Not my best work, I'll admit.

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For the first time since arriving in Equestria, Reman didn't dream of Cyrodiil. The environment hinted at Solsteim, the isle claimed by both Morrowind and Skyrim. The Bloodmoon Prophecy had led him here in search of a cure, that was... a little over a year ago, now. It was during the isle's oppressive winter, and the Imperial was dressed appropriately.

The biting wind tore through his fur-lined, hooded cloak. His eyes stung as salt spray flew into them. The vessel lurched in the gusting currents, the waves only increasing the motions. The isle of Solsteim was shrinking in the distance.

Reman wasn't actually on the isle, rather, a ship that just left port. The cold air hurt his lungs, snow fell at a tremendous rate. The Imperial guessed this was a blizzard, having never experienced one before, in fact, this was the farthest north he'd ever been at the time. It was needless to say, his search for a cure on the isle had failed. Whatever Nord settlement had been involved in the Nerevarine's exploits in the Third Era had burned a long time ago.

“Just what do you think you're doing?” Oh, right. He'd been a stowaway on this vessel. The merchant ship had docked at a small port town founded a few years before the Great War. “Hey, kid, I asked you a question!”

The sailor was a Redguard, middle aged, but still well muscled. Hindsight gives one spectacular vision, it would seem. A scimitar was hitched to the desert dweller's belt.

“Oh, the silent treatment huh? We'll see how quiet you are when I through you into the sea!” The Redguard charged, blade drawn, it seemed most residents of Nirn were irrational when it came to violence. Reman shook his head and crouched, with an arm to the stomach, and a push, the Imperial sent the Redguard over the ship's railing. A splash sounded the man's entry into the icy water.

The Imperial turned to face the rest of the crew, mostly Redguards with the occasional Argonian, they looked angry. Most of them were armed. Reman payed them no mind. He was off to bigger and better things in his next stop on his journey: Skyrim.

The lycan grinned, the sun was setting, and a familiar pain lanced through his chest.

@#@#@#@#@#@

Could one count this situation as awkward? Twilight and Glade had been speaking for a few minutes, but the Unicorn couldn't look the Pegasus in the eye. She had attempted numerous times, but failed, and averted her gaze as she blushed. Oh, yeah, the noise, that had to be it.

Twilight heard a noise upstairs, a small thump with the pit-pat pit-pat of a biped's footsteps. One of Glade's ears swiveled around, listening intently. “That’s Spike,” She said. A few moments later, the little dragon descended the stairs.

“I guess I can add increased auditory sensation to my list.” Twilight said jokingly, an attempt to get over her embarrassment. Said attempt seemed to work wonders, only after Glade giggled, though.

“Where's that other guy?” Spike asked, still rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“I think he'll be sleeping for a while.” A blush immediately spread back onto Twilight's face when Glade said that. “Relax, I'm sure that's the first time Reman has seen a proper bed in months.”

“What was that about?” Spike noticed Twilight sudden change in behavior. Glade laughed nervously before she attempted to speak, only to be interupted.

“I'll tell you when you're older.” The voice made the group jump, Reman was quiet when he wanted to be, after all, bare feet don't clop on wood. He was in pants, Twilight observed, she'd seen Rarity's mother wearing them before, but they must have been an acquired taste. Twilight took a brief moment to wonder were he had gotten pants that would fit him.

“I'm not some little kid, you know.” The dragon crossed his arms and tried his best to look mean, which Reman considered both humorous, and adorable from something of Spike's size. Anything to take his mind off the fact that Spike was a dragon would help. Thinking of him as an infant was the easiest way to cope.

“Spike, I think it's best you didn't know.” Twilight did not want to give Spike The Talk, her own experience had been traumatizing, to say the least. Twilight suppressed a shiver, Princess Celestia hadn't left out any of the details, that was too much for a little filly to take.

“But I -” Spike was cut off.

“Listen, just drop it, I'm certain Twilight will tell you all about it later. Right, Twilight?” Reman had a grin, and Twilight sent him a death glare. “Oh, would you rather have me do it?” The prospect horrified the Unicorn more than giving it to Spike, herself.

“Do what?” Spike cocked his head to the side, confused.

“Nothing, nothing at all.” Twilight said hurriedly. “Reman, Glade, we were going to grab breakfast, right?” Twilight began pushing the pair towards the door, well, attempting to. Glade moved easily, but Reman's feet gripped the wood effortlessly, a sort of passive resistance on the Imperial's part. “How does Sugarcube Corner sound to you two?” She asked as she shut the door, cutting Spike off before he could even begin.

“You mean the bakery your friends assaulted me at?” Reman asked, fully aware of the implications of eating at the establishment. Celestia's dossiers had indicated the Element of Laughter, Pinkie Pie, lived above the main floor. “Because if you do, the two of you will be eating alone.” Reman punctuated with a sarcastic drawl.

“Are sweets all they serve?” Glade asked, legitimately confused by a confectionery serving breakfast foods.

“The Cakes make doughnuts, that can be counted as breakfast.” Twilight explained.

“Have either of you noticed how desolate the streets are?” The two mares stopped, the Imperial had a pointed something that should have been obvious: Ponyville was unusually empty for a weekday morning. A shutter slammed closed nearby, Reman's ears perked at the sound.

“I guess the townsponies are scared of you, I wouldn't worry, though.” Twilight said, recalling her experience with Zecora. “They'll come around, I'm sure.”

“Does Arcadia serve breakfast?” The Imperial asked, seemingly out of the blue.

“The nightclub?” Twilight had no idea where he could have even heard of the den of vice. Then again, it did seem like the kind of place Reman would enjoy.

