“Why is this an open carriage?” Reman asked the driver, more angry than confused. Skyrim, as a whole, was not ready to meet the ponies, and riding in a wagon would really draw attention. The people of Solitude were one thing; the men and women of every settlement between there and Falkreath were completely different.

“Well, sir, the Emperor ordered me to do so.” The driver was unwavering, though still a bit shaken at the Imperial's attitude. The Nord huffed at the young man, his own anger rising. Still seated, the wagoner crossed his arms. “If you have some problem, I'm sure you can take it up with him.”

“I don't care if the ghost of Martin Septim visited you in the night. Why, I have half a mind to-” Reman was cut off by a switch jerk over the rail. Renoir, in his knowledge, had pulled the werewolf into the open carriage before he had a chance to make a fool of himself. As the spellsword dealt with the vertigo of sudden change in position, the vampire pressed a leather-bound tome against his chest. The Tullius stared into the Belmont's masked eyes, and understood the silent message.

“My colleague apologizes; you know how testy scholars can be,” The Breton said, adding a mock laugh to test the waters. The blonde Nord only shook his head and started the horses at a calm pace. Renoir turned to his friend, hissing under his breath, “Do you have any idea what you could have done?”

“Really, Reman, there was no need to be so confrontational.” Rarity bounced her curly mane with a hoof as she spoke, silently wondering what had possessed the lycan since the prank that morning. The seamstress was relieved, on some small level, that none of the humans in the group were wearing armor; under order from Titus Mede, all gear was to be stowed until arrival at the portal. “I understand you must be worried for everypony's safety, but you father ensured there would be two mounted Legionnaires riding ahead. We're completely safe, darling.”

“She's right, conjurer, so just have a seat and read your fancy book.” Twilight was trying to be playful. With Lynette trying to sleep, and Glade too focused on every passing woodland critter to care, it was up to the Element of Magic to joke with the werewolf. Just as well, she was also hoping to get the Imperial to teach her some more magic on the way, while they were still under the protection of Tamriel's separation from the planes of Oblivion. Hermaeus Mora would likely jump at the chance to peek inside her noggin again, and it would take meditation and dedication to avoid tentacled mind rape. “Or maybe let me read your fancy book?”

“Twilight, as much as I would like to, this isn't meant for beginners.” Actually, Reman couldn't have lied more. The notes were unique, and the spells described were so simple, even the worst of novices could master them. “I can show you a thing or two when we reach Canterlot.”

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

“Yol!” A burst of flame erupted from the blonde's mouth, searing through the draugr's armor and charring the desiccated flesh. Jureg Firstborn fought his way through what must have been the thirtieth Nordic ruin since he first awakened his draconic soul's true nature. The berserker leaned against a wall, panting from the massive battle he'd fought moments before. The Dragonborn couldn't help but smile; he'd asked for this, after all. Ulfric Stormcloak sat in Windhelm, doing little to actually help Skyrim. “Not like you can criticize me, eh?”

The severed head did not respond, but that didn't stop the exhausted warrior's dry laugh. The entire rebellion was something wholly different than what he had expected. Racism was not in the lightly-armored man's list of personality traits, which was one of the many glaring differences between him and the true High King. In fact, the only thing they agreed on was a desire to end the Empire's hold on the nation. But Jureg just had to go and attack General Tullius's grandson, which might have signed his death warrant if he ever showed his face in Solitude. Sadly, he was using the dungeon as a distraction to avoid doing just that.

“Damn Delphine, damn Thalmor, damn dragons.” The Dovahkiin was more than worried about meeting a headsman when he walked through those city gates. His scaled boots felt leaden as he trudged to the tomb's entrance, loot in pack and ready for market. He took the time to flip a hood over his head as he entered the snowy wind, thanking Talos for granting his race such a fierce resistance to the chilling effects of mountain air. The two-handed wielder walked along the road at a leisurely pace, seeing no reason to rush to Delphine's contact in Solitude. The clop-clop of hooves on the cobbled path was his only companion as he footslogged along.

Jureg gave a friendly wave to the driver, who reciprocated the kind gesture. A brunette with her head over the carriage's side caught his eye, like he knew her from somewhere. Their gazes met for the briefest of moments before true understanding bloomed within them, and a look of shock spread over her face. Her arm darted to the side to alert the others in the wagon, and two heads immediately joined hers. There was a man in a mask like some gaunt skull of ivory, and the man Jureg knew as Reman Tullius. The two warriors shared a small thought of disbelief as the trio passed in their fancy accommodations. It wasn't until they were already past him that Jureg noticed another eight pairs of eyes on him.

Reman Tullius was riding in a wagon with bright, colorful... things of some kind. While the possibility of a beheading was dropping, a feeling of dread began to spread within the Nord's chest. The young man, a patriot for a country he had only spent three months in, had no reason to save anyone there, but he did in the tradition of ancient heroes. There was only one thing he could say in any language to accurately convey haw he felt about seeing something so strange, and knowing how odd events were becoming.

“I need a drink.”

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

“Was that who I think it was?” Lynette asked, still looking at the figure shrinking in the distance. The archer wasn't going to do anything, but confirmation would help. The last she checked, the Nord was belly-up in Ustengrav, but he was just seen walking up the mountain path to Solitude.

“I think so; good to see he's alright.” Reman really didn't care; he had a very interesting book to read. The Imperial was just beginning a section detailing a method of permanent resurrection and enthrallment of corpses.

