To call the main stronghold of any House a mere house was a mistake; within House Tullius’s walled perimeter blossomed a village like many others within the province. The citizens paid their warlord his or her dues in exchange for protection from starvation and any other nastiness Cyrodiil contained; they farmed and maintained the land, serving as laborers when needed and militiamen when the garrison failed. Within the palisades, peasants were safe, and their safety was guaranteed so long as they continued their work; walls, as confining as they could be at times, were better for the average man than the dangers that lurked in the hinterlands.

As the group traveled down an old path, worn over many years of travel to and from County Chorrol, they saw the first of House Tullius’s perimeter walls; they were thrice a man’s height and made of tempered hardwood logs, sharpened at the tips and kept uneven to make ready-made siege equipment ineffective. Guard towers rose above the walls every few hundred yards, the sentries manning them dressed in leathers bearing a red diamond; a number of them saluted as the carriages passed by, paying respect at least to Gregor’s banner. They came to a halt at a large gate, easily wide enough for four wagons to pass through side by side; long, white banners hung on either side of the portal, bearing the same red diamond as Susanne’s armor and the guards’ leathers.

“The road to the village is about three miles long,” Reman said, looking out the window. He felt very odd to be coming home again, and wondered if Kvatch was still his home or not; he had spent so much time away from Cyrodiil that even the very home of his race felt foreign. Several of the militiamen stared at the black wolf on the banner and some wondered aloud at who could be travelling within, as it matched none of the banner House Tullius used, but still bore the telltale diamond on the wolf’s collar.

“All of the land belongs to House Tullius?” Princess Celestia asked; a demesne of that size was not unheard of, and in fact rather small for as powerful as Reman had made House Tullius out to be. “I expected something more in line with a castle than a preserve.”

“The manor is more of a castle than anything, and the rest of the compound surrounds it,” Reman elaborated. “Like I said, we’ve got an entire town here, with about seven hundred people last time I was here.” He briefly recalled how few of the peasants he knew by name and wondered if that meant he was detached from them even before his infection; was that necessarily a bad thing? He doubted he was any better or worse than others in his position, thinking of the heir of House Mortus and how much of an ass he had been.

The massive doors opened and they were waved through under blessing of the gatekeeper; a large gazebo stood next to the road just within, pelts of animals dangling on long strings and moving in the breeze. A man sat on a bench nearby and started skinning a large deer; Princess Celestia was both intrigued and disgusted seeing a human foal carrying off the entrails in a wooden bucket. On the other side, towards the wall, a few other foals played hiding games in a copse of trees, stopping their fun only to wave at the new visitors; Pinkie, amazed at seeing healthy young humans, waved back with all her enthusiasm.

“That’s a lot of little imperials,” Rainbow said as she looked out the carriage windows. “We saw more people on the road in Skyrim but almost none here.”

“Cyrodiil’s population is more dense around the towns and cities, not nearly as many houses off by themselves, and there haven’t been since the Oblivion Crisis,” Reman explained, nodding to a small section of scorched soil near a recently-plowed field. “A lot of the towns are off the main roads, but we’ll see a few between here and the Imperial City.”

“Morbid,” Glade murmured as she pointed at another gazebo, this one draped in dark pelts ready to be stitched into coats for the next winter. “Are those wolf pelts?” she added, mostly to herself. Was that an omen of things to come, or a mere coincidence. Was coincidence even a possibility on Nirn, or was everything orchestrated by higher beings? Had Lynnette stayed angry and forewarned everyone about her lycanthropy? About Reman’s? What if this was House Tullius showing their disapproval over their child? There were too many possibilities, too many unknown variables; it made her teeth feel like she was chewing aluminum foil. Reman, sensing her inner turmoil, nudged her with his elbow; it was a simple, physical gesture that meant more than casual observation conveyed, a show of solidarity and camaraderie. It was oddly comforting, despite having a metal-covered elbow jabbed in a kidney.

The village proper was not a village at all, but a small town that had sprung up around the imposing stone structure in the center; it was a castle town that did everything it could to not be called a castle town. Soldiers in the white and crimson colors of House Tullius marched along the road as a training drum rolled off a battle cadence, a blacksmith hammered out a piece of hot metal into some weapon or tool or rough armor plate, all while a scullery maid was hanging linens on a line behind a luxurious cottage. Peddlers hawked their wares and waved at the carriages, sure they spotted an important guest or a deep coin purse. In short order, the carriage came to a halt before the manor’s garrison house, the final checkpoint before anyone was allowed within the warlord’s hall.

“Time to pile out and check in,” Reman said as he popped the door’s latch. “The guards will look at us and decide if we have any sort of reason to enter the great hall.”

