Author's Note: First of all, I realise that I owe you all readers—probably new ones, too, even if you don't know what the hell I'm about to say—a big apology, and even that is an understatement. I didn't even know what happened. Ah, there it is. School. School happened and then stuff followed, and a certain document file titled 'Chapter 12' has been abandoned for weeks with no end. I was actually half-convinced that I'd chicken out of this again, and abandon the story, again... but that's not what's going to happen in a long time...

I hope.

So anyways, as I've said, I'm so terribly sorry for the terribly late update. This chapter was difficult to write, anyways, but I just—I just don't know anymore.

-~O~-

Chapter 12: No Rest for the Weary

-~O~-

When all that Martin did was blink unbelievably, Josephus groaned in irritation as if explaining to a two-year-old. "My lord, Emperor, sir," he said exaggeratedly, all excitement and wide eyes, waving the amulet in front of his body, "We have the one thing to prove your bloodline. What we've been striving to get in this past year. We've got the Amulet of Kings!"

The rest of his Blades sheathed heir weapons and stood still, watching their emperor's every move. He knew that they were expecting something of him, something to say. His mind was racing to find just the appropriate words, but Martin was still in such disbelief, despite the amulet being right in front of his eyes. "I... I truly can't believe this," was what he managed to stammer, long before he managed to find his voice.

Josephus' almost manic grin only widened. "You have to!" His voice was barely an exclamation. "Because it's yours!" What Josephus did then could only be described as shoving the piece of jewelry towards

Martin's face turned still as stone. "Belongs to me? The Amulet of Kings?" he muttered. He couldn't even feel his gut. For a while, he said nothing, examining the rich red ruby that his friend held in front of him. When he stared deep enough, Martin saw fire reflected inside. It may be the fire behind him, or not, he couldn't say he knew. "So you and Jauffre have said. If it is true, if the Emperor really was my father, then I should be able to wear it," he started to form a doubtful smile, but it was a smile nonetheless, "Only those of the Septim blood can wear the Amulet of Kings."

"Go on. Put it on."

"Yes, of course. What am I waiting for? After all, this is my destiny. No man can deny his destiny..." he trailed off, not exactly knowing what else to say.

Taking a deep breath, Martin held out his hand towards the amulet's string and held on to it tightly. Slowly, he began to bring it up to his eye's view, and tying it behind his neck. When the knot secured itself, he let his death grip on the string go. By the time his hands were on his sides, the amulet did not fall off.

It felt like an eternity of silence, but finally, Josephus took a heavy breath and clapped his hands together, as if in delight, and then knelt down. "You are truly the Emperor," he shook his head, still looking down to where Martin's feet were, "I hope you don't execute me for all that teasing months ago."

Feeling his cheeks heat up in memory, Martin hurriedly patted Josephus' shoulder and made a gesture with his hand to make the Imperial stand up. Josephus did so, thankfully, after a rather late clamor of cheers and shouts of gladness from Martin's bodyguards. "There is no need to be so formal," he told Josephus for Akatosh knows how many times, "And truthfully, I don't need the amulet to prove to me that I am Uriel Septim's son. I've known it was true since you first told me back in Kvatch." As much as Martin wanted to tell the truth, that there were many times he doubted himself as emperor, he kept it to himself, seeing that it was now he's an emperor. "But it is one thing to talk of becoming Emperor, and quite another to actually be the Emperor," he said instead.

"You are the Emperor now, you'll be emperor someday, you're the emperor all along," Josephus said, as if testing the phrase. Exasperated, Martin beckoned him to a seat by the nearby table, the one where Martin set up his temporary study area, avoiding the burnt ruins of what used to be the portal to Paradise.

As Josephus seated himself, Martin noticed how weary his friend looked. The shadow under his eyes was a sure sign that throughout the ordeal in Paradise, Josephus had little to no sleep at all, and there was a horrible bruise on his cheekbone. "Have you looked into a mirror, lately?"

Josephus let out a laugh, and Martin himself had to smile at his jest, if for a moment. "There were no mirrors in Paradise. Anyways, if I did look into one I might get killed. Either the mirror was dangerous, or I was distracted by it, or both." He stretched in his seat, and Martin noticed a few torn parts of Josephus' armour, and the wounds underneath. Just to what extent of horrors did Josephus face to get the Amulet of Kings?

