If only because I'm ahead on my schedule, here is Sunday's chapter, there will still be an update this weekend, I just found a lot of free time.

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

The sun was warm on his skin. Everything felt right with the world, for the first time in four years, Reman knew peace. The feeling was bittersweet, on one hand, he would never have to fight again. On the other... He didn't want to think of his failure. The man had only broken two promises in his life, one to Gaston, one to himself. He'd silently vowed to cure Glade, even if it meant he would suffer the affliction for years more.

If he was seeing this golden, beautiful plain stretching before him, then he had failed. His death meant true defeat. Reman would be denied this brief rest soon enough, and he knew it, Hircine would come for his soul, and bind it to his infernal Hunting Grounds. It was bitter poetry that the Imperial would wallow in his failure before the Huntsman claimed him. That dark humor was worsened by this place's resemblance to Kvatch in the late summer, a terrible reminder of his past shortcomings.

He allowed himself a brief moment to recollect on the joys he had felt in life. His first kiss, the first time he'd cast a spell or held a sword, his first fistfight, his first victory in a fistfight. Throughout his childhood, friends and family had surrounded him, and provided a barrier for life's tragedy. A sigh overtook the man, causing his form to slightly collapse.

Eyes on the prey, not the horizon.

The words echoed in his head. They'd been repeated by so many lycans, by so many men and women, that he'd met throughout his travels. He never truly understood what they meant. Originally, he had thought they were a mantra to avoid fear of the inevitable indentured servitude in the Hunting Grounds. But now, now he saw them in a new light. The phrase did not mean for one to turn a blind eye to the future, but rather to enjoy one's limited time on Nirn. He'd been a fool to squander his time chasing useless dreams, only now did he see that.

“Better to spend one's life chasing dreams, then to squander them in complacency.” That voice, so familiar, Reman almost believed it was a trick of the Huntsman. But, when he faced the speaker, his eyes beheld only the truth. For there, in full Imperial Legion Battlemage dress, stood Gaston Jemane, looking exactly like he did in life. “I'm glad to see you again, Reman.”

“And you, as well, Gaston.” The Imperial nearly stumbled over his words. He immediately lowered his head, he considered himself unworthy to look his adoptive uncle in the eye. Shame permeated his form as he did, but he could not face the man, his honor would not let him.

“Raise your head, boy.” The Breton's words were stern, but not harsh, the mark of a good father. That was, indeed, what he had been in life. “I'm only allowed a brief moment to speak to you, and I won't spend it talking to a ingrate.”

“What?” Reman looked the other man in the face, confused by what he meant. Surely they were in Aetherius, why else would Gaston be here? Purgatory was no place for a man such a he, and Reman had performed enough heroic deeds in his own life to warrant immediate entry into paradise.

“Talos will only let us speak briefly. After that, I’ll be replaced by