It was a very bright night in Cheydinhal. Both moons were shining brightly, the stars were shimmering like millions of small diamonds spilled onto the backdrop of the inky dark blue sky. Not a cloud in sight, no hint of bad whether. In contrast to the well lit streets, there was almost no one wandering about save for a single watchman who carried a lamp. Perferring to save the wicks for his attachment, he didn't seem to feel the need to light it and let it casually rest on his side dangling with a gentle rustling against his leg as he walked. I watched him from afar on a rooftop as he did his laps around the town with his is eyes straightforward, rather then constantly scanning the area around him, which gave away his inexperiance. Once a solider has been in a battle, even just once, he knows to never let his guard down, even for an instant as long as he's on duty. Such a habit that would follow him for the rest of his life. It was something that you would be able to tell from his eyes, and this one had the eyes of a boy who had likely never seen blood, possibly had never been in a fight.

He looked to be about as old as me, but much taller. He had dark brown hair that drooped around his shoulders, and bright blue eyes that would make any young maiden fall in love. Mentally I envied him for his good looks, but then I smiled to myself at the thought of how a fight between him and I would end up. His perfect face would win a woman's heart, but it wouldn't give him an advantage in combat. If anything, it would have suddenly become a target to anyone who wanted to be the first to leave a scar on an untouched mug. Truthfully, it's not him I hated, it was the mentality in his walk. His skill was nothing, nothing compared to the hard earned experience I had gained through my years of training.

The night that Antoinetta and I made it back to the sanctuary, I realized how easily I'd won every single confrontation in open combat that I had been in. When I first ran away from the farm, I managed to kill a goblin by myself, putting him on the ground even before drawing my sword. Then the rogue soldiers on the road to Anvil, the bandit camp I accidentally ran up on, the ambush on the way to Cyrodiil, and killing Tussaud in just a step and a half. All of it was much easier then having to spar Jauffre at Weynon Pryory.

"Too easy..." I whispered to myself at the thought of my training with my former master. I tried to pull my thoughts away from those days, but it did no good. Soon my mind was reminiscing again.

"Remember, I'm training you harder then is needed, but never let go of what you learn here." He would tell me before he would have me rest for those nights. Deep down, I wondered if he would be proud of me for how well I could use my katana, or if my father would...yes...my father. He was right. The last thing he told me was that I was a far better then I saw myself. It finally made sense now.

Tilting rearward, I let myself fall gently onto my back, and looked up at the stars. Reality was starting to seem like a blur to me now. As I kept tracing over the events of the last month and a half, everything felt like a dream. I came back to the memory of finding my father dead in our house with no emotion. My heart didn't even jump. It was like it didn't happen at all. I had killed more people then I could count on both hands, and it didn't phase me anymore. Not even a small curiousity of what their lives were like before I took that all away.

Either it was all a dream, or it was just that I kept coming back to the denial stage of me trying to cope with all I'd been through. Just a few days ago, I was in tears, trying to hold on to everything that I had lost, knowing full well that I couldn't go back. Wondering what all had happened when I left. I felt the green necklace that I still wore roll off of my chest and land with a gentle tap beside my neck. Elona...I had let her go so easily, just to make room for Antoinetta.

"What's happening to me?" I asked out loud. The me that was laying there looking up at the stars was not the same me that I knew before. I wanted to feel sadness again, but I couldn't even muster up tears. It felt like all emotion was gone, I wasn't so sure it that was only temporary or I was really just someone who I would have been afraid of long ago. I closed my eyes and took in a deep breath. I could hear the sounds of someone climbing up to the top of the roof I was on. I didn't bother jumping up, drawing my blade, or doing anything about it, as there was really only one way to this particular rooftop, and only certain people who could get here.

"It's a beautiful night isn't it?" Antoinetta asked me when she finally made it up.

I opened my eyes to meet hers, then everything changed.

Her beautiful smile suddenly brought everything back. My heart skipped a beat, the adrenaline started to course through my body, and I started to get chills. I smiled in return, after all, the feeling of vulnerability that she brought me was a welcome reminder that I wasn't completely numb. Opening my arms up, I gestured for her to join me as I lay upon my back, which she did with enthusiasm. Her body lay half covering mine with her head on my chest, her hand just in front of her chin, and one leg entangled with mine. The close contact felt so warm and relaxing, that I couldn't stop myself from speaking up.

"I love you." I whispered with a smile while my hand began to make its way through her long blond hair.

"I love you too." She replied, then lifted her head up to give me a gentle kiss on the lips before returning to it's resting place.

For a few minutes, the only noise was our breathing save for whatever little stirring that came from the occasional footsteps in the streets below. I knew she was listening to my heartbeat, which made me smile as I let my eyes close back up.

"Dairou..." She whispered softly.

"Yes."

"What are you thinking about?" She nuzzled my chest a little, tightened her grip on me for a moment, then relaxed.

