Author's Note: I completely acknowledge the fact that I've been gone for more than a month. Well, my computer is mostly to blame for not functioning properly, but nonetheless I tried to finish this chapter as soon as possible. My 'comeback' comes with a late merry Christmas, happy Hanukkah, happy New Year, and happy etcetera.

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Chapter 15: Afternoon

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The servant girl entered with a tray of assorted food—a slice of cheese, a still steaming bowl of venison stew, and a generous loaf of bread, to name a few—and upon seeing the Saviour of Bruma resting his head on the table, she cleared her throat. "Your food, sir."

Josephus' face lit up in delight when he turned to look at her, and then even smiled even brighter when he saw what she was carrying. He gestured at the table, and the girl put the tray on it. "Send my regards to the cook," he said, but the servant girl was already closing the doors behind her. He turned his attention towards the food, and restrained himself from devouring it all at once. That would be barbaric, and even Josephus had a knowledge of manners, no matter how small it was.

First, he cut a piece of bread with the knife set next to the plate of cheese and dipped them in the soup. And just my favourite type. He looked at the tray, wondering if he should eat now—well, of course someone wiser than Josephus would probably be helping himself with a second bowl, and with a hunger like his own! When he finally decided he should put a bit of cheese on it, though, the servant girl entered again.

If Martin Septim could be called a servant girl, of course.

"Josephus, I'm afraid I must trouble you with something. What are you eating?" He pointed at the bread in Josephus' hand, and no later than that did Josephus bite into it. He ignored the Emperor all this time.

Sweet Talos, I never seem to appreciate food when it's on my plate. "I am eating food fit for an Emperor. But don't touch it; I don't think there's enough for the two of us."

"There are grander feasts—" When Josephus showed him a look, Martin shook his head and continued before he can completely change the subject at hand to food. "The Countess does not want to lend out her men."

"It looks obvious enough," he pointed out.

Martin was positively agitated. "What do you mean, it looks obvious enough?"

Josephus contained his smirk. "First, you didn't really barge into my room just to speak of food." Martin crossed his arms, but did not interrupt. "And if the Countess, otherwise, did agree to give you a few more guards, you'd be happy as a boy in love, kissing the ground Countess Carvain walks on as a sign of appreciation. But you don't seem to be doing any of that. Why isn't she giving us some guards?"

Martin ignored Josephus' teases. "She lacks the men to protect us and her city. Nothing I said seemed to persuade her!"

"Then there's the problem! You're not the least bit persuasive to start with." He chomped another piece of bread, plainly this time. "If anything, you didn't appeal to something that would hold her interest. You clearly did not even scrape the surface of her heart."

"What didn't I appeal to? I promised her men to be sent to Bruma when I take my throne. Protection. I promised her replacement for the damage that the battle has done—"

Josephus swallowed quickly. "Are you joking? Just that?" He waved his hands in frustration when Martin only showed a confused look. "I don't understand how you'd think that will be enough to convince her to give a few men! Just..." He coughed when the bread nearly choked him, and so suddenly he wished for a goblet of wine. When his fit was over, he cleared his throat. "You have to give half of what you promise in advance, Martin. That will ultimately sway the Countess to get on your side."

It was obvious that Martin was thinking over his words. Josephus took a few spoonfuls of soup to wet his throat. After a while, Martin lowered his arms and sighed. "We will dine in an hour or so. I went here expecting advice, and I have one. Yet I'm not sure if it is good advice."

"Whether it's good or not, it is your judgment. But I've said my piece, and if you go on about the castle searching for better advice than mine and they all fail, you know you need to try mine." Josephus set down his spoon, feeling his stomach filled for the first time since... hours, perhaps. He was not sure how long he has stayed in Paradise.

Martin huffed. "And what do you suggest I should present to her? 'Half of what I promise in advance.' I can't send her any Imperial Legions now. I barely have power over them."

"A betrothal," said Josephus so suddenly that even Martin was shocked to hear his words. Yet now it all made sense, and if anything could help Martin in this situation, it was promising an engagement; the Emperor uniting with the Countess of Bruma, and indirectly Skyrim, through marriage. The northern folk, the Nords... they respect the Countess. Even more so if she was the Empress. "Don't you see? This alliance will be the perfect thing to further protect Bruma and the Countess herself. It is—"

"No!" Martin exclaimed. Josephus stared at him and saw the blush creeping on his friend's cheeks. "No, I can't possibly promise her that. Her place is in Bruma, and she cannot go to the capital. She would never leave her beloved town undefended."