Martin shook his head, "But I digress. You should get patched up first." As he spoke, Josephus face showed immense relief.

"Thank you," he breathed out, "You don't know half the things that could kill you in that damned Paradise. But I will allow myself to be healed only. I've enough fight left in me to go to the Imperial City."

"But you look awful," Martin protested, feeling his protests going into deaf ears anyway. Josephus looked around the table, paying more attention to the clutter and books rather than Martin's concerns. "You must rest, a night at least."

"Nonsense," Josephus said, "Mehrunes Dagon will know that the amulet is with us anytime now. I'd rather not risk postponing our arrival at the Imperial City. We need to light the Dragonfires immediately."

Josephus was true, of course. This was where Martin felt they shouldn't chat idly, and so he felt it was only right of him to be forthright, "While you were gone, I sent a messenger to High Chancellor Ocato." Not until Martin finished speaking did he pick up the roll of bandage that was sitting on top of the table. At the mention of the councilor's name, Josephus' eyebrow went up. "He waits for us in the Imperial City."

"Wait a second, wait a second," he held a hand to stop Martin's explanation, "Why would we need to meet this high noble arse?"

Martin looked around to see, much to his relief that the nearest ear that could eavesdrop on their conversation was far enough just to hear Josephus' insult as a distant mutter. He unrolled the cloth bandage and ripped it where he thought it was enough, and dabbed it with a nearby healing potion. When he thought the poultice was good enough—he might have lost his touch in the span of the year—he handed it to Josephus, who took it. "Chancellor Ocato is the head of the Elder Council," he explained, slowly and quietly, "The Council rules in the Emperor's absence."

His friend looked understanding then. Lifting the hem of his chest piece so he could tie the bandage around the gash on his waist, he asked, "So in a way, we need to kiss this high noble's arse?"

Martin nodded, though he wished Josephus would stop using that description of the High Chancellor. "In a way. I don't expect any objections from the Elder Council, but we should defer to their authority," he lowered his voice to a whisper, "and we do not want to have trouble with our own people."

"Then I say we should go," Josephus said suddenly after he tied the bandage, and before Martin could say anything, he stood up. "I don't want to waste even a second for our journey to the Imperial City."

Martin's eyebrows knitted together in frustration. "I do not want my friend to go in this state," he said, "At least rest for a night!"

"There is no rest for the weary," Josephus said, waking towards the giant doors leading to the Cloud Ruler Temple's courtyard. He did not look back as he continued his stride, and opened the doors and left it open behind him, "You must keep persevering no matter how tired or overworked you are. And I prefer to persevere, to live in a world without daedra."

Martin sighed and knew that Josephus was heading to the stables at this very moment, and nothing could change his mind.

"Captain Steffan!"

"Yes, Grandmaster?"

"I will escort the Emperor to the Imperial City; I want four of the best Blades to come with me." Jauffre kept walking across the courtyard as he continued. "Make sure that the gates are secured tightly behind us. Organize your men so you would be prepared should an attack on the temple happen." As Jauffre explained, it was clear that Steffan did not look comfortable with this. From where Josephus could see it, anyway.

As Josephus tightened the saddle of his horse, he heard the rest of Jauffre's order. "I will leave the temple in your hands for a few days." The rest of the conversation was unclear as Jauffre lowered his voice to a whisper, and Josephus heard Steffan's boots clanging as he ran to the barracks of the temple, perhaps to undergo the order he was given.

When his horse was prepared for travel, Josephus did not hesitate a second on mounting on top of it. He wasted enough time in Paradise; he should not make that a habit in Nirn. He was grateful that Jauffre understood this completely, that they should leave for the Imperial City as soon as possible.

"I should think that madness comes with adrenaline," Martin remarked as he appeared in the stables, "but I suppose that this circumstance can be excluded."

Josephus turned to him and sighed. "Jauffre seems to agree with me; we should not delay in lighting the Dragonfires." He spurred his horse to get out of the stables, nodding to Martin when he stopped at the doorway. "Don't get your robes dirty. Or should I help?"

He instantly regretted ever saying that. Martin's look turned dark as he turned around to grab a saddle. "Only because I am emperor, or a friend?" he asked grimly. Josephus was about to apologise, but Martin waved him away, "Never mind that. I think Jauffre wants a word with you."

"Yes, Your—friend."