“No searches or anything like that?” Twilight asked, stuffing her old book under her cloak. The other Element Bearers did the same, collecting their personal effects and situating their gear in as nonchalant a way as possible.

“We’ll be under guard the entire time we are in the hall; most assassins don’t get a chance.” Reman had little enough time to finish before one of the sentries pulled the door open; without needing to be told, he stepped out and made room for the others. The guards, normally a stern and reserved breed of warrior, looked unimpressed as the ponies joined him, but they were curious to the point their facades crumbled.

“Send us through, gentlemen,” Susanne chirped from within her helmet, eager to end any conversation before it could begin. The pair of guardsmen bristled and stepped back, none too eager to make a decision between following their orders to the letter and upsetting the regent’s oldest daughter and her husband.

“Lady Susanne, there is the matter of your company,” the older of the two guards grunted out. “Traveling with a member of the House or no, all nobles must have their names and heraldries registered.” He brought out a large, leather bound tome and set it on a small dais. He threw it open and flipped through the aged, yellowed pages before finding a blank place. “Now, name and county of origin.” His question was obviously directed at Reman, the only imperial in the group.

“Celestia Del Sol of Canterlot, Equestria,” the princess answered, only to be met with disapproving looks from the sentries. “We are here on a diplomatic mission,” she murmured. It had taken her a moment to realize that perhaps she was not supposed to answer them; it was the most indirect method of ignoring anything Celestia had seen humans employ.

“Reman Tullius of County Kvatch,” the imperial corrected, cringing on the inside at the princess’s faux pas

“Sir, enough joking; Reman Tullius has been dead and in the ground going on four years now,” the younger guard said, puffing his chest out to look tougher. “Now, who are you and where are you from?”

“He is Reman Tullius, son of Antonius and Senna,” Susanne insisted. “He has been missing, not dead, for some time now.” She braced an armored fist on her hip and loomed over the two men. “Our mother will be most happy to see him again.”

“Ma’am, we simply cannot allow him through unless he has some means of proper identification,” the older man asserted with a brave face, though the mask was rather thin; were he a stallion his ears would have been pinned back in every attempt to appear smaller.

“You can, and you will,” the knight affirmed. Not liking the lack of a reply, she shrugged her shoulders and motioned for the ponies to follow her. “We are going up; you may unlock the gate for us if you so please.” With that, she strutted off, Gregor and Celestia hot on her heels. The Elements followed suit, then Renoir and Reman came behind them, and Glade, Springs, and Steel Morrow brought up the rear.

“Open the portcullis,” the older guard stammered out, flagging down a man on the wall. He sighed as they disappeared into the manor; it was never a good sign when a member of the House exercised their gate privileges.

Senna Tullius sat on her throne and stared at the crowd gathered before her. Foremost to her right side stood her oldest daughter and her husband, a place of honor amongst noble courts of Cyrodiil, a place reserved for heirs and visiting dignitaries. She was none too pleased with the remaining guests, a multitude of unnaturally colored beings that appeared to be of equine origins and a pair of armored men who reeked of inhuman nature, of corruption. One was a vampire that stared up at her with lifeless, dark eyes sunken into their sockets and the other had the stale yellow irises that spoke of lycanthropy. The only thing that kept her from locking the young man in the deepest, darkest hole the estate was that, barring the eyes, he looked every bit like her lost son, down to the subtlest slope of his cheekbones.

“Susanne, explain these once again,” she said after appraising the rabble for a moment more. She raised herself in her seat, back rigid as she reached her full sitting height. The guests remained silent, as they had been instructed; their time to speak on their own behalf was later.

“These ponies,” the young woman began, her words near enough to send a laugh through her mother, “have need to see the Elder Council and Emperor Mede on behalf of their kingdom.” She pointed to each of the so-called representatives in turn as she named them. “Princess Celestia is the tall one, the leader of her nation as the others say, and Twilight Sparkle, the purple one, is her apprentice. The rest are Applejack, Fluttershy, Pinkie Pie, Rarity, and Rainbow Dash, her friends and allies.” She came to rest on a small group next flanking the main herd. “They are escorted by Steel Morrow in gold armor and Bitter Springs in purple; the smaller white one is Summer Glade.” Finally, her hand pointed to the men, who stood statuesque since she had begun. “The breton is Renoir Belmont, a native of Daggerfall, and the imperial is Reman Tullius.”

“Claims to be Reman Tullius,” Senna corrected. She looked the young man up and down as she wondered just who he really was, silencing the joy she felt at the very real possibility he was truly her son. “Rather odd, claiming to be a dead man.”

