It started raining just as they entered Falkreath Hold, normal for the Pine Forest in spring. It was cold, heavy, and inescapable as its weight alone was enough to over power the many needles that adorned the forest's namesakes. Reman scowled hard enough he was hoping it might force nature to stop. He was wrong. Skyrim, as beautiful as it was, would never compare, in his mind, to the calm climate of Cyrodiil and its warmer rain.

“Where are you lot headed, again?” The driver asked, knowing the Pine Forest was close. He didn't know specifics, only that the group, minus Cicero, was to be dropped off somewhere within the forest. Seeing as his original charges were a bunch of colorful ponies and their mercenary escorts, it would be a good idea for him to at least have an idea of what was ahead.

“We're being dropped off about six miles outside Falkreath,” Luna replied, looking at a map to be sure of her bearings. She knew they were two hours, at most, from the portal; there was little need to worry now. The forest was serene and beautiful, filled only by the sound of clopping hooves and chirping birds. “A better question is where our new friend is going.”

“Oh, Cicero doesn't mind; just take me to town.” The polite, eccentric Imperial had been an astoundingly wondrous addition to the party, entertaining everypony as one might expect of a jester, albeit a filthy one who smelled of blood and dirt. The other humans may have been uneasy around him, but Reman had made them uncomfortable at first, so it stood to reason he deserved a fair chance.

“Well, I'm being payed to go all the way, so it's no trouble at all.” The driver looked back at the group and smiled, not feeling even an ounce of dread. He had been in the business for years, and knew when things were going to go downhill, and none of those signs were presenting themselves.

“Yes; let's just enjoy the remainder of our trip,” Renoir said, sounding a bit irritated. It wasn't just the sun somehow finding him beneath his dark clothes; in truth, Cicero's clothing was making him thirsty, and not the sort of thirsty a canteen could remedy. He felt a slight tension in the air, a git from his long life. Something, at some point in the near future, was going to go to shit. A hoof on his shoulder drew his attention, and he saw Fluttershy giving him a reassuring smile.

“You seem kind of, um, mad.” She was as timid as ever, but hardly scared of him anymore. She, like the rest of the ponies, knew he was a vampire, and that he was subject to many of the weaknesses portrayed in fiction. It wasn't impossible for her to understand sunlight made him irritable. But she was probably focusing more on the fact that he hadn't had anything to drink since his night with Sybille.

“Not at all. I'm just a little tense,” he sighed, unaccustomed to going such periods of time in the sun while on an empty stomach. He could go weeks without a drop of blood back at the outpost because he was underground and busy; this carriage ride was the exact opposite. Right then, he had half a mind to drain the Dark Brotherhood assassin next to him dry, and toss the corpse in a ditch. “My throat's a little dry.”

“Ah, yes, I had you pegged as a vampire.” Cicero's voice was all too grating in that moment, even if he had the common sense to keep the driver from hearing. “That's fine though; Cicero is okay with vampires.”

“Yeah, I can tell.” Renoir really didn't like the mad jester, but he wasn't about to put himself against the business end of his ebony dagger. In response, he received a curious look, but nothing else. That little feeling that things were going to go bad was intensifying. He tried to just ignore Cicero as much as he could, but he kept one eye on him at all times. He occupied himself by listening in on Glade and Reman, hoping they would at least be discussing something humorous.

“So this is some kind of wizard book?” Glade asked, looking over Reman's shoulder at the leather-bound tome in his hands. She didn't understand half the words in it, any of the anatomical diagrams, or even why anypony would bother with it. Then she remembered who was holding it, and realized this was probably the norm. “Seems boring.”

“To you, maybe, but this information is worth a small fortune.” Reman was not the sort of man to brag, not unless it was to outshine Uriel. That being said, he was reading Mannimarco's notes on necromancy, something the Imperial had a personal grudge against. Still, it would be the only Conjuration he would be able to use for a while, so he was going to make the most of it, as much as it irked him. “Men would kill for less.”

“Oh, so now I'm a liability?” She replied teasingly. She knew for a fact that Reman wouldn't kill her for any reason; there were too many reasons now. If, say, the mood had struck him about four weeks ago, that would have been a different story.

“Only if you were educated.” Reman looked up at her with a small smile on his face, showing he was joking. He wouldn't actually insult her intelligence in regards to magic, as it certainly wasn't something she was ever taught, being a pegasus and all.

“Ouch.” There was mock indignation coloring her voice, but she smiled and pulled a wing over her pack-mate's shoulder. It was to keep him from getting any wetter than a sign of affection, but that hardly stopped Rarity from letting out a small coo of satisfaction at the sight. Glade suppressed the urge to roll her eyes, understanding that however odd her behavior was, especially when related to things she had no involvement in, Rarity was mostly harmless. Still, she was getting the wrong idea about the two lycans. There was an odd moment of silence.

“Cicero still cannot believe how kind you all have been to him.” Lynette, Reman, and Renoir were equally stunned. None of them were quite sure why Luna had been so willing to allow the strange man onto the carriage, thought her false hopes of appealing to the common person were surely crushed under the assassin's boot. “There jut isn't enough kindness in the world anymore. Why, just six weeks ago, this kind Nord helped convince a farmer to fix my wagon's broken wheel. Such a kindly boy, that lad; helped me get Mother home.”

“Yes, a truly inspiring story.” Renoir's voice was tinged with sarcasm as Luna gave him a stern look from across the carriage. He returned the look as best his masked eyes could.