"You." I whispered and kissed her forehead.

"Really?" A small chuckle escaped her as she wrapped her arm around me completely.

"Yes, really."

"All this time you were up here?"

I answered with honesty.

"Well...not quite, but you did save me from some unpleasant memories. Thank you."

"You're welcome." She inched her face a bit closer to mine. "Thank you for saving me."

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All the way across Cyrodiil, in the small chapel known as Weynon Pryory, sitting back in his chair with his hands folded across his chest with the only light being from the window, Jauffre was struggling to come up with an explanation to Emperor Urial Septim over the matter of Dairou's disappearance. He had recieved a message sent from the Imperial City itself demanding his presence before the Emporer. The text was coded to appear as if it were a formal request on the part of the Census Office to "clarify a few sensitive matters" with the Imperial Cult. But that really meant 'GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE!"

It was pretty obvious that things were not going to go over so well, especially with half of the empire looking for the poor boy. Septim was going to throw a fit and complain about losing his most valuable asset to the empire. While Juaffre knew that Dairou would gladly have taken the position that was really waiting for him, it would have been an indignity. Septim wanted Dairou to carry out the tasks that had to be done in secret when failure was something that wasn't even fathomable, especially when it called for someone of the utmost loyalty. But Septim wouldn't care about anything beyond that. He wouldn't care about what killing would do to the poor boy, nor would he ever think of his own loves and likes, no, Dairou's interests were never thought of. The sad and painful truth was that Dairou was always meant to be an assassin, never a bodyguard for the emperor, and his membership in the blades was only a decent cover story that fooled all but a two people: Juaffre, and Septim. Everything had all been planned out, over the course of his life, even down to whom he was going to marry.

At the thought of how cruel and imposing those plans were, he clenched his fist. He spent a lifetime helping his father raise him. Teaching him everything from how to slip quietly through the forest with the ground covered in dried leaves, to how to effectively make a rope restraint without the use of a knot. But more importantly, he taught him a code of ethics. The idea that most Imperial Soldiers carried was along the lines of some outdated and archaic idea of the empire being made for the greater good and promoting order amongst all of Tamriel. Jauffre taught him the truth, that the empire was just an idea. An idea that helped keep people united across vast distances. While Septim himself had much influence, ultimately he was still not in as much control as everyone believed.

Politics was a war that just didn't know when to end. There had been no real notable conflicts since the years of Jagar Thorn, but a certain rot that peace brings gives time for instability to grow in a lot of small regions. People begin to no longer pay attention to who's in charge if there is no mess they have to clean up, and counts and countesses forget how to fight wars. The enemy of patriotism in most aspects is tranquility. While people enjoyed times of peace, no one ever remembered the leaders of those kinds of days. Morrowind was beginning to show signs of crumbling as rumors of infighting began to build. But that was another matter...

Jauffre got up and sauntered across the room to a bookshelf that stood against the wall. Reaching up and pulling out the rightmost book noiselessly released a secret latch, and all that was needed was a gentle push inward to open up a door behind it to a secret room in the back. Once inside, there was a small room that was a huge contrast to what a simple priest should own. One wall had a rack with many katanas, daggers, and other Akaviri style weapons that only members of the blades would know how to use.

On the opposite wall was a single row of books, twenty to be exact. After closing the door behind him, the grandmaster picked up the one on the farthest right, and opened it up. Each book was labled with a year, and ended at the current. He sat the book down on a desk under the shelf, pulled up a chair, and started writing.

Though he didn't have a whole lot to write, it took him almost an hour to finish. The entry was a rewrite of the message from the Imperial City, and a translation of what it really meant. Followed up with: "Still haven't seen Dairou."

Real warfare is always filled with deception and half truths, and this partial lie, partial truth of not 'seeing' is what saved the young man, or may be what ultimately gives Juaffre a death sentance. Though the grandmaster had seen many good people die in combat, Dairou had the heart of a true warrior, and a strong sense of justice. At least that's what he hoped the boy still had. He knew that before this crisis was over, Dairou would end up confronting him, and it would either save him, or cause the student to kill the master. Either way was fine by the old man, just as long as Dairou stayed true to himself and his honor.

"I swear, if you were my son..." He whispered as he closed the book, then left the room closing the door behind him. "

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Mordous was angry, VERY angry...in fact...furious! Course, even that was an understatement. Not only was there no sign of Dairou anywhere in the Highlands, but no one had reported seeing him anywhere in the places he was supposed to have ran to. After the incident with the Innkeeper, it seemed like no one took him seriously anymore. Not as a soldier, not even as a man. Being severely beaten down by an unarmed old man made him the laughing stock of the town despite the tragedy of the recent events.

