No one said anything as the carriage started down the road. The silence, for one pony, was pained with self-doubt and grief. Twilight Sparkle, apprentice of Princess Celestia and Bearer of the Element of Magic, had used her gift to take the life of another intelligent being. Reman and Lynette asked the others to be silent in hopes of drawing the student from her mind. Sadly, she was very likely replaying the death over and over again in an attempt to undo the deed. The signs of shock were seen as easily as her purple fur.

The clop clop of the horses' hooves against the cobbled road was the only sound that pierced the iron-hard silence. The carriage's slight rocking was almost hypnotic; bringing her to the precipice of lucidity, only to send her back. Actual sleep was likely out of the question; it would almost certainly bring only nightmares. If those dreams would be any worse than reality remained unclear.

“How?” Twilight asked after what felt like a small eternity. Her voice was small, shaky, and barely more than a whisper carried by the crisp air. For a brief moment, Reman thought he imagined it. The Imperial hoped she meant something other than the obvious, not really caring what else she brought up, so long as it wasn't that. “How can you just kill without thinking about it?”

Reman and Lynette shared a look, and Renoir shrugged his shoulders. The vampire couldn't give a readable facial expression, so the brachial movement had to suffice. The question was, in itself, better left to philosophers, and far too subjective to be answered by any one person. Imperials and Bretons had very different traditions regarding war and battle, though both cultures agreed killing was difficult, but similarities ended there. Equestrians, if only for their odd lack of warfare, were nearly except of the reality of Nirn, and only had traditions for loss and death by accidents and natural causes. The spellsword coughed oddly loudly for a man who had no need to clear his throat, drawing the attention of his fellow humans.

Renoir, being the oldest and a skilled healer, could probably offer the best input. On the other hand, he was motivated by revenge and the slaughter of his family, openly so, making him an overall less-than-stellar candidate. Lynette was younger, and had the unique outlook from her upbringing in Cyrodiil while retaining her race's influences. She empathized with others more easily than the group's two males, and that was mostly due to her experience dealing with merchants during her stint in the Silver Hand. However, she was still much a stranger to Twilight and the other ponies, which rendered her advice nearly moot.

Reman Tullius almost cursed as he realized he had been silently chosen for the task. He wasn't his brother, and had never attempted to console someone in shock. Imperials had a warrior-based culture, built from their rise from slavery and their history's numerous wars and conflicts. Death in battle was glorified by them almost as much as the Nords, though there was more of an emphasis on duty for the Cyrodiils. A man wasn't considered such until he had seen battle, and a warrior wasn't more than a man unless he had bested someone in mortal combat.

This would not be easy for anyone involved.

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

Arnbjorn cared not for the Emperor's dogs that surrounded him, only for Astrid. The woman was cradled in his arms, shielded from any harm as her bestial husband wracked his brain for any way to save her. Nothing immediately came to mind besides finding a healer, but Falkreath wouldn't take kindly to him sprinting into town. Perhaps one of the Oculatus had some medicine on him? The sound of a snapping bowstring made the world crash as the thought passed through his mind.

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

Sirius Cadia regretted his actions almost immediately. The beast was obviously a werewolf, one of Hircine's monsters sent to terrorize the hinterlands. Oddly, it held the corpse of the Dark Brotherhood's alleged leader, Astrid Frostcrag. The agent had readied his bow to kill the lycan, lining up an arrow with a nice tip of steel that thirsted for blood. He loosed the missile after carefully aiming his shot, hoping to bring Divine retribution for the abomination's crime of existence. Skill and luck would be what brought the foul creature to its knees, and the arrow would be the instrument of Imperial law.

Like time itself had slowed to a crawl, Cadia could see his projectile wobble as it sped to its target. Almost immediately, the man realized he had aimed too low. Instead of hitting the werewolf between the eyes, it would bury itself in the beast's torso. Fate seemed to have other plans, something the Oculatus agent understood as the bladed tip arced downward still. With an almost sickening shink, the arrow buried itself in the corpse of Astrid Frostcrag. The tan man slowly drew his gaze upward, already preparing his next shot before the monster could retaliate.

Sirius Cadia froze in place as his eyes locked with the beast's.

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

“It... gets easier with time.” Reman could only say so much after a brief time. It was also the best way he could put it. The Imperial had more than a few stories to tell, the sort of tales best left unrecorded and forgotten. “Eventually, the pain will fade.”

