Well, this wasn't the sort of situation Reman had ever wished to find himself in, no honest man could truly exist in the contrary. Though Glade had reverted to her pony form, the Imperial was waiting in his current state, taking the time to allow the blood covering his body to dry before exposing himself to the elements. At least the mare was going to hold off until her forebear was in a position to speak, which the young Tullius thought was a kind gesture. As soon as the crimson liquid ceased its dripping, the lycan allowed himself to become human once more. Skin lightened, fur receded, hair browned, the standard sequence of transformation played in reverse as the Imperial weakened.

“How is any of this even possible?” Despite Reman's knowledge and learning, he didn't have much of an answer for Glade's question. Perhaps whatever determined what made a person a physical individual, the mystery of heredity, whatever it was must have been different, it must have changed.

“I wish I knew.” Reman plopped down on the hay and sticks that covered the cold ground, sitting with his legs crossed, and keeping enough distance between him and the possibly homicidal mare. Of course, he was also making sure to block the only exit, it would be too dangerous to let Glade get away now. “I never thought I'd ever be in this predicament, at least not out of wedlock.”

“You think you're the one who's in trouble here?” Glade sounded more than offended, her voice carried a few hints of pissed and run, Reman, run. The pegasus stomped a hoof on the semi-frozen earth, puffing her chest, she made her mind known. “This isn't something I can walk away from, but nobles sire bastards all the time.” She pointed an accusing hoof at her forebear, completely aware of his status as a nobleman. “How do I know you won't turn and run at the first sign of trouble?”

“Family means more to me than anything.” The mare had never heard the man sound so certain, and the Imperial seemed a bit offended at Glade's insinuations. “You've met Renoir, I know that for certain, but have you wondered why I allowed a dangerous vampire within a hundred yards of you when I thought you were pregnant?”

“You must trust him quite a bit.” The mare was still angry that she had been the last to know about her unborn foal, but she would let that slide for the next few minutes. “I trust this has something to do with your point?”

“He's one of my best friends, if not the best.” Reman's eyes took on a hard quality, the resolute look of a seasoned adventurer. There was more than trust between the two men, bonds forged in the fires of battle and academic pursuit were far stronger than flimsy trust could ever hope to be. “He also knows that I would return to Cyrodiil without a second thought if it meant being with my family again.”

“What would keep you from doing that now?” Glade was a forgiving pony, but certain things are inexcusable, and it would take a long time for her to trust the Imperial again. She understood his devotion to family, but that sort of bond no longer existed between the two lycans, they were little more than pack-mates that shared a single night of passion. “If you're willing to turn your back on friends for your family, you might do the same to us.”

“Because, like it or not, the two of us have been forced into parental roles, you and the baby are as much my family as those waiting for me back in Kvatch.” Reman didn't have a problem with being a father, well, no more than one would expect, even if the child was technically illegitimate. Actually, he'd see about fixing that as soon as they returned to Equestria. “Saying that reminds me that I have quite a bit to explain to them, even more than before all of this.”

“How is this a time for jokes?” Glade didn't know that he was being completely serious, she actually believed that the Imperial was trying to defuse the situation with humor. This was hardly the time for that, the equine lycan silently added this bit to the man's long list of inappropriate attempts at comedy.

“I wasn't making a joke, I'm going to have a very difficult discussion with my parents and siblings in the future.” Reman knew that Uriel was likely to be in Skyrim, and his father was most certainly involved in the civil war, as soon as the werewolf could get his three closest relatives in the same room, he'd let them in on everything. Better for them to hear it before his mother was involved, as much as Reman loved her, the woman could be a complete shrew at times. The two of them sat in silence for the better part of a half hour, neither really knew what to say. Glade broke the pregnant pause with a simple question, but it started an avalanche of questions are worry between the two lycans.

“What in Equestria are we gonna do?”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Renoir had been a vampire for over seventy years, and he had long ago grown accustomed to his body's odd requirements. Despite what some believed, drinking blood wasn't the strangest aspect of the affliction, and only certain strains experienced the infamous nightmares. Really, the toughest part of being a vampire of the Volkihar variety was the insomnia. The Breton rested on his back, the wizard's crimson eyes stared unblinkingly at the room's stone ceiling, wishing with ever fiber of his being that he could get some sleep. He could, on occasion, catch forty winks, he'd even wake feeling better than his lycan friend, despite Reman having slept three times as long as him. But, the vast majority of the time, Renoir was stuck like this, hoping and wishing for something that wasn't coming.

It was times like this that allowed the Breton the time to think about his life, despite his immense desire to forget his formative years in Daggerfall. The Belmonts were a clan notorious for their open hatred for necromancers and all forms of Daedric worship, and they more than specialized in exterminating lairs of the villainous. The family had only come to light after what Imperials called the Warp in the West, known simply as the Daggerfall Incident to Bretons. The mage had only been halfway through his second decade before everything changed for his family, and he became the last of a dead bloodline.

Family Belmont had known about the increased vampire activity in High Rock, similar to the infestation Skyrim was currently experiencing. They'd dispatched the very best to patrol the border for any undead menace that tried to make its nest in the land of the Manmeri, the twelve hunters had found a lair containing four vampires from the infamous Clan Volkihar. There had only been one survivor, who had done his very best to flee back to Daggerfall. Eleven lives lost to claim a single bloodsucker, a shameful record of service for the Belmonts' collective record, but at least one had made it to the safety of home. The scout that made it back had been chased, even if he hadn't known it, and given the Volkihar vampires ample chance to return with greater numbers. Francois Belmont had doomed the entire family when he fled instead of dieing in honorable battle.