The sky was starless tonight, or Josephus' vision was truly damned, with only the half-moon and additional sources of light to show Josephus the elderly man who served as the Grandmaster of the Blades. Jauffre had only turned away from another Blade—was it Pelagius?—when he approached him. "Martin said you called. What is the matter?"

Jauffre looked at Josephus, then answered, "Your storming out from the Great Hall had me worried for a moment. Are you sure you are prepared to ride the perilous road south? You had only returned from Paradise, in case you've forgotten."

"I remember quite well, thank you," Josephus said, pulling his horse's reins when she got frightened of something miniscule in the air, "I am sure I will survive, at least until the gates of the Imperial City. I've returned from Dagon's shrine half naked, with little food supply to keep me alive. What is a visit to the Imperial City?"

"There is small difference from that incident, sure," said the older man, "yet there is still danger of the Mythic Dawn attacking us unaware."

Josephus nodded. "All the more similarity from that incident, to what is happening now." He patted his horse's neck when she kept snorting. "Well, except that I won't be riding off half naked, and I've got the other Blades with me.

Jauffre, however displeased, only nodded as if seeing Josephus' point. He appeared to have something more to say, but the man must have thought of it as nothing of import, because he did not say anything that was more important than, "We've a few minutes before we leave; should you want to share a few farewells with your comrades, you'd have enough time. Dismissed."

A small party on horseback—no more than a dozen—had gathered themselves in the courtyard. Baurus was one of them, and he nodded at Josephus' general direction. When he neared the temple's doors, Caroline, who was on a shift to guard the entrance, only made a face, "When did the last time you took a bath? Or gave your horse one, for that matter?"

"Duty calls, Carol," he said, though he showed a half-hearted grin, "And heroes don't have time to wash themselves when their enemies are at their throats."

"Then I don't think I'll fancy the heroes in the tales anymore." She waved at him as he trotted to the training ground, a simple part of the courtyard floored with grass, and there were the usual weapon stands and the two Blades that Josephus had always spied training together even in the ungodly hours of morning until night. Day in, day out.

"Are you leaving with the Emperor soon?" Belisarius called out after he parried a blow from Ferrum, his training partner. It was quite a strange sight to see Ferrum outside of the Temple Armory—one would think the Breton actually lived there. "It is an honour not many people get. I admit, I am quite envious of your position now."

"Don't be," Josephus said, in hopes of lightening his friend's mood, yet he found no good jest to say. "I won't be able to enjoy the mead and ale, warm fire, a proper bed... I'll probably sleep near horse shit, at any rate. Anyways, enjoy what you have; I'm sure Martin will call on you two soon enough. Your skills in blades outweigh mines." Looking around, he said, "Give my farewells to the others. Jauffre would want me to return to the party by now."

Still, he looked back at the magnificent structure which was the Cloud Ruler Temple for the last time, before joining the group of mounted Blades as they descended down the stone steps towards the open gates, which will lead them down to the mountain road, hidden in snow, and perilous for a man as weary as Josephus.

Just as Linne fingered the spine of the book—a ragged, soot covered leather that was distinctly blue—and decided that it might be worth reading, a voice called from somewhere to her left. Had it been any louder, Linne might have dropped the book in fright. "Welcome to the Dark Brotherhood! I assume you are Niera's sister?"

When Linne turned around, she found an Argonian standing in a friendly posture, her arms opened as if for an embrace and a smile on her face, red scales speckled with moss green. Linne realised that she hadn't replied with anything, so she forced a smile even when she was confused like this. "Y-yes, I suppose you could say that." The sound of her own sentence made her want to slap her own forehead. Who else is Linne besides Niera's sister? She shouldn't be implying lies. She shook her head, her face heating up. "I meant, yes, I'm her sister."

If the Argonian spotted the mistake in Linne's words, she made no attempt to prod at it except to chuckle. That, of course, did not make Linne any less uneasy at this point. "I can understand that you are nervous, sister. Niera has told stories of your eagerness to join us. To finally be a part of it is a great honour that I hope you would never think to dishonour."

"Definitely not thinking about that," replied Linne, putting the book back to the shelf to hide her face. "I've gone too far to actually turn back, anyways, right?"

"Too true," said the Argonian, "And there is no turning back, unless you wish to invoke the Wrath of Sithis." The Argonian's shrug was so casual and nonchalant when Linne turned to her that Linne felt frightened. "Some traitors are certainly asking for a guaranteed, miserable death indeed."