As he patrolled his hometown, he couldn't help but notice that no one ever made eye contact with him. Normally that was expected, as no one likes to stare into an Imperial Solider's eyes, but not even the occasional traveler would stop and ask him for directions. It was almost like his dignity was just as gone as the Dikata boy's presence, and everyone knew it. Once in a while as he passed a crowd of people talking, he would note that they became silent if any of them took notice to him. Then when they thought he was out of earshot, a few of them would start laughing. Yep, he was no longer respected at all.

But today his luck would change.

"Mordous?" A gentle male voice called out to him from across the street. "Callous Mordous."

The soldier looked in the direction of whom was addressing him to be greeted by a young man of about the same age, medium build with blond hair that was tied back under his three point hat, dressed in fancy clothes that were definitely bought from the Imperial City.

"Who wants to know?" He asked with a pessimistic tone as the lad came up to him with a hand held forward.

"Cameran Venin, Lianis Venin's nephew." The young man answered with a smile as he shook his hand. "I believe you and I have some matters of mutual interest to talk about."

"Possibly, but I've been put on the day watch as you can see. I'm sorry about what happened to your uncle, but I can't help you." He was in no mood to get involved with the Venin family. Controversy surrounded everything they touched, and right now, Mordous was not ready to start a whole new set of problems.

"I understand, but please, hear me out, I think you'll want to hear what I have to say." Cameran insisted.

"Didn't I just tell you that I can't help you?" The Soldier repeated.

"I heard that, but you don't know for sure what it is I need your help with." Venin tried to make himself sound reasonable, but his tone of voice betrayed a hint of frustration. Most of the Venin's were not used to not having their way, or being told off, which is why the message didn't seem to reach Cameran's mind.

"...and I don't want to know either. If you're here to laugh at me, or make jokes, then go ahead, I've heard all of them already." Mordous was able to keep a firm tone, but the part about jokes being made was the part that crippled him on the inside, even if he was the one who said it, it was almost too much to have his reputation destroyed so early in his career by something everyone found funny.

"I know you would never look out for my interests, but that's not what I want, course, if you want to do watch duty for the rest of your life...that's fine by me." Cameran sighed.

Mordous was no fool, he knew immediately that the Venin name being overly infulential in the west meant that Cameran would see to it that he never be allowed to advance in rank again. He sighed, gritted his teeth.

"What do you want?"

"Just a certain matter taken care of, and I think you know what I mean." He answered as a devious smile started to spread across his face.

"I'm already combing the city, and it's outskirts, I don't think that the Dikata boy is going to ever come back, if he's not left by ship, he's on the other side of the country."

"True, which is why I think you'll like my offer, after all we both want him, I have the ways you have the means."

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Martin prayed alone in the Chapel that sat in the middle of Kvatch. He was really the only priest in town, and was the only one who ever really gave services. Not that anyone ever attended. Which meant that he himself never really got the chance to speak in front of a large audience. But that was fine with him, as long as it was nice and quiet, and gave him more time to dedicate to his studies. He heard the knob to the front door turning and turned around to see Anita slowly making her way in. She wore a simple brown cloak that made her look very much like some of the poorer folk in Kvatch, which was a huge contrast to the way Lianis used to make her dress. She looked around a moment before noticing Martin.

"Hello, Anita." He greeted her with a polite smile.

"H...hello Martin." She stuttered as she walked with tears rolling down her cheeks.

"Are you alright? Have you come to grieve?" The priest to Akatosh asked.

"No...I...I need to talk to you about something." Anita's voice quivered as she drooped her eyes to the floor. "It's about my husband's death."

"Oh, well, whatever it is, I'm here for you. I'm sorry about what happened." Brother Martin put a hand on Anita's shoulder to try and comfort her.

"There's something I need to show you." She started to gain strength, almost as if it were caused by Martin's touch. "Something that I can't hide any longer. Lianis isn't around to buy my silance with death threats anymore."

"Alright...what is it?"

Minutes later, Martin found himself on the front steps to the Venin manner.

"It's down in the basement." she whispered, almost as if to hide her words from the world while they went through the front door. Anita took a lamp from a shelf, lit it on a nearby candle, and led him to the front door of the basement.

There was an awkward silance in the air, as Anita looked up put her hand on the knob, turned her gaze up at Martin with a sad look in her eyes, then pushed the door open. The two of them quietly made their way downstairs at the slow pace that Anita set. It was almost completely dark, as there was no light from the outside to be let in, just a glow from the middle aged woman's lamp which did enough as far as lighting the way. The old woman then came to an abrupt stop, almost causing the young priest to bump into her.

"Alright, what did you want me to see?" Martin asked in a whisper almost as if he were afraid to disturb the silance.

The widow began to sob and held up a trembling finger pointing to a particular corner of the basement. Martin squinted to try and see through the blackness but to no avail. Then almost as if on que Anita held up the lamp to compensate for the darkness.

What Martin saw made his eyes go wide, and the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. There was no need for an explanation, the materials for the ritual were all laid out.

"By the Nine Divines!" He exclaimed. "He...prayed to the Night Mother!"