing them onto the desk, making a sad ruin of Forvus' meticulously scripted letter. "Windy today, isn't it? Crassius about?"

The Nerevarine. Forvus almost fainted. "I'll. Um," he stuttered, trying to blot the leaking ink and succeeding only in spreading it over what parts of the letter were yet unspoiled. "I'll fetch him, sera. One – one moment, please…"

Before he could reach the door, however, it flew open to reveal Ser Curio himself, his arms open in an expansive gesture of welcome. "Nenya, Nenya! Pearl of my Abecean Sea! Flower of my Colovia! Jewel of my Niben! O vision of Dibella herself, what miracles of karma could I possibly have navigated to deserve so bright and beautiful a presence? To what, my sweet pea, do I owe such unmitigated pleasure?"

"Hi," said Nenya, in exquisite unintentional contrast. "How do?"

"Blessedly well, my dear, now that you have graced my halls. May I offer you some refreshment?"

"No ta," Nenya said, attempting to flatten her hair and fighting a battle with the legions of tangles that stood bravely against the tyranny of coiffure. "I'm not staying long. I've come to resign my Hlaalu position."

"Ah!" Crassius cried, clutching his breast as if wounded from some invisible arrow. "How came you to such an unhappy conclusion?" He tried shepherding her into the office, but gave up with the realisation that one hundred and fifty pounds of plate armour moves where it will. "Might I inquire why you choose to injure me so?"

"Oh come off it, you don't need me, I'm barely more than a mascot," Nenya scoffed. "Anyway, I'm not going to be in Morrowind much longer. I'm going back home."

"But surely your home is here, dumpling?"

"Do I look like an elf to you?"

"You are a vision of loveliness that traverses racial boundaries, my songbird."

"Okay," said Nenya, a gangly pillar of dented metal whose hair resembled a surprised haystack. "Well, I came to give my notice. I'm off to Skyrim before the month is out."

Crassius shook his head. "A sad day indeed. I will not hear of you being a stranger, do you understand? You must visit often, you malicious heartbreaker." He smirked. "I don't suppose you have told your pet sergeant? He will be devastated, you know."

Nenya bristled. "He's not a pet." She turned crimson in a rather good imitation of Forvus. "Actually, he's, um… coming with me."

Crassius' eyebrows shot into his hairline. "Most delicious forbidden fruit, tell me it is not so! Have you been plucked?" His mouth twisted into a smirk. "Do be sure to tell him I was there first, won't you? He simply loves that."

He narrowly missed being bludgeoned by a gauntlet. "Shut up, you lying old pervert," Nenya said irritably. "If you're going to be annoying I shall leave."

Crassius held his hands up in a gesture of conciliation. "I jest, pudding, I jest. Forgive a wretched man his fantasies." He waved towards the door of his office. "Come, don't leave me bereft. At least tell me of your journey."

She hesitated, then shrugged good-naturedly and followed him through the door. Crassius's 'office' was more like a lavish sitting room than any place of business – although of course, it depended on the exact business to which you were referring. Nenya flopped into an armchair, a rather difficult feat in an inch-thick cuirass.

"Now," said Crassius, closing the door. "Where to begin? Did you enjoy your travels in the West? I have sadly never visited High Rock; I hear it is most pleasant."

"It's a bit wet," Nenya said, casually stereotyping an entire province. "Interesting people though. You'd like Bomba 'Lurrina, she'd flirt with you properly."

Crassius sighed. "Long years have I toiled to coerce flirtation from you, Nenya; alas, you remain impenetrable as the walls of Berandas. Perhaps Miss 'Lurrina will be more forthcoming. And what of the others you met?"

Nenya twisted her mouth. "Well, I can't really go into too much detail because I don't know what Morgiah wants to keep quiet, and we all know you've got a mouth like an Ogrim."

"You are so poetic, my dear."

"Aye. Anyhow, I suppose there's no harm in telling you we went to Orsinium. Amazing place. The castle is all built of metal, I've never seen anything like it. And Gortwog was a treat."

"The Orc king? I've heard a great deal about him. Quite the politician, they say." Crassius crossed his legs, his face pensive. "So I suppose your main business was in Wayrest? It's next door, after all, and I'm sure the Princess wanted an update on her old home."