Josephus shook his head. "I'm getting the impression you never paid attention to my words. Promise her that you will wed with her. Go really ask for her hand in marriage, ask her relatives' blessings—whatever fancy business that's required before you properly wed after you send your legions to Bruma. Once she's sure that Bruma is safe and sound, she would be more than joyous to leave for the south." He spoke again before Martin could argue. "And besides, the Nords will be on your side even more by this marriage. It'll cement the brick wall I like to call Martin Septim's Safety. This is all so perfect."

"This is all so perfect, if you're not the one getting married. And why must we take such drastic actions for just four men?"

"Then why all the effort for just four men?" Josephus retorted. "Some wars are won with a fight, while some with love. You now as much of that as I do."

Martin only crossed his arms once more and frowned. Honestly, why is he being so childish over this? He's acting like some sort of rebellious princess in almost every child's tale. "I have less than an hour until we have our lunch. If you don't have anymore advice, then I am forced to search for Jauffre in the barracks."

He took a deep breath, and then sighed. "Fine. Go, if it pleases you, Sire. Just mark my words: When all the others fail, you know you'd need to try my advice."

Martin nodded and went out of the room, leaving Josephus to his own thoughts. What had made Martin so upset over the prospect of marriage? Surely he did not expect that being Emperor meant he will not forge new alliances and secure existing friendships.

He settled to shaking his head and taking another spoonful of soup.

"Jauffre, I would need some help on a delicate matter," Martin said. The old man looked at him with weary eyes, but he nodded. "It is the Countess. She is not giving us help other than her castle's hospitality. But our party needs even more men than we currently have, and you too know that."

Martin had pulled Jauffre away to talk in an empty room in the barracks. There was no way to be sure that they were not being overheard, but there was little enough time as there is, and getting to the dining hall would consume some more time. And if he had talked to Josephus without the assurance of privacy, discretion was not his priority now.

The Blades Grandmaster only shrugged. "I don't know about you, Sire, but if I have a say in this, then I would inform you that our Blades are able. We have Baurus, your trusted guard. Then there is Cyrus, who guards your chambers every day. And you have the Grandmaster of the Blades himself... not that I am boasting. We have Roliand, a tough Nord, also trusted to guard your chambers, Arcturus, who has a keen eye, and Jena—she is a strong woman, Sire. I would not have chosen them to be with us if they were not the best the Blades could offer."

But you are worn and aged, no matter what your title is, Jauffre. Yet Jauffre spoke some sense, and Martin began to see it... if only barely. "You mean to say that we require no more men to help us?"

"Quickness is the most important part in our plan, Martin," the old man replied. He beckoned Martin closer so that he could whisper, "And to be honest, I don't trust that these Bruma guards will be as disciplined as the Blades. You know these Nords; they work hard, yes, but their mead and ale come first."

"They won't be sober in most of our plan, you mean?" Martin guessed. Jauffre did not answer immediately, but by the frown that he made, Martin presumed that he was correct. "I see."

"I am glad that you do, Sire," Jauffre said. "If I am correct, you have an appointment with the Countess, yes?"

Martin truly did not want to be reminded of that, but he nodded grimly. "She proposed that we should continue our discussion there, though now it feels as if we do not need to discuss anything." He looked around the empty room, making sure that no one was eavesdropping, hiding under a bed. "Though, there is something that Josephus suggested that might or might not be a good idea."

Jauffre smiled fondly, but it was obvious he was amused with Martin's choice of advice source. "And what will that be, Sire?"

Martin sighed, and looked at Jauffre in the eye. "He suggested a betrothal between the Countess and... the Emperor."

"He did?" Jauffre's surprise was not dramatised. His grey brows were raised quizzically as he considered the truth of Martin's words. Even he thinks it is the most impossible thing to happen. "Well, that is rather unusual of him."

"It is usual of him to accompany such an idea with a barrage of teasing." Martin waved a hand. "Yet I can't help but to wonder what made him think of that. Does he truly think that marrying the Countess of Bruma would solidify Skyrim's loyalty to the empire? To make sure that they won't rebel against us?"

"The Countess is merely a ruler of a city, and in Bruma. We're still far from the border between Skyrim and Cyrodiil. If you truly want to solidify Skyrim's alliance, it would be by marrying a Jarl from the Nordic province." Jauffre shrugged. "I don't suppose that we could send a messenger to one of their holds, to see if they have anyone you could wed."

As he said these words though, Martin thought it was even more impossible. Who would possibly want to marry the bastard emperor? And the Nords of Skyrim were quite known to keep their dignity. Or honour. Or whichever trait they will voice to keep from marrying a bastard.

