It's an understandable sentiment and goes uncommented on; Marcus follows, falling into easy step. He doesn't know if his questions will shake up dangerous information or unpopular opinion, but he does know that he doesn't wish for his own story to be spread if he can't, in good faith, evade all questions that Norrington may have for him in return.

He adjusts the sit of his cloak as a bracing wind flutters over the edge of the ramparts as they ascend. He's not sure what he likes best; the cold is brutal, but crisp and oddly dry. He'd never appreciated the muggy humidity of the Free Marches, even if he calls it home.

"I will say," he says, nodding out at the spread of camp that they can see from this vantage point, "it doesn't look like the ramshackle horde of heretics and war criminals, amassing power under false pretences. But I'm not really sure what that would look like."