"Oh no," Nenya contradicted. "That wasn't on the list. And well glad I am, too; after what Bomba told me about Queen Elysana, a thousand miles isn't far enough away for me."

Crassius frowned. "What's wrong with her? By all accounts she's a charming woman."

"Yeah, well that's the thing, isn't it? Everyone thinks butter wouldn't melt in her mouth, but she's a live one all right. She's got this bitter grudge against Helseth; she'd do anything to see him dead even though they're on opposite sides of Tamriel." Nenya leant forward. "You know what Bomba told me? Some poor sap on the Wayrest Council was so in love with her that he backed her claim to the throne, but when he withdrew because Helseth blackmailed him, Elysana blew her top and sent him a cursed cloak that melted the flesh off his bones." Nenya made a face; the phrase had clearly made an impression on her. "Gruesome, eh? A fine pickle that'd be. All pretty gold ringlets and blue eyes and sweet smiles and then bam, no flesh. Now there's a lady not to get into bed with."

"For shame!" Crassius lamented. "And she sounds like such a pretty thing, too. I have a preference for blondes, I must admit–"

Suddenly, he cut off mid-sentence. His normally mischievous expression melted like a snowflake in summer; he looked as if he had swallowed a lemon.

"Um," said Nenya nervously, half-rising from her chair. "Do you… need a pat on the back or something? You've gone a bit… bulgy."

"Not necessary," Crassius gasped. "Beg pardon – indisposed – Forvus!" he roared, stumbling round the desk and yanking a drawer open.

The secretary in question crashed through the door in alarm. At the sight of his employer's expression, he slowed to a gibbering halt.

Crassius scribbled furiously onto a piece of parchment, holding a length of sealing wax over the candle with his free hand. "Get all my free guards to Goldenflower's safehouse right away. One on every door, every window – no one goes in or out, do you hear? Especially Goldenflower." He stamped a seal onto the hastily folded letter. "Give this to my guard captain for authorisation. Off with you, at once!"

Forvus grabbed the letter and ran, clearly glad to be out of the firing range. Crassius collapsed into an armchair and put a hand over his face.

Nenya sighed in exasperation, unmoved by the momentary pandaemonium. "What the Dagon have you done now?"

"A small matter," Crassius said weakly, "I'll have it cleared up in a trice, truly…"

"You're a lying liar who lies. Who's Goldenflower, and why does she need a landslide of your personal guards? And what parent on Nirn would name their poor child Goldenflower?"

"A pseudonym… it only just clicked when you spoke of... Stendarr deliver me, how could I have been so blind?"

Nenya hefted her gigantic warhammer. "Crassius, I have sixty pounds of Dwemer-wrought metal here, and it's getting introduced to your face in five seconds if you don't tell me what in Shor's name you've been up to."

Crassius got to his feet decisively. "Put that monstrosity down, you irascible minx. You'd better come with me. I have a feeling you'll be needed."

"Come with – hang on, I'm sure we just had a conversation about me resigning. Or was that wishful thinking?"

"I'll pay you a bonus. Come on."

"You know, this is exactly what Bomba warned me about," Nenya groused, retrieving her gauntlets from the reception desk and swinging her hammer back over her shoulder. "'You can't ever resign,' she said. 'You can't resign from being public property.'Well I bloody well can and will. You're lucky I'm so reasona– hey!" she cut off as Crassius grabbed her arm and practically dragged her towards the entrance hall. "Steady on! Where are we going?"

"We have a Royal appointment," Crassius said with an uncharacteristically nasty smile.

The Master Dreamer hadn't come. Helseth could hardly believe it.

No-one had ever refused his summons before. The subordinate cultist who had come to the temporary lodgings in Vivec in his stead was clearly uneasy with the situation; in fact, most people seemed to be uneasy in Helseth's presence these days.

"The Master is… indisposed, your Majesty."

"Indisposed? This is the most critical and delicate stage of the entire project, and he is indisposed? What in blazes is wrong with him?"

The cultist twisted her mouth. "We are not sure, your Majesty. He seems to be exhibiting… negative effects."

Helseth's lip curled. Fyr. Thank the Divines he had given the elixir a trial period before drinking it himself. He should have known that crackpot wizard wouldn't live up to his reputation. It was like he was fighting a tide; when would this all end? First Dren, then the assassins, now the Master… "Can we proceed without him?"