“Mother, he is not claiming anything; he is Reman!” Susanne tried to reason. “We never found his body, not at the Jemane house and not in any of the fields nearby; all we found were Gaston’s remains and a dead werewolf.” The fiery redhead remained calm even as anger tinged the edges of her voice, the sad byproduct of dealing with a woman as impossible as anyone else in her family. “He wasn’t some child when he went missing; it was entirely possible he could live on his own, and he did.”

“And it is entirely possible he is an imposter from another House,” Senna replied, mouth forming into a hard frown. “This rebellion in Skyrim has taken the head of House Tullius and the only living heir; there is no precedent for an heir returning from the grave.” She rose from her throne and stood straight, dwarfing the other men and woman standing around the room as her impressive height was boosted by the raised ziggurat her and her husband’s thrones sat upon. “If Reman were to come back, enough support may come from the other members of the House to depose me and put him in my place.”

“Mother, they would never remove you,” Susanne tried to defend, sure that she was correct. She smiled and took a step towards Senna. “You’ve brought so much to the House, so much we would not have without you.”

“And I am still an outside influence.” The matriarch stepped down and stood next to her daughter; she was quite tall, standing a bit higher than even her oldest child. “The other Houses view that as weakness, and while you are an excellent candidate as a temporary matriarch, your duties to the Knights of Eight and House Aegian exempt you from that.”

“And Arianna is too young,” Susanne agreed. “It’s a shame that you’re right, mom.” The knight pulled her mother in for a hug, something she was certain the older woman had far too few of in recent years; familial intimacy was a terrible privation the upper classes suffered, only exacerbated by their respective high-born duties. “Come on, this man really is Reman; Gregor and I ran into him near Chorrol.”

“It’s true, ma’am,” the jeweler added, remaining a respectful distance from the pair.

“Oh, Gregor,” Senna began, letting Susanne go as she walked over to him. “You’re a good man, but even if I can truly believe that, unless I have actual backing within the House, I can’t risk even a slight chance of handing power to someone who would abuse it.”

Glade jumped from the line and puffed her chest out; the guards at the door leveled their halbergs and readied to strike. Senna raised a hand to hold them at ease. “Cut the crap!” the white pegasus shouted, growling as she stomped a hoof against the polished stone floor. “You’re happy to see the daughter you know has been alive and well, but the minute your son who’s been dead for four years walks through the door, you’re ready to turn him down because you think it might be a trap?”

“Glade!” Reman barked out to stop her, only for her to flash the underside of a hoof at him.

“Doesn’t your family mean anything to you at all? So what if he might be the rightful heir, he doesn’t want it!” She circled around and bared her teeth at the guards before locking eyes with Senna. “Are you really so absorbed in politics that your son can just be tossed aside because he doesn’t fit in anymore? What happened to blood being thicker than water?”

The expression that crossed the older woman’s features was almost the same as every other time an imperial had been angry. Her lip quivered as she tried to maintain a neutral line, her face reddened and her pupils dilated, and finally, she took a deep breath and lost any semblance of rage. She took another shuddering breath, and stared back at Glade. “I can assure you that I’ve been certain this Reman is my son from the moment he walked in, and I can certainly assure you that blood is thicker than water in Cyrodiil.” She snapped her head to the side and looked at Susanne. “Escort our visitors to the guest lodge near the smithy.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Susanne replied with all the speed she could muster as she motioned for the others to follow her.

“That’s more like it,” Glade added as she strutted towards the door, only to be barred by a pair of crossed halbergs. She looked back at Reman and tried to ask him is she had misinterpreted something, but he just shook his head and looked rather disappointed.

“You, little one, will be staying with me.” Senna extended a hand to Princess Celestia, who held out a hoof in turn. “I will have her along in about an hour or so, none the worse for wear,” the matriarch added as she shook respective appendages with the alicorn.

“I apologize for anything she may have done or said that was out of line.” Princess Celestia held her ears back and tried her best to look sorry; she felt about as awful as she had when she first sent Luna to enjoy her first Nightmare Night back in Equestria. Senna held up a hand to let the ponies through, but did not relinquish her grip on the princess’s hoof.

“I understand that mistakes happen, and while I am mad, nothing bad will happen to her,” the noblewoman whispered. “We just need to reach an understanding, especially about idioms.” She smiled with actual warmth, the first she had displayed in any way that had not felt forced or played out in the time Celestia had seen her. “I may be mean when I have to, but I am truly happy to see my son again.”

Author's Notes:

After spending time with my old pal Depression, falling out with my girlfriend, and generally spiraling into a vicious cycle of self-loathing and disgust for a good few months, I finally polished this off.