Then, he quite wondered if the Countess would be the slightest bit offended if he were to propose a marriage with her. Surely she would be shocked that she would and could never answer. "I will consider this... when we get to the capital. Right now, however, I must take my leave. The Countess is no doubt waiting."

"Then with your dismissal, Sire," Jauffre said as a farewell. He went outside the room first, for the Nine Divines knew that Martin could never bring the courage to see the Countess now, of all times.

Yet he must. It was his duty, and it was a privilege given by the Countess herself. He massaged his temple and decided that enough was enough. He opened the door and went through the corridors of the barracks, and up to the Great Hall. A few guards nodded at him, and he asked one of them where the dining hall was. "Just beside the throne room, Sire, through that doorway."

Indeed, it was just where the guard had directed him to. Though Martin would welcome some sort of delay for this lunch, some part of him wished nothing but to be through with this ordeal. This would be the perfect time for a jape from the Nine Divines, he thought darkly. They'll add something to this meeting that would only prolong it.

"Sire, you have finally arrived!" greeted the Countess. She was, of course, sitting on the grandest seat and looked down at the other chairs. Only Tolgan stood by his lady, and that was quite a distance away from the table. "You will forgive me if I do not rise—this chair is a heavy thing to move, even if for a small space."

"Then please remain seated, my lady," he said. The Countess smiled at him sweetly, though deep down he knew what she thought. She wants to talk to me no more than I her. He chose a seat that will be a comfortable distance from her, and looked upon the table. It is a simple meal; there was mutton with a delicious dressing, bread stuffed with cheese, a steaming bowl of soup, fruits that had a layer of frost on their skin, and a plate of smoked salmon.

They filled their plates lightly at first. The Countess did her best to avoid any contact with Martin, and occupied herself with choosing the perfect amount of meat and greens. When finally they had settled for the amount of food on their plates, Martin looked at her. She, predictably, was not gazing back at him.

He tried his best to ignore the awkward silence he'd plunged themselves in, but it was a struggle to do that and not look self-conscious. When half of his food was gone, he poured himself a cup of wine. "The food is great," he said conversationally. To keep himself from speaking anymore, he took a deep swallow of the fine red drink. It's been too long, he thought, too long since I've been in the company with the likes of her.

"I do agree, Sire. I make sure my cook is properly waged, because there is no other way I could appreciate his services." She wiped her mouth with a white napkin and set it down, choosing to take a frozen grape. "Though I sometimes miss the cuisine from the south." She shrugged and inserted the fruit into her mouth, looking down at her hands.

"I sometimes wonder how a woman like yourself could survive in the north, my lady. With all due respect," he added quickly, watching her snap her eyes to him. "Perhaps it is because you are not like other women?"

"I pride myself in that, for there is little to be proud of in the north." She sighed and took a sip of wine. "You look past the sun's golden hue on the snow and its rare warmth in the cool air, the ice that reflects you as you walk by it, the layer of snow on the rooftops, so it's just the bleak grey land that I rule for... how many years, now? Thirteen? I've certainly lost count."

"You have done an able job of keeping the Nords in order, my lady," he complimented. The Countess snorted in an unladylike manner and took another sip of wine, this time more than what was necessary.

"Don't you dare think for a second, Martin Septim, that I rule with my own bare hands. I've been keeping this country—oh, what country?—in order only because of their respect to my House and the fact that I even stay here. That respect that is dwindling every second of the day." She took the final swallow of wine and set her goblet down. "Don't you dare think for a second that I rule this country with... what do you call it, these days? Love over the people? Hell, the people are thieves, drunkards and both." She looked down at her hands once more. "The Nine knows why I still put up with this."

"Do you miss southern Cyrodiil so much?" Martin asked further. He wasn't truly feeling that broaching the topic was the wisest decision to take, but the Countess had already downed a goblet of wine in under a minute. Surely wisdom was long ago abandoned.

The Countess for a moment put down her wine. "Should I be honest, Sire? I suppose honesty is needed most in a lady of power such as myself. Very well." She sighed, her shoulders slumped so she looked less like a lady and more like a woman with many burdens. Doesn't that feel oddly familiar? Martin thought. "I don't even remember the feel of warm air, or the green grass, or the fantastic vibrant colours of the flowers in the endless stretch of fields. I miss my true home, the Heartlands, but I cannot even remember them all."

"Couldn't you visit the Heartlands?" He shrugged indifferently when she shot him a look. "I am merely suggesting, my lady."

Her jaw clenched, that much was obvious enough. "Do not think for a moment that I'm stupid, Martin Septim. What you are suggesting—me abandoning Bruma to leave for the south—is merely to plant a replacement for this county's leader while I'm gone. As if I would relent."