The cultist looked relieved to be able to deliver good news. "In theory, your Majesty, yes. Everything is in place. The Mantella is now complete, thanks to your ingenious plan with Lord Vivec and the Necromancer. We await only your arrival at Red Mountain."

A thrill of excitement surged through Helseth. Ready, and before schedule! Perhaps, despite all the incompetencies and obstacles and and years of patience, it was all within reach at last. To rekindle the Dunmer pride, to be an Emperor…

Suddenly absurdly jovial, he stood and opened the cupboard behind his desk. "Excellent! Most satisfactory. You and your kind will not be forgotten when this project comes to fruition, I promise you that." He poured two glasses of sujamma. "A toast? To revolution!"

The cultist looked mollified, caught by the exuberance of Helseth's words. She accepted the glass formally. "By all means. To revolution! And to you, your Majesty."

Looking back, it was sheer luck that she drank her glass first. Perhaps he was unconsciously on alert now, but at the first stiffening of her limbs he froze, his own glass millimetres from his lips. When she sank to the floor, her face purpling, a mist drew down over his eyes. Not again. Not again. NOT AGAIN.

This time he said nothing. He did not shout for help. He left her dying on the floor and retreated to the anteroom, turned the key behind him, dragging a wardrobe in front of the entrance with the unnatural strength that comes from utmost desperation.

Then he broke.

Dren dead, the carefully-prepared spy network collapsing alongside him. The Dreamer Master sinking into deformity and madness, the glorious prospect of Fyr's elixir snuffed out in an instant. The assassins – Arkay damn it, the assassins – the Necromancer king was gone! His soul was entombed in an inescapable prison! So why were they still coming after him?

A seed of doubt germinated in his inflamed mind; perhaps, after all, the monster had not bewitched Morgiah to send the assassins…? But then who? He was not only fighting an enemy he couldn't see, he was fighting an enemy who was everywhere!

He leant over the desk, clutching the edge so hard the wood dug into his palms. His head was swimming.

Morgiah.

She was somehow at the centre of all his troubles. He had no idea how, but every time he thought he was one step ahead, she appeared infuriatingly before him. He was sure she knew about the King of Worms' disappearance and who was behind it – but he didn't understand why or how. There was just no time for her to have known – Vivec, the window from Aetherius – there was no way! Yet she had somehow been warned, and seen that which should have so crucially been hidden from her. He didn't understand. Morgiah had always been clever, but so was he. They were equal. What had happened to give her this edge? How did she seem to know what was coming or what people were thinking? What had changed, what had happened to put her ahead of him?

"Dagon take it!" he screamed, hurling a glass against the wall. "I don't want this! I don't want this!"

He saw nothing but a haze of red, heard only ringing in his ears, felt his fingernails splitting and his skin bruising as he tore books from the shelves, upturned the desk, thrashed at the couch again and again until the fabric was shredded and spotted with his own blood…

When it was over, he curled up in the centre of the ruined room and sobbed.

In the Hlaalu Canton of Vivec, the supplicant Goldenflower enjoyed the impenetrable safety of one of Crassius Curio's most secure manors. She had not left the house for almost a week, but though the confinement was tiresome she was content to endure it. She had done her part; now she just had to sit back and be patient.

She gazed into the mirror, adjusting the drape of her artfully-placed golden curls. It was so dull playing this waiting game, with only Crassius Curio's puppydog devotion to break the monotony – and really, he was becoming a frightful bore. Men always did after the first flush. It was irksome that she'd had to utilise him in the first place, but the tedium of his affection would be worth it once the next stage of her plan came to fruition.

She had known from the start that exploiting the rocky relationship between brother and sister was the key. Really, they had done most of the work for her. She'd always maintained these Dunmer had nasty tempers; it had been a small matter to take advantage of that to create an impenetrable rift. The intentionally unsuccessful poison attempts had been the icing on the cake; oh how she longed, longed to have seen the looks on their faces! When they had all but destroyed each other, all she would have to do was sweep up the pieces.

Her hand went to her ring, twisting it around her slender finger.