“Friend of yours?” Fluttershy had tried giving a wave to the stranger, but remembered Princess Luna's policy on natives. Much to her surprise, the spellsword looked up from his leather-bound tome to answer her.

“Nah, just some Stormcloak supporter who almost killed Lynette and me.” The Imperial shrugged; he'd actually stopped worrying about the Dragonborn shortly after getting the news of Glade's pregnancy. The man had his priorities in order, to say the least. Said pony lycan snapped her eyes to her forebear upon hearing those words.

“What do you mean almost killed Lynette and me?” Summer Glade stared at her alpha male, more than a little peeved about the mentioned near-death experience. The soon-to-be matriarch expected an answer immediately, and she knew she would get it. Defensively, Reman put his hands before him to calm the mare. It could have gone better.

“He's some young Stormcloak supporter, probably not even eighteen yet. We left him unconscious in some cold water a fortnight or so ago.” The Imperial didn't think Jureg knew what he was getting into when it came to the civil war. To anyone listening, it was plain as day that the blonde berserker wasn't from Skyrim, so his siding decision was probably for some shallow reason like race. The Nord probably didn't have family involved, and he seemed too young to posses a serious political opinion. “He can also take me in a fight, so we shouldn't turn around.”

“Letting the city handle him?” Princess Luna asked, attention undivided. The royal could understand the lycan's reasoning; he was, after all, one man, and there was practically an army housed within Solitude. When Reman nodded his affirmation, there wasn't even the slightest hint of surprise present on anypony's face. With nothing left to say on the subject, the Imperial returned to his book. For the first time since meeting the werewolf, the alicorn was completely shocked to see him so absorbed in study.

“Maybe keepin' the weapons in storage wasn't a good idea.” Applejack came to her realization at the berserker's mention, and Reman's near-defeat. Even when faced with two enemies, the mysterious Nord was able to nearly kill the second-strongest human the farmer knew. “Better get the swords and such out, just in case.”

“Sorry, but orders are orders.” Renoir Belmont hadn't expected himself to say that after his family's massacre, but now he had to play by someone's rules. The vampire was old enough to be the Emperor's father, but he still listened as a citizen of the glorious Empire. Besides, the healer was interested in the mysterious land of Equestria, hungry for adventure. It didn't help he was getting a little stir crazy from being holed up in the outpost for so long. “We can't use anything but our magic until we're safely out of Skyrim.”

“Just think of it like special rules for a game.” Pinkie was feeling rather nice. She found no end of joy in the shining sun and chirping birds. That elation could have also been a leftover trace of Sheogorath's little mind game, but that wasn't going to get her down. The bubbly pony was practically ready to bounce from her seat and run alongside the wagon, she was so eager to return home.

“You guys had an escort, right?” The driver suddenly asked as the carriage slowed. This interruption was enough to draw the group's attention; the driver was aware of the two Legionnaires riding ahead, but no mention was needed. Confirmation was out of the question, as was simple curiosity, so there was only a single possibility. Quicker than lightning, the leather-bound book was slammed shut, and the mages were on the defensive. Renoir and Reman readied their Destruction spells while Twilight and Luna prepared to place a barrier around the carriage. Lynette, thinking ahead, was aiming her Healing Hands at the two combat veterans.

“Yeah, we did.” Reman wished the wagon was covered, like it should have been. Titus had some things to answer for once he returned to the Imperial City, and the lycan would be certain he was held accountable for any pony blood spilled that day. Hoping for the best, the spellsword asked about the worst. “Vampires?”

“Bandits, most likely.” While a relief, this was still a dangerous situation. At least there would be no infections. The driver halted the carriage, unable to pass the fallen horses and slain soldiers in the road. Very calmly, as though it had been done a thousand times, the brigands emerged form their hiding spots behind the treeline. There were eight of them, at least, though they were poorly equipped. Their chief, however, was wreathed in Dwemer metal, though his head was unprotected.

His tusked, green face scowled at them.

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

Lieutenant Scipio led his troops through the Pine Forest, on the prowl for a certain group that had been a thorn in the Empire's side for far too long. The Penitus Oculatus agent motioned for his second to move up along the road. The Emperor himself had given his team a Writ of Exterminatus, signed by the Elder Council and sealed with the Imperial Dragon. The order was for the Dark Brotherhood and its accomplices, under the stipulation that none of the assassins survived. At that very moment, they came upon the clearing an informant had told them of, and saw the Black Door that must have led to the Sanctuary.

With the movement of the lieutenant's hand, his team's archers loaded arrows tipped with oil-soaked cloth. All was quiet as they hid in the brush, with only the flaming tips of their missiles to light the way. Another group waited above the hole, holding clay pots of flammable liquid. There was an inferno ready to be struck, a punitive flame to cleanse the tainted land of the evil that rooted itself in the cavern below. Orders were to wait until Lieutenant Scipio gave the order to fire, which would certainly have to wait until any possible targets could be identified as Dark Brotherhood.

Thirty minutes after their arrival, the Imperials were rewarded with a lone sheep wandering from its twisted flock. An old man dressed in black and red mage's robes, likely a Breton and most certainly a master wizard. The black hand on the robe's chest was all Scipio needed to give his command. The officer raised his sword and shouted.

“Fi-” His voice was cut short by the sliver of midnight that suddenly protruded from his chest. The masked assassin pirouetted and slashed another Oculatus agent's throat, before an arrow flew through her eye. The situation was rapidly dissolving as more black-clad figures emerged from various spider-holes in the terrain. The wizard retreated into the barrow while his younger colleagues handled the Imperial threat.