“The very same, wait, is there some of Arcadia in Ponyville?” Reman tilted his head as he asked, not catching Twilight apparent disgust at the prospect of eating in the club's bar. The Unicorn groaned and shook her head.

“Are we eating at Sugarcube Corner, or not?” Twilight tried not to sound aggravated, but the biped was making it difficult.

“I'm open to other ideas,” Glade answered, attempting to keep the group on a level. “Are there any other restaurants open this early?” Another pony ran inside.

“Of course there are,” Twilight replied.

“Do you think they'd be less afraid of my other form, Glade?” Reman asked his fellow lycan, in regards to the townsponies' response to him. The Imperial was met with a strange look, but no verbal answer was given.

“Oh, we could try LeSing's Dining Room, it's open.” Twilight gave, completely out of nowhere.

“Is the food any good?” The Imperial wondered, his stomach growled at the prospect of sustenance.

“It sure is, come on it's right around the corner.”

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Despite the name, LeSing's Dining Room was on the lower end of the quality spectrum. A classic hole in the wall affair, it had cheap tables, cheap seats, and the patrons didn't even turn their heads as the strange group entered. This was just the sort of place Reman liked, no one asked questions of the stranger in town in these locations.

“Don't let looks fool you, our food won't upset even the most delicate stomach.” An earth pony stallion spoke from behind the counter, a spatula adorned his flank, no doubt the head chef, or the only chef if this place's appearance was anything to go on. “Twilight, good to see you again.”

“You too, Mister LeSing.”

The earth pony looked at the two outsiders, smiling at the new business. He turned to Reman, “I've never seen anything like you before.”

“That doesn't surprise me.” Reman chuckled.

“Well, stranger, the name's LeSing, Vanhel LeSing.” The stallion extended a hoof, which the lycans shook.

“I'm Summer Glade, and this big guy is Reman.” The lycan mare introduced herself, even taking onto herself to perform the courtesy for her comrade.

“Well, any friend of Twilight's is a friend of mine.” Vanhel gave with another of his smiles, “The usual spot?”

“You know it.” Twilight answered. They were led to a corner booth with a view of the door, ideal in the event of an attack, that was an unconscious thought Reman had, couldn't help but think it. The three sat down, Reman on his own side, with Glade and Twilight on the other, the lycan mare had the aisle seat.

“Now, then,” Vanhel begins, “What can I get you?”

@#@#@#@#@#@

Hircine was staring into Azura's mirror pool, his fellow Prince just across from him, the Lady of Twilight's eyes were closed. Daedra did not require sleep, though higher functioning members of the species did enjoy it on occasion. In any case, the two Princes had been watching the lycans for the past twenty hours.

Reman was a perplexing individual, to be sure. Even though the Imperial was an adult, he wasn't above childish acts of petty vengeance. Hircine supposed this was the mystery of mortals, walking contradictions unto themselves. The Huntsman grinned, he knew the races of Nirn thought the same of the Daedra, but wondered how they would react if they knew the curiosity was mutual.

Nirn was a joint effort, if the accident of creation could be called that, of the Divines of Princes. Mortals were both created by the godly beings, and were the creators of them, as well. Worship gave the warring deities power, though few outside the Daedra acknowledged it. Hircine had been around long enough to see some of his fellow Princes die from the binding act. The ancient rites that held the mortals and deities in an intertwined existence, power would rise with worship, if one didn't have any faithful, nothing would happen.

But, if one was worshiped, then lost their following, the deity would fade.

The Huntsman shuddered at the thought. Mortals held the lives of the Divines and Daedra in their little, temporary, fragile hands. The patron Prince of the Dwemer had faded when the Elves vanished. That was so long ago, Hircine almost doubted he had even existed to begin with. So foolish were those who attempted to tip the balance of the universe, deity or not, there was a price to be paid for blatant disregard for the rules. The Huntsman held nothing but disdain for them, they who thought to violate the single Truth of Existence.

But that still left many questions, too many to ever answer. Sheogorath's Champion and Talos of Old Atmora, both had ascended to the mantle of godhood, had they broken the rules? The creation of Malacath, and the Death of Lorkhan fell into the same gray area. Perhaps the Truth was being bent, but never broken, not completely. No, they returned balance, the loss or gain placed the scales back on the level.

“Having one of your moments, Hircine?” Azura asked, one eye open.

“Unfortunately.” The Huntsman was almost envious of his devotees, mortal life was never boring.

“You shouldn't dwell on these things, it's not like we can change the Truth, even if we wanted to.”

“How do you think Sheogorath reacted upon ascension?”

“Scared, surprised, I truthfully have no idea.” Azura gazed into her pool, “But, during his mortal reign, the Madgod was being prepared for his future role.”

“That was the first meeting where both Sheogorath and Jyggalag were present.” Hircine recalled.

“Yes, the Mad Prince was with us so long, I had almost forgotten that he was created by the rest of us.” The was a hint of some strange emotion in Azura's voice, difficult to place. “I assume you were thinking about Ascension, again, weren't you?”

“Yes, I was.” Hircine paused for a moment, pondering both himself, and the Prince across from him. “Were you ever mortal?”

“No, I’ve been around since the beginning.” Azura looked to the ground. “It seems like eons have passed, doesn't it?”

“They have, since your creation, anyway.” Azura knew where Hircine was taking this, it was never pleasant.

“Hircine,” Azura's voice almost broke as she thought about her choice of words. Could it really be happening? This had never even been conceived as a possibility. Sheogorath and Malacath both denied it when asked, but the Huntsman had never been questioned about this.

“Hircine, are you remembering your life?”