She often wondered how much of her political success could be attributed to this thing. She liked to think it was an enhancement, nothing more. She was certainly charming enough to reach these heights on her own; the ring was just… insurance. Her lip curled. The amount of times she'd watched those wretched siblings disappear into the treasury passage all those years ago; did they really think she hadn't noticed? She'd made her own explorations. For all their supposed intelligence, they hadn't found anything like this. Sweet but dim, wasn't that what they had called her?

Oh, she had waited so very long for this.

There was quite a lot of stamping and shouting going on outside. She frowned, rising from her dressing table and sweeping into the hall. She could see shadowy silhouettes gathering outside her window. A guard stood by the front door as usual; Crassius had really laid it on thick for her. She threw the man a dazzling smile and reached for the door-handle.

The guard stepped in front of her.

She halted, bewildered. "Is something wrong?"

"Ser Curio's orders, ma'am," the guard said apologetically. "No-one's to enter or leave, not even you. Security breach or something."

She laughed, a tinkling sound like falling silver. "Don't be absurd. I want to see outside." She made to brush past him, but to her astonishment his hand closed around her wrist.

"Sorry, ma'am," the guard said stoically. "Nothing I can do."

She shook him off, an unexpectedly ugly look clouding her features. It was only visible for a second, but the guard stepped back in alarm. Goldenflower immediately became contrite.

"Of course. Ser Curio is only concerned for my safety, I am sure." What imaginary threat had the old fool dreamt up now? It was most disconcerting to know that she was trapped in this place. "I would be grateful to know the reason for my confinement, though," she demurred. "Perhaps you will be good enough to carry a request for Ser Curio to come and visit me?"

"He's coming now, ma'am, by all reports," the guard reported, clearly glad that her black mood had not lasted. "Be here in no time at all – in fact," he continued, peering out of the window, "I think he's just arrived."

It was indeed Crassius, and to her surprise and annoyance he was not alone. Some towering lank of a Nord accompanied him, most unflatteringly sporting heavy armour and a tangle of yellow hair about as similar to Goldenflower's honeyed locks as a donkey to a thoroughbred.

"Ah, my lady," Crassius greeted her jovially. She did not like the unctuous tone of his voice. He gestured to the Nord woman. "I do not believe you have had the pleasure of meeting my companion?"

There was definitelysomething odd going on. The presence of the Nord unnerved her; there was something in her plain, placid face that made Goldenflower think it would be very hard to work her. She had never liked the company of women; they tended to be less receptive to her charms. Nevertheless, she rose to the occasion grandly, holding her hand out and arranging her features into a winning smile. "Enchanted, to be sure." The Nord woman's grip was like a man's, firm and unyielding.

"My dear," Crassius smiled at her. "This is Nenya Sky-Song, the Nerevarine."

She barely had time to process this startling revelation before he continued:

"Nenya, I am delighted for you to meet Elysana, Queen of Wayrest."

Elysana froze like a statue of ice.

"Seize her," Crassius said softly.

On the steps of the Hall of Wisdom and Justice, they brought the exile queen to kneel before the Dunmer king.

"I thought we were taking her to Morgiah!" Nenya hissed at Crassius as Elysana, née Goldenflower, was forced up the stairway. "Do you have any idea how much trouble this is going to cause?"

"One has to cover one's bases, dear. Helseth may yet win out, and if he does I would rather stay in his good graces. In any case, it'll make for a rather juicy show, won't it?"

Nenya looked like she could throttle him. "I hope Morgiah flays you alive," she fumed. "Bloody politicians. I hope they all choke, starting with you. Thank Stendarr I'm resigning."

"Parting is such sweet sorrow," Crassius replied absently. He was not really listening to her; he was watching the proceedings with a calculating eye. A gaggle of curious citizens had already stopped to watch from the plaza below. With any luck, he could set himself up as a heroic mediator – it would do wonders for his public image, not to mention his standing with the King.

Crassius' guards were trying unsuccessfully to make Elysana kneel; none of them seemed to want to hurt her. Finally an Ordinator stepped forward and thwacked her behind the knees. She collapsed with a yelp of outrage, glaring at him murderously. By the time Helseth emerged into the evening sunlight, the now-substantial crowd suddenly quietened. Even the least intuitive among them could sense that the air between the King and this woman had condensed to a thick, boiling miasma of hatred.