“I can only imagine how surprised Arnbjorn and Astrid were when you showed up.” At Reman's words, Cicero's eyes bugged slightly, and his hand made an imperceptible twitch towards his belt. Out of the corners of his eye, he noticed Renoir and Lynette pull daggers from somewhere on their person, ready to kill him if he made a move. “But you can relax; Arnbjorn and I are... I suppose colleagues is the best terms.”

“No, you're lying.” There was an odd quality to the assassin's voice as he said that, and it hinted at some sort of pain, like losing a parent. Sensing danger, Rarity, Glade, and Fluttershy quickly hurried to the half of the carriage devoid of armed humans. “No one outside the Brotherhood knows our names, no one!”

“Calm down, Mr. Cicero,” Twilight pleaded, noticing her friends bristle at the sudden volume. Applejack and Rainbow Dash were particularly defensive, and primed for something that was probably going to get them hurt. She noticed Renoir's head jerk up at something, momentarily taking his eyes off the macabre jester. She heard a slight whistle, then a wet sinking noise, and finally a light thunk as something collided with the wagon's wooden wall.

“If you're so curious about my connections, ask him yourself.” As Reman said that, Rarity looked to see what the noise was. Her eyes widened and she tried to scream at the sight, but no noise came from her mouth. The driver was slumped back, head leaning over the railing, with a wooden shaft sticking through his eye. Three metal blades barely poked through the back of his skull, a slight twinkle against his thick, rapidly reddening hair. As if on cue, humanoid figures dressed in black appeared from behind the trees and foggy knolls. They were armed, and seemed much more skilled than any paltry bandits.

Cicero, sensing his moment to strike, lunged forward, dagger in hand. He jerked back as Renoir grabbed hold of his arm, and he looked to the vampire just in time for Reman's foot to slam into his cheek. He tumbled back, over the rail, losing his knife along the way. Luna's and Twilight's barrier flickered to life just as the two men jumped after the motley fool. He rolled off a steep embankment before they could finish him off.

“Your wagon is ours!”

“By the Nine, Arnbjorn! Will you give me ten seconds to think?” Reman yelled, giving one of the shrouded figures pause. It pulled back its cowl and looked around, confused. She was a young Dunmer, but still in the Brotherhood, so she wasn't beyond targeting.

“Pup?” A large, dreadlocked Nord asked as he popped his head from over the railing on the carriage's opposite side. The two shared what may have been considered a friendly wave between them as the situation fully took hold within the ponies. However, it was not one of them who called out how ludicrous the entire ordeal really was.

“What in Oblivion is going on?!” Lynette was in full panic mode as she noticed the armor the brigands were wearing. She recognized the patterns from the painting that hung in the Tullius compound's main house. If Cicero's mention of a Brotherhood wasn't enough of a hint, she was now certain she was dealing with assassins of the vilest order. “Reman, I can't even believe you right now!”

“What? I can't have friends in low places?” Reman asked, actually sounding a bit offended at the idea. He admitted the entire day was one big joke after another, but he was accustomed to the universe's brand of humor.

“Yeah, Lynette; nothing's wrong with having all kinds of friends.” For once, Pinkie served as a voice of reason, albeit one touched by the Madgod. The bubbly pony jumped from the carriage and stood next to Reman, even if there was still a wall of purple magic dividing them.

“Uh, Pinkie, being friendly and all's real nice, but Ah think yer takin' things too far.” Applejack looked around for a brief moment, assessing each of the trained killers for hire that surrounded her and her friends. “They kinda killed th' driver.”

“In our defense, miss, we've had a rather large series of unfortunate events befall us.” The man speaking was old, very old. Applejack thought he looked like an old miser who was too tired of everything around him to care anymore. She also thought he looked like a wizard, an evil, evil wizard. “Banditry is not something we usually do.”

“That still doesn't explain why you know Reman.” Lynette was being very adamant about the terrible, terrible consequences of him associating with the shady group. The Imperial in question groaned and squeezed the bridge of his nose; it was not his day. “It's not like he needs money.”

“Lynette, listen.” His voice was hardly amused, and he didn't look much better. “Being a werewolf is a crime in most provinces, Skyrim included.”

“Yeah, I sorta ran in the pup over here a while back.” Arnbjorn looked like he was about to say how, but Renoir cleared his throat, rudely interrupting. The vampire pulled off his mask, looking none too pleased by the entire situation. He huffed and pushed the driver's corpse from his seat.

“I have a massive headache, I'm thirsty, and the sun is burning me even with clothes on. Reman, make friends if you want, I'm getting out of here.” With that, he ordered the horses to move on, leaving the young Tullius in the midst of a group of rather confused killers. He looked back and forth, trying to get a feeling for each of the new faces he saw. Arnbjorn was his only contact with the Brotherhood, so he hadn't met anyone besides a him, Astrid, and a certain jester.

“Listen, before I go catch the wagon, I just have one thing to ask.”

“Go for it.” Arnbjorn crossed his arms over his chest, not really wanting to see the younger lycan leave just yet. He kind of liked the kid, but also didn't really want to break any bad news to him, seeing as he smelled like a female, and another werewolf at that. He heard a scrambling in the woods, which could only have been one person fleeing towards the Night Mother's sarcophagus, not that he really cared at the moment.

“What, in the name of all that is holy, is wrong with Cicero?”

Author's Notes:

Lynette:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9nLhe2yj5fQ