"You misjudge my innocent chirp," Martin denied, taking a healthy sip of wine, "as I only suggested you to rule as Empress by my side."

Immediately after he blurted that out, silence fell upon them, and the only sound that broke the atmosphere was the clank as the lady's goblet landed on the table. It was a good thing that the wine did not spill on the clean, white table cloth. He considered the fact that the Countess was flabbergasted of his offer as a victory on his side. She did not seem to think this through, if she did at all.

The Countess' dark brown eyes watered a bit, but she blinked the almost nonexistent tears away. "I hope you can forgive me for begging you to repeat your words... sire?"

Once again, Martin shrugged nonchalantly, ignoring the significance of his words. "I am offering a betrothal. A passing thought; feel free to disregard it."

The Countess made a move to answer, but thought better of it and immediately closed her mouth. She stared down at her plate, and scowled. "Tolgan, please clear the meal away. I believe this lunch is done."

When she stood up, Martin was quicker and was already striding to stand beside her her. "My lady, if you could, I would like you to consider my offer and contemplate the many advantages of being Empress. Don't you have any cousins or brothers to rule Bruma in your stead while you join me in the Imperial City?"

"This discussion is long since finished, Sire. I will not leave for the South, not until—"

"Not until you are assured that Bruma is safe," Martin said for her. The Countess' look at him was almost terrifying, the way her eyes glared at him, her face red with anger and possible embarrassment, her thin, scowling lip... but Martin stood his ground. "If you would do me the kindness of accepting my offer, and to lend out only three of your soldiers, I will ensure that when I claim my throne I will pay back my past debts with gold, men and repairs for Bruma. This I swear to you."

For a moment, the Countess seemed to truly consider his words. And then she sighed. "You are not one to surrender easily, are you, my Emperor?"

Martin managed a smile, which felt liberating. "I believe our Hero influenced me on that, my lady." He bowed. "With your dismissal, I will head to my chambers."

The Countess nodded to him, waving a hand impatiently. "And with yours, I have pressing matters to attend to. This country won't rule itself."

Martin bowed once more and left the room, closing the door behind him. He rested his back on the wooden surface, fully realizing just what he had sentenced himself into. Gods damn it, someday I'll strangle Josephus.

She did not think to arrive early, but since she had no sense of time Linne thought it was best to linger around the training room, in case Vicente would show up early. Antoinetta was lacerating a wooden dummy mercilessly, a Khajiit was casting spells at another target, and Ocheeva was watching all of this beside Linne, sitting on a chair. "I remember when I just hatched many years ago. As a Shadowscale, especially. It was truly an honour."

So she had said many times before as Linne waited for the vampire to arrive. Linne fidgeted endlessly with her loose gauntlet, and kept tightening the leather strap binding her hair together. The Argonian's voice was almost like an ambient noise, along with the clang clonk shlunk of Antoinetta's blade, the swoosh of Mraaj-Dar's magic, and the silence that never left the Sanctuary. It was truly an honour, to me and my brother. We wouldn't stop training for years, and when the time arrived yadda yadda yadda...

A noise joined the rest of the ambience, that of a creaking door and its closure. Linne looked up to see in strange disappointment that it was only Gogron. The orc seated himself far from the others, a mug in his giant hand. He sighed heavily. "There's nothing like being in the training room."

"Especially for a new member's training," Ocheeva added, much to Linne's dismay. Why couldn't you just continue on with your story? Not that there's anything left to be said about it. "I cannot help but feel intrigued for our little Linne's specialty here."

"Trust me, you will be massively let down," Linne said, speaking for the first time since hours, "because my skills are that of an infant guar."

Ocheeva chuckled. "There is no need to feel so humble, dear Linne. My, I believe you're such a fresh change from Antoinetta's constant bragging."

"I don't brag," Antoinetta said, annoyed. "I tell facts about myself." She sheathed back her daggers, the blades flashing because of the speed, so quick that Linne was envious. "And who knows? Maybe when word spreads of my skillfulness I'll be chosen as Lucien Lachance's Silencer. You know that he hasn't had a Silencer for over a decade, don't you?"

"You weren't even here yet when that happened. A lot of things change within the decade, Antoinetta," argued Ocheeva. "And who knows? Maybe he already has a Silencer that he keeps from us."

"Nonsense," she said, shaking her head. "There are no secrets between us and him. Absolutely not. "

Ocheeva opened her mouth, but refrained from saying what she wanted to say for a moment. "Your admiration of him is too..." She looked at Linne as if the word the Argonian was looking for rested in the girl. "What is it called?"