“But I killed somepony,” Twilight asserted, her voice barely more than a wavering whisper. The unicorn was still obviously wracked with grief, fear of her own power. Killing, even for survival, had a terrible effect on men and most mer, and now seemed to include ponies. “I don't want the pain to fade; I wish it never happened.”

“Twilight, you bear a scar that shall remain with you for the rest of your days.” Reman said nothing but the explicit truth. The knowledge he held was passed from his father, and his father before him; a piece to wisdom first spoken in the days of Saint Alessia. “Your scar, as well as those that mark every warrior and wizard to ever walk Tamriel, tells where you have been, but has no say in where you will go.”

“But can I ever forget it? Can I ever truly move on?” she asked. The Element of Magic noticed everypony was quiet, even the carriage driver. She felt, for the briefest of moments, that her friends may have thought less of her, or branded her a monster for having taken a life. Next to her, Summer Glade gently pressed a wing to her side, the equivalent a kind nudge of the elbow.

“Twilight, I'll be completely honest with you, but you have to agree to give me the same courtesy.” The Imperial stopped to wait for her reply. Upon seeing the mare's head shakily nod her consent and promise, the spellsword took a deep breath. “Cyrodiilic tradition holds that prowess in combat and sorcery are traits passed from generation to generation, that the son or daughter of a strong fighter will also be strong. Do you know how the noble houses test their children, Twilight?”

“No,” she replied, not certain she wanted to know. The Imperials she knew, even the elderly Titus Mede, were all oddly unaffected by bloodshed. The Emperor had read a battle report from the Markarth, a city the ponies had not visited, and hadn't batted an eye at the death toll.

“We are sent to an arena and made to fight the lowlifes and scum of our respective cities. Children no older than Spike are sometimes sent, and this is all expected. For House Tullius and House Maro, really any family deeply rooted in the politics and military action of the Empire, the prospects are expected to fight two or three criminals at a time.” Reman eased back, shifting to batter rest against the wagon's railing. The man actually had a few fond memories of his time in Kvatch's arena, most of which revolved around the handful of friends he'd made. “Twilight, I was fifteen when I took my first life, and there was no guarantee I would survive.”

“That's barbaric! You can't just send children to fight and die like they're trained warriors; genetics don't work like that.” Twilight had returned at least partially to her old self. A natural scholar, she quickly found a flaw in Imperial beliefs by applying Equestrian knowledge of medicine and science. There was surely no allele that said one could swing an axe or sword better, or use Destruction magic to a higher degree than Restoration; those things were left to the individual's talents and dedication. “How can your people even think that's okay?”

“We conquered Tamriel, so we need to be able to defend it. If our children are exposed to bloodshed at a young age, they won't shy away from their duty as adults.”

“That's psychological torture!”

“Yet we hold firm. Do you know why Imperials don't go starting wars if they would result in huge casualties but we were able to win? We know how precious life is, because our leaders are forced to end one to become adults.” Reman grew solemn in that moment, as though the weight of the world was on his shoulders. “We kill, we even murder, but only the cruelest of us enjoy it.”

“You're saying I should only kill when necessary?” Twilight did not mean to sound as though she was going to kill under any other circumstances. In reality, she hoped she never had to kill again, but knew this was a fantasy. Equestria and Nirn were bound together now, and either she or her foals would be exposed to the world's politics. “I don't want to kill at all.”

“Many men have said the same, and done their very best to stay out of conflicts. But, Twilight, the life of a pacifist is a constant war.” Reman understood where she was coming from, having been there a handful of times himself. There was no joy in what he did, even the Dark Brotherhood contracts Arnbjorn sometimes sent his way were only done because it meant the target had wronged someone and he needed the money. The gold and jewels he stored around Skyrim were for a rainy day, funding for an army that would hopefully never be raised. “I find it is better to know yourself and what you are capable of, than simply say you will not do something.”

“But you're talking about ending life. That's something ponies don't do on a regular basis.” The purple mare frowned at the Imperial, filled with vigor she had lost. Twilight Sparkle knew exactly what she was capable of; she and her friends had saved Equestria on multiple occasions. “I can very easily never raise a hoof in anger if need be.”