Renoir had been in the library when it happened, an incident that would be burned into his mind and the memory of Daggerfall for an eternity. Thirty vampires against around two hundred slayers, with the odds squarely in the favor of the neck-biters. Screams were the first sign of danger as the forward sentries were slaughtered, and sounded for a mere moment before they were permanently silenced. Flaming arrows rained from the sky, torching the stables and servant quarters before any retaliation could be taken, and the swift vampires made short work of the defending humans. The supernatural strength of the undead allowed them to cleave through any slayer that stood in their way, and once the compound's outermost buildings were ablaze and the guards lay dead, only then did the Volkihar cretins make their intentions known.

They called for the blood of every Belmont, and would only ask once before storming the massive mansion. When no answer came from within, one of the bloodsuckers decided to open the door with his foot, and was pierced by several silver swords as punishment. In a mad rush, the vampire slayers attacked the outnumbered neck-biters, and every single one of them that came with melee range was near-instantly cut down. The undead monsters only lost three more in the chaos, and a quarter of the Belmonts were staining the ground with their lifeblood, a feast that they were sore to leave behind on the march to domination. Once inside the mansion, the true slaughter began. Servants, nobles, men, women, children, it didn't matter to them, the vampire cuts them down where they stood.

Then the fire started, Renoir never figured out where it originated from, but it quickly engulfed half of the massive house, and rapidly began to spread. Some of the vampires were killed by burning timbers as they fell, but the vile creatures were hardly stopped by the obstacles, using the added chaos as fuel for the night's madness. Horrific disregard for life, malicious intent rivaling only Molag Bal in its purity, they carried out the last portion of their evil mission with startling efficiency. By midnight, only a few Belmonts remained, barricaded in the library, a stone tower that had stood in place for over six centuries. The heavy, iron door was dented by the force of vampiric assault, until its hinges finally gave, and the entrance crushed one of the last slayers.

By that time, Renoir had prepared himself, he knew that a certain sacrifice would have to be made. The wizard was well aware the he was on the top floor, and that the vampire would clear the other rooms before making it to his. He also knew that a certain crack in the wall opened up to the layer between the stones, given wonderful access to the structures supports. Twelve lamps of oil, plus the two replacement barrels, and the wooden beams were soaked enough catch fire from a single spark. As soon as the door's latch was broken, the Breton sent a gout of flame down the crack, and prepared himself for his last fight.

A lot of good that did him, the bloodsuckers ran out when they smelled the trap, but not before they threw the wizard from a balcony. A pile of hay had been his only saving grace, a stupid twist of luck that bought him the sick fancy of one of the vampires. She had called it a reward for being so entertaining, and three days later, he found himself thirsty and overly sensitive to sunlight. The Breton snorted in disgust at his own kind, the supposedly extinct clan that terrified Skyrim for an unknown number of millenia. Here he was, nearly a century old and disillusioned with the world, living with a werewolf and currently watching over a small herd of colorful ponies.

“At least it inspired me to become a pyromancer.” Renoir spoke only to himself, paying no attention to anything, but watched as flames danced around his hand, so odd that his weakness to fire didn't affect his magic in the slightest. The old pyromaniac laughed for a few moments, thinking of the flames that had burned his ancestral home to the ground, and gave him a new purpose in life. Volkihar vampires were still around, and spread across Tamriel, as though they were looking for something important. The Dawnguard was formed again, giving Skyrim a small amount of protection, but drew the Breton back to the frozen country. Whoever the brood master was, he or she had taken everything from Renoir, the pyromancer barely had anything he considered truly his. He'd find the lord over the ancient clan and end the madness that had carried on for far too long, even if the fight would him his life.

After all, even a man who has nothing can still give his life.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

“You won't be going in this alone, I'm more than willing to help raise the child, I'm equally responsible for it.” Actually, the only way Reman wasn't going to help the future mother was if she ordered him not to. Even then, he would do his very best.

“You're damn right you're not backing out of this.” Glade still had some small hope of rejoining the guard when she returned to Equestria. As difficult as being a single mother would be, a military carreer would be almost impossible without the help of family, and considering the foal's heritage, the lycan mare's parents might not be too thrilled about their grandchild. “Somepony's going to help me raise her.”

“It's a girl?” A small part of the Imperial was hoping for a son, someone to whom he could teach the fine art of skirt chasing. Actually, just siring an heir would be enough for him, but having a daughter as one's firstborn was a bit of difficulty, Cyrodiil's inheritance laws were strange when it came to heiresses.

“I just think it will be, I'm guessing you think it's a colt?” Glade didn't really have any idea about gender, but ponies used female terms for somepony whose sex is in question. The pregnant lycan was still angry with her forebear, but she wasn't letting it get in the way of clearing the future. There weren't that many options open, so she was taking every bit of help she could get. “I hope you don't mind living in Equestria.”

“I was hoping we would raise it on Nirn, where it won't be shunned for its abilities.” The Imperial knew that the baby would be a lycan, and Tamriel was where it belonged, amongst its own kind. The more experienced werewolf huffed in annoyance at his pack-mate's stubbornness, shaking his head at her as he spoke. “We're just going to have to agree to disagree for now.”

“I'm fine with that.” The pregnant pony was satisfied with how things turned out, but she was still hungry from earlier, that stupid bear had cut her meal short. Her stomach growled, finally voicing its displeasure at the lack of food. Glade looked at Reman, the man seemed to be meditating, using magicka as a crude means to warm himself, lacking the fur to trap heat. The pegasus had a sinister idea forming in her head, something that would leave the Imperial wondering, and would help sate the gnawing hunger in her gut. With a grin, she stalked over the short distance separating the two, keeping low and making as little noise as possible. The more experienced lycan barely had time to open his eyes before the mare dragged her tongue from from Reman's abdomen to the top of his neck, taking the dried blood as she went. “Let's get back to the others.”

Just as Summer Glade expected, the man was too confused to do anything for a few moments.