Linne looked back at the Argonian. "Fanciful? Reaching for the impossible? Silly?" she tried, but Ocheeva shook her head at all her suggestions, and Antoinetta's scowl became even more evident.

"Call it whatever you want, but he saved my life. He brought me from my horrible past and gave me a present and future. I wish nothing but to repay my debt for him." The Breton crossed her arms, oblivious to the Argonian's rolling eyes. She wondered aloud, "I wonder if he will be coming to the welcoming feast, however..."

"Wasn't he busy with the Listener in some sort of meeting?" Gogron asked. "Meaning, won't he be away for a few days?"

"The meeting took place four days ago. And Niera was summoned by Lucien just two nights ago. He has returned from the meeting." Antoinetta paced restlessly, her words doing nothing to reassure herself. Linne watched her and noticed a small similarity between Antoinetta and Linne's own sister, but it showed for only a moment—too brief for Linne to put her finger on it—and was interrupted by another sound of the door opening.

This time it was Vicente. The vampire moved with an inexpressible grace that Linne thought it was impossible for a living corpse to walk so. He looked around the room first, and when he spotted Linne she stood up. Ocheeva, she noticed, also rose from her seat. "Vicente. A pleasure to see you out of your chamber."

Vicente did not take it as an offense, if it ever was. "A pleasure I return, sister." He turned to Linne. "Are you ready, Linne?"

"I... guess I am." Her eyes took another look around the training room, to the Khajiit now reading a tome of some sort, Antoinetta with her arms folded looking back at her, and Gogron, who was watching the whole ordeal with a drink in hand. Too many eyes that can see my failure. "I don't suppose I can have a drink first."

"Go ahead. Take your time—but not too long, I hope."

Linne dragged herself to a table sitting against a wall that supported three pewter cups and a bottle of ale. Though she would probably regret drinking it, she would rather feel adrenaline pumping in her veins and suffer through the pounding in her head afterwards. She poured slowly at first, but then felt time ticking away, and so settled with half of the small cup. Bottoms up, I guess. With a huge swallow, she downed the ale and set it down rather harshly back on the table. She took deep breaths before turning around.

Everybody's eyes were on her, and she felt as if ten cups of ale was not enough, but she had already turned around—it would only look silly if she decided now to drink some more. "I'm ready."

"Then let us begin," the vampire replied calmly, producing from behind his back two wooden shortswords. "Lightly first, and moving forward to moderately basic attacks. We have plenty of time to waste."

"I don't want to consider my training to be a waste of time," Linne retorted, feeling her mind getting duller and tongue getting sharper by the second. Gods, it was only half a cup. You've drank more and worse. At least stay sober for this!

Vicente smiled. "Excellent choice of words," he said, and handed over a sword when she walked over to him. The room felt smaller. Too small. Linne wondered if there would be enough space for her to make it out of this training unscathed. Probably not. "Are you familiar with a sword?"

"No," she said, shaking her head, "I'm always informed that assassins use daggers and don't bother with swords anyways. They need to be quick."

"But in order to properly use a dagger, or any weapon," Vicente raised his sword, its blade below Linne's own, bringing it up with his, "is to build your muscles firstly."

Linne's breath quickened when Vicente swung at her. In reflex she only backed away, avoiding the attack but crashing against a column. Her training sword fell out from her hands, its wooden clang echoing in the room. "What in Oblivion was that supposed to be?"

"That was your first lesson," Vicente answered calmly, as if he did not just try to hit Linne's head. "Be quick and wary. There is no use in knowing how to use a dagger yet getting tangled up in a mess before you can even unsheathe your blade." He swung his sword by his side, and then brought it forward. "A dagger is lighter than a wooden sword, yes. But since you have not been in many fights yet, you have not built your strength."

"Assassinating is all about sneaking up on your target and then you stab them until they bleed out and die." Linne went to retrieve her sword anyway, trying with all her might not to look upon her fellow assassins, no doubt enjoying the spectacle. "Why should I learn how to wield a heavy sword when I could use a shorter, lighter blade instead?"

"Indeed, why?" Vicente asked as a retort. "Why must you learn how to defend yourself should things go awry or the circumstance did not allow you to wield a dagger?"

Night Mother's breasts, Linne shook her head as she held her sword in front of her, fixed her stance, and now prepared for a hit from the vampire, if it ever came, this is infuriating.

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The next chapter will probably arrive in three weeks, maximum. At least I hope so, because school's back. Hrmph.

Hope: Thank you! You're the first review in quite a while. I'm also happy to know that I'm not the only shipper—I thought I was nuts. Anyways, thank you again for the review!