“What of your brother and sister-in-law? What of your parents? What of Spike? Would you simply lie down and allow them to come to harm?” Reman asked. The questions were simple, and any human would say they would do everything they could to prevent their loved ones from danger. Still, they served to drive the spellsword's point home. The lycan knew Twilight held power, and was capable of protecting her family, but only is she allowed herself to. “That horn on your head says you have magic and can use it. A dead Imperial with a hole blown through her chest says you can harness you talents to a lethal end. You alone may choose what you do with it, if you wield your powers as a shield or sword.”

“As long as I never enjoy it, I can still be myself?” She was starting to understand, but still struggled with the details. Shining Armor would surely be told, then her parents and Cadence. What would they think of her? What would Princes Celestia say? “No, that's not what you're saying. You mean I can be normal, have a normal life, but I'll never be the same pony I was.”

“Twilight, normal is something no one wants to be. You and your friends, as well as the bond you share, are hardly normal, and that's for the better.” Reman smiled then, seeing a familiar spark light itself in the unicorn's eyes. “Though I don't speak for them, I am confident they will stay by your side and keep you from falling into the abyss.”

“Will you, really?” Twilight asked her still-silent friends. A few of the other ponies had misty eyes, and Fluttershy was close to outright weeping. There was no verbal answer, for words would only serve to dilute the matters at hoof. Pinkie Pie was the first to move, wrapping her forelegs around Twilight's midsection. Rainbow Dash and Rarity followed shortly, joining in the group hug with gusto. Fluttershy and Applejack were the last, but certainly just as happy to prove their friendship. A ball of pastel fur encompassed half of the carriage, emitting a mix of nonsensical squeaks and light sobs.

Princess Luna looked at the scene with a heavy heart. Twilight would recover, that much was certain, but the alicorn knew part of the mare was lost forever. While the Elements' hugging wasn't going to heal the unicorn, it was a step in the right direction. The ruler turned to her Imperial comrade in curiosity, wanting to understand a detail of his story. “You killed someone when you were fifteen?”

“Actually, that was a little white lie.” Normally, Reman would have chuckled a bit, or even laughed. Hiding information was something he did for the benefit of others or himself, but he was always upbeat about it. That was not the current state of affairs. “I was twelve.”

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

Lieutenant Aretino arrived at the Sanctuary to provide reinforcement. He had twenty men under his command, and hoped to keep Lieutenant Scipio from from dying in the Divines forsaken land. He arrived to a burned-out cave and a veritable mountain of bodies. The ashes were cold, and searches of the cavern revealed the target, an ebony sarcophagus, was missing. Corpses of assassins and Oculatus agents littered the woods surrounding the hole, and the Imperial's colleagues were among their number. The Dark Brotherhood had escaped extermination for the time being, but the officer was confident they would be found and dealt with.

“Sir! I found something you may need to see,” an agent called. His voice echoed through the stone halls, but made him sound no less urgent. The Aretino had to find the man in the destroyed complex, but managed to find him with relative ease. The new recruit had found a book, partially burned, that contained some rather serious information. The Night Mother had been there, and must have escaped the purge. Whatever madman had written this was hardly credible, but every member of the Brotherhood had a tenuous grasp on reality according to Imperial records.

“Boys, we're heading to Dawnstar!”

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

“Arnbjorn, hold still; you're only making this harder on yourself.” This was far from the first time Babette had to chastise the werewolf, and it wouldn't be the last. The immortal child poured more of her medicinal brew on the man's numerous injuries, eliciting a hiss of pain as the regenerative mixture undid the damage.

“Thank you again for showing up when you did, Cicero.” Festus Krex dusted off his robes as he spoke his praises, genuinely glad the short Imperial provided the aid he did. If it hadn't been for the diminutive man, everyone would have likely died in the Sanctuary. The mad jester in question only hummed his little tune as he continued to clean the Night Mother's casket of soot. “Arnbjorn, do you have any idea when Nazir will be back?”

“I should be the one burying Astrid, not him.” Festus could only sigh at the Nord's stubbornness. At least the lycan had found the cave the Brotherhood remnants now resided in. Gabriela had made an excellent point about the Dawnstar Sanctuary being too obvious a hiding place, and instead desired to build a new Sanctuary in the Reach. They would still have to travel north and out of the Pine Forest, not to mention climbing the mountain roads to find a suitable location.

“We can argue later. Right now, survival matters more.”