Never before had Princess Luna felt such unease while eating. Breakfast with Imperial nobility could be very pleasant, even worth repeating. The atmosphere changed sharply when the Emperor was present. While Titus Mede tried to keep a sense of familiarity, the traditions of Cyrodiil's clans kept the other men tense. Reman and Uriel refused to even acknowledge one another, much to the anger of their elders. The twins even seemed to be doing their absolute best to act as polar opposites while remaining firmly within the constrains of proper etiquette. Meals with Equestrian royalty were meant for discussion, especially breakfast, being one of the only times both princesses were awake.

“Uriel, I must ask, how are things in Whiterun?” Titus only bothered speaking to break the ice, understanding that cohesion was needed to win wars. The Tullius line was one of a handful of Imperial clans that consistently produced fine warriors and leaders; ensuring that the current generation could cooperate was crucial, especially if the rumors surround Reman were even half true. The young man wouldn't rout an army, but it was very likely he could handle a few rebels without assistance. The Emperor would very much enjoy having such a dog to loose upon the Empire's enemies, from within or without.

“Perfectly well, Sire; we've had no further occurrences since the Stormcloak attack some weeks ago.” The culture captain was the very pinnacle of respect as he spoke. While his grandfather was the general overseeing the war against the rebellion, Uriel would be over a barrel if the Emperor wished him dismissed. To his credit, the negotiator responded with all the poise expected of his position. “Trading caravans have been reporting no incidents in the past month, and local giants have avoiding the roads as much as possible.”

“Not quite, my comrades had to clear no less than four bandit dens last month.” Reman was smart enough not to mention exactly who he meant, knowing the repercussions his kin may face under Imperial inquisition. The lycan shared a glance with his pack-mate, then gazed at his father. Neither of the two looked particularly happy about his corrections. However, the man made no attempt to even look at his twin. “There are at least eight slain merchants that aren't on the official reports.”

Uriel grit his teeth and did his best to hold his tongue.

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

Renoir Belmont was going to kill Sybille. While the healer knew his younger lover was still considered a child by most of their kind, no excuses existed for such treachery. The Breton may well have been overreacting, but the bedroom had an implied level of trust, and the court wizard had broken it thoroughly. It was possibly that the pyromancer would look at this moment and laugh, but that would be in the future. He was far too concerned with his now missing clothing to bother thinking ahead. The century-old vampire was left in quite the predicament, given the arrangements of his most recent coupling.

The Blue Palace was well-guarded, doubled patrols and around-the-clock sentries in every hall. This would make sneaking back to Castle Dour rather difficult. Illusion magic would only get him so far, with invisibility out of his skill range, leaving the Breton with few options and slim odds. Wrapped in little more than a sheet, the vampire began his escape. Muffled feet struck cold stone as Renoir used his supernatural nature to his advantage. He could have used a spell to detect the living around him, but that would give off far too much light, nevermind the noises involved.

The vampire hugged a wall, easing around a corner as carefree as an assassin. His unearthly sight allowed him an unparalleled view of his surroundings, ensuring he wold see any torch bearing guards before they could glimpse at him. The agile wizard was more than gaunt when compared to the Nords of Skyrim, so much so that he easily fit beneath a nearby table covering. While his ears could not hear the footsteps, the vibrating stones echoed enough for Renoir to guess where patrols may be. As if on cue, the armored feet of trained warriors were made evident.

Five guardsmen loyal to Solitude and Jarl Elisif marched through the corridor in single-file, a testament to their disciplined nature. While a skilled combatant, there was no way Renoir could take all five of them without killing one or two in the process, and a murder charge was the very last thing he needed. Instead of a direct approach, the Breton opted for very basic distraction. With an imperceptible bump, a silver candle holder fell to the floor just after the last soldier marched past.

“Dammit, Fraki, be sure you catch up; you know the captain has been riding everyone lately,” One of the guard very calmly chided his compatriot, but the chain of bodies kept moving. The warrior now known as Fraki cursed under his breath as he bent to pick up the fallen item. In a blur faster than most untrained eyes could perceive, a pale hand slammed the man's face into the stone floor. Before the man could cry out for help, a swift punch to the side of the head rendered him blissfully unconscious.

Though the armor was not fitted for him, Renoir Belmont had seen Khajiit pass for city guards without detection, so he fancied his odds.

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

“Could you please remind me why this is necessary?” Princes Luna was not amused. Reman and Uriel continued to act like children, though the sniping stopped rather quickly. Eventually, the breakfast conversation had become a mechanical exchange of information whenever one of the twins was asked something. Even Glade had experienced trouble in getting her pack-mate to speak openly.