Helseth drew his hand up, and brought it across Elysana's face with a backhanded crack.

The entire crowd saw her stagger. For a moment, she gasped on the stones. Then she brought her stunningly blue eyes to meet his burning red ones, and if looks could kill, they would both have withered to dust.

Helseth's face was twitching with passion. "I will see you dead for this. I will see you suffer. You think queenship of a pitiful Iliac Bay city-state will grant you immunity next to the sovereignty of Morrowind? Did you think that with your cringingly ineffectual assassins you might replace me? These people will spit on your corpse before they see a Breton rule Old Resdaynia. I gave you Wayrest. You should have been grateful I didn't open your throat back then."

An ugly red welt was rising on her cheek, but she played it with a pious expression, holding her head so the crowd could see the damage. "Your Majesty knows I am innocent of any crime he chooses to lay against me," she rang out clearly. "I came to visit a once-beloved brother, no more. And if I am not mistaken," she said more softly, "Wayrest was mine long before I ran you off my land like a mongrel with its tail between its legs. It was mine before you were even born. Do you think I have no friends, brother dear? Think very carefully before you act. Many of my allies still remember you, you know. How could they forget? Such a sour, incompetent travesty of a prince was a regular source of amusement to us all."

Helseth went for her.

He seized the mass of golden hair and was yanking, tearing at it from the roots; Elysana shrieked in distress, but her own hand was sneaking towards his eyes, fingernails bared like talons… Helseth was screaming that he wasn't her brother… the crowd was howling with disbelief, delight, scandal, fear… Crassius gaped in horror, all ideas of playing the gallant arbitrator destroyed in an instant. He had invisioned a terse stand-off perfectly designed for him to swoop in and graciously diffuse, hopefully earning praise from a very grateful Helseth for his tact and delicacy – not a murderous brawl that could at worst spark all-out war between nations.

Nenya had no such qualms. In a second she had them apart, Helseth wide-eyed and panting, Elysana sobbing piteous ladylike tears. The Nord woman stood between them like a wall of Indoril.

"How dare you!" Helseth spat at her, incandescent with rage. "How dare youlay hands on me? Nerevarine or not, I'll have your head, you filthy–"

Nenya was white. The crowd shrieked incredulously; Nord she may be, but the Nerevarine had destroyed the Blight Disease and delivered them from their most feared enemy. Helseth was a new king and an outlander at that. There was no question whom they would stand behind if push came to shove. In a flash, Helseth had snuffed out forever the love of the people he had so desperately hoped to win.

"Get him away from here," Nenya hissed at the Ordinators, who bundled Helseth through the doors at once. She indicated Elysana, who was still weeping prettily. "And take her to the Ministry – no torture, or you'll find your faces on end of my hammer."

She turned to Crassius and for a moment was truly terrifying, all the casual warmth of her personality replaced by the age-old fury of Nerevar. "I hope you're satisfied," she spat, towering over his shocked and frozen form. "You can handle the mob. Because it is a mob now. Enjoy yourself."

She disappeared after the Ordinators. Crassius Curio turned slowly to face the plaza, and the crowd bayed like starving wolves.

In the empty rented apartment in Almalexia, Eadwyrd Greenhart sat by the unlit hearth. His cloud-grey eyes were flat and blank. Twistedly, excruciatingly, he could think of nothing but Gwynabyth – her warmth, her kindness, her goodness… such a contrast to his own coldness now; such terrible mockery.

He began to pack his satchel with slow, mechanical movements. It was still half-full of the supplies Morgiah had given them for their trip to Tel Fyr, but he didn't bother to empty them out, crushing the rest of his belongings on top.

There was one thing left to do. The danger and absurdity of the scheme were of no consequence to him – why should they be? His life meant nothing now. The idea flared in his head like a brand, the only thing that held meaning.

He could use the Mages Guild transport again, but this time come out near the defunct Ghostgate. From there, he would go on foot.

And after that – well, it would not matter. This was the last task.

A/N: I'd like to welcome broersje to the fold - I'm sorry I could say so sooner! I'm extremely pleased you're looking forward to the finale. It'll be as explosive as I can possibly make it. I'd also like to thank Clodia for your continued support, and the kindness to nominate me in a very exciting LotR fanfic competition this year. I can't tell you what it means to me :) xxxx