"Excuse me?" Linne asked, baffled. Traitors? Miserable death? Sure, it made sense—traitors of the Dark Brotherhood deserved to die, yet Linne knew little of the matter.

The Argonian waved a hand in dismissal. "Here I am spouting out rumours while you're here, finally having your greatest dream coming true—if what Niera says is true. And we haven't even introduced each other properly. My, where has my usual manners gone? I am Ocheeva, mistress of the Sanctuary. And you are...?"

She took a deep breath before answering. "Linne." It felt a whole world of a difference to say your name in an occasion such as this. Because she was finally, finally about to be admitted to the Dark Brotherhood, and at an age younger than Niera's when she was accepted. It felt glorious.

"Ah, Linne. Niera's mentioned your name several times, but it slipped my mind. Forgive me." Ocheeva tapped a finger on her chin with a thoughtful look. "Linne. Is that a short name for something else?"

Linne made a face at that—she hated her full name, and it was one of her father's stupidest deed that he decided to name her something so weak and fragile. "Yes, but I prefer Linne a lot more," she said, forgetting herself, "I find it to be less of a mouthful, too."

Ocheeva laughed slightly at Linne's sudden outburst, but commented no further. "Linne it is, then." She gestured at a nearby seat, beside the bookcase, and wordlessly, Linne sat on it as Ocheeva took the chair leaning nearby the wall. "Right, Linne. Usually, my greetings consist of welcomes and an explanation on how contracts work."

Linne nodded slowly, saying nothing else. The Argonian continued. "Do you know of the Black Sacrament?"

"A ritual of sorts done to speak to the Night Mother... pray to her to kill someone, I think." She sighed. "I couldn't have worded that worse."

"The Listener distributes the prayers the Night Mother tells to him as a form of a contract. To be more precise, the Listener orders his Speakers to speak to the person who did the Black Sacrament, and arrange a deal; we kill, they pay."

It was an effort not to flinch at Ocheeva's description, yet deep down Linne's hopes were slightly turning more into an indescribable feeling of fear. She realised that, not counting the scamp that she killed with a rock this afternoon, she was inadequate for murder. There would be blood on her hands. Some of these thoughts had passed her mind the past few months, yet she waved them away, remembering she might not join the Dark Brotherhood in years, and she'll probably mature out of the sinking feeling in her gut whenever she thought of herself murdering someone in cold blood.

Linne was here. Now. Any day, she would receive her first contract—it did not even have to be a different day than now. "I... think I understand that."

Ocheeva smiled. "Good." She glanced over to the bookshelf and stood to grab one—and Linne blushed when she found it was titled The Lusty Argonian Maid, even when Ocheeva tried her best to hide the cover from the Breton's view—and returned to her seat, reading. Linne was tapping her fingers rather impatiently on the seat's arm. Ocheeva noticed this and looked up. "Yes?"

"I don't quite know much else than that," Linne admitted, quite crestfallen when she heard the words by herself. "Who do I go for contracts? Where would I sleep?" She wiped her sweaty palms against her breeches; when will I kill?

"Oh, how could I forget such essential information? Heh, I must have been used to the few members we get every year." She gestured at the hall. "We actually had a promising recruit, but he died on the way here. Such a shame. But, as you asked, contracts. You'll be receiving them from Vicente for now." She pointed to a corridor just slightly visible from Linne's field of view. "His room is down there—the last door you'll see going through the corridor. The first is mine.

"As for sleeping, the room your sister entered would be your best option, but we don't have enough beds for everybody. Some of us already have to stay up at night and sleep in mornings. I hope you don't mind."

Linne yawned, realising just how tired she was. Travelling for a day and receiving little rest was not what she imagined it to be. There were tales she heard in the inn where heroes just travel for a snap of a second as if it was as easy as that. Never again would Linne suspend belief. Maybe only on rare occasions.

"I don't mind, so long as you don't mind me sleeping now," she said, heading towards the door that Niera went through. "It's been a tiring day."

-~O~-

The chapter's title has absolutely no relation to my life right now.

Nope.

(repeats series of apologies and sorries)

Boys Do Like Girls: Last chapter was actually fun to write, hell to edit for no reason what-so-ever, but feels good to know it was great. And I think I can say—but not promise—that there would be a bit more Martin in the next chapter (welp, you just read him in this chapter woot.)