“Because these two have decided to act like unsavory youths, they shall settle their differences as such.” Titus Mede was old, and his advanced age bestowed no small amount of intimidation. His hawk-like eyes observed the two young men as they readied themselves. This was the most ancient way for Imperials to decide who was correct in an argument, dating to the days of Saint Alessia and her grand war against the Ayleids. “Toe the line, boys!”

The twins moved towards a crude line in the training yard dirt, their fists raised to block any surprise blows. Pugilism would be fairly easy to watch, especially when compared to the duel the two would be forced to partake in if either refused to settle this with their fists. The rules were simple: no kicking, biting, groin hits, or eye gouging. Neither man wore armor, though Uriel settled on a modest pair of pants. Reman, true to his feral nature, was bedecked in little more than underclothes; dressed in a crude mockery of a Legionnaire's kilt.

“Check out Uriel.” Rainbow Dash was actually awed by the captain musculature, in an odd way. Reman, for the most part, was lithe and agile, not too different from the wolves his beast form resembled. His younger twin, however, looked like he was more ox than man; one of his arms was only slightly thinner than the lycan's thigh. It didn't help that the little brother had a chest that would have given Iron Will a run for his money. “He looks like he tosses boulders for fun.”

“Yes, Uriel was quite taken with the arduous life after we thought Reman had died.” Antonius was forthcoming with the information, not seeing anything really private. Most of the men serving under the negotiator knew about his slight obsession with surpassing his two older brothers. The fact that he had mined for a year before the incident certainly helped, but Reman and Julius had helped just as much. “I heard he killed a man with a single punch once.”

“Yes, I'm sure the Empire is quite proud of him.” Glade's response was unfocused as she gazed intently at the quarreling twins.

“I assure you, Ms. Glade, Antonius is exaggerating.” Marcus Tullius was not one to apologize, but he knew how loyal wolves were to one another. If the pack mentality transferred to werewolves, then it would do the aging general well to keep on the pony's good side.

“Are you sure this is safe?” Twilight was concerned for the two Imperials, if only for their capability to damage one another with ease. If Uriel landed a blow, it might break bones or damage internal organs. Reman probably wasn't as strong, but he most likely had the advantage of speed, possibly stamina, meaning that his hits would be fast and targeted, though relatively weak.

“Twilight, Trust me when I say nothing can go wrong.” Titus Mede gestured to a couple of mages dressed in white robes that stood to the side. It took the Element of Magic only a moment to realize they were healers. Needless to say, the purple mare was hardly impressed by the Emperor's confidence in his kinsmen. But, the thought struck that the medics were most likely there because of the monarch's faith.

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

“You actually learn how to fight while I was gone?” Reman smirked at his mirror image, finding it so odd to see a tamed and civilized form of himself. The lycan was actually very impressed with how his slightly-younger brother had turn out, given his rather prestigious position. Uriel's dueling scar on his left cheek certainly helped sway the man, but that was the elder's little secret. The werewolf confidently moved his toe to the dirt line, signaling his readiness for battle.

“More than you can imagine.” The negotiator looked his older sibling up and down, sizing him for the fight. Compact, dense muscle over a likely strong skeleton meant the Legionnaire would have to aim for his twin's kidneys and ribs before attacking the face. This was, of course, assuming an opening would be easy to spot; Reman had no doubt learned quite a bit during his travels. The modestly-dressed man placed his shoeless foot near the thin line in the dirt. In that same moment, a strong fist collided with the bridge of Uriel Tullius's nose.

The elder twin ducked down and jabbed twice at his brother's exposed stomach, taking advantage of the younger man's shock. The werewolf took a single step forward, uppercutting the negotiator hard enough to make the man stumble. Just as Reman dropped his hand to move away, Uriel's own fists shot out with surprising speed. The deceptively quick Legionnaire's aim was true, impacting with enough force to make his opponent's ribs rattle. Preparation or no, the double-punched lycan clutched at his abdomen; all the regeneration in the world wouldn't stop Reman from urinating blood later.

“Feel that, fleabag?” the scarred warrior taunted, taking a bit of pride in his brother's pain. No sooner had he spoken the words did his feral sibling roll to the side. Uriel, feeling luck was on his side, attempted his own attack. A quick punch grazed the lycan's cheek as the negotiator only slightly missed, though it had the wonderful effect of planting a smile on the werewolf's face. A strong hand wrapped around the Legionnaire's wrist, locking the arm in place for a split-second. The time was all Reman needed to deck his little brother in the mouth, though he almost immediately regretted his decision.

Having both arms occupied was a death sentence for warriors, a fact exemplified by Uriel's ease of attack. The negotiator reared a fist back, bringing it forward like a soaring comet. Wetness spread from the point of impact, a small river of blood was already flowing the next moment. Feeling one good hit deserved another, the captain kept on his assault, raining as many blows upon his stunned brother as he could. Like a hammer, each powerful punch knocked the older Imperial's head around, until Reman finally stumbled back.

“Divines, I'm glad my teeth grow back,” the lycan said as he tried to find his balance. His little brother hit like a horse's kick, and had twice the aggression. The werewolf's tongue flicked around the exploded bit of meat he once called a mouth, knowing it would take days before it'd be back to normal. The scent of blood was fresh in his nose, meaning he had somehow injured Uriel in a visible way. In the brief combat hiatus, Reman's eyes darted to his brother's hands. There, imbedded in a knuckle, was a large portion of one of the spellsword's incisors.

As quickly as the rest began, it was ended by the mercenary's quick attack. Caring little for his own well-being and only for the fun of fighting his twin, the lycan knocked a massive arm from his path to slam a meteoric fist against the Legionnaire's nose. In a graceful pirouette, the master conjurer wormed pasted the retaliatory swing, planting an elbow at the bottom of his brother's ribs. With Uriel's back open, the predator wasted no time in assaulting the exposed vitals, eager to get even for the kidney shots taken mere moments ago. Organ strikes would simply not suffice, so the cunning hunter aimed for much more promising target.

A blow to the back of the head seemed like a solid idea at the time, but Reman realized such an onrush only worked if properly placed. Just as the werewolf's fist glanced off his brother's skull, he felt something akin to a boulder hitting him in the temple. Ears ringing, head swimming, the lycan stumbled for a moment. Another crack of thunder sounded as half his field of vision darkened. The image of a closed fist was the last thing to grace the man's eyes as the training yard was replaced with a sea of stars.

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

Summer Glade's jaw could not have opened farther, and she was far from the only one surprised by the fight's outcome. Everypony had been rooting for Reman, given their experience with the spellsword's ability. To see his limp body hit the ground sent a cold chill through the lycan mare, a thing that made this mock arena battle all too real. The medics were on the field in a flash, tending to both Imperials, and paying no mind to their status. Uriel tried to turn them down, but he quickly accepted when one of the cloaked humans pointed out the bit of tooth lodged in his hand.

“That was probably the first time Uriel has ever beat Reman in anything,” Marcus Tullius mused aloud, feeling mixed about the entire battle. While it was wonderful that things were settled, and cultural law now required Reman to accept his younger brother's opinion, it seemed a bit odd for things to play out so cleanly. Uriel was no pushover, but a werewolf should have been able to avoid most of the Legionnaire's relatively clumsy attacks. “Terrible shame Julius couldn't be here to see it.”

“Aye, that it is.” Antonius's eyes were locked on his sons, slightly worried about the injuries the twins suffered. Reman was roused quickly, albeit groggily, shaking himself awake. One of the healers helped the lycan to his feet while keeping the golden aura of Restoration magic firmly active.

“Maybe we should speed things along, if only to avoid more violence.” Princess Luna was finally seeing the wisdom in quick negotiations, though only when said exchanges were to set up future meetings. The alicorn understood this was probably a unique happening, but also that there was still a chance for tensions to rise quickly once more. Imperials had conquered the continent with their brutal military might and discipline, but they were equally as skilled in the lingual arts. If one of them was as direct as Titus Mede had been the previous night, it was very likely any given advice should be taken with the utmost attention to detail.

“I'm fairly certain this is the end of their little conflict, for now.” The Emperor was a particularly smart man, having somehow held the nation together while so many of his subject blamed him for surrendering to the Altmer at White Gold Tower, he had the utmost certainty that the men and women of the Empire were more than capable of coming together from bloody hatred. In truth, disagreements within noble households were not under the jurisdiction of the throne, and forcing the Tullius twins to settle their differences in the arena had not been for the benefit of either man.

Titus Mede II was putting on a show for the Stormcloak spies seeded within the Legion's ranks.

Author's Notes:

Whelp, that took an inordinate amount of time to crank out.
To be honest, that should be the longest silence until this is completed.
In other news, my Xbox copy of Skyrim glitched shortly after I acquired Hearthfire.
I have stopped playing until I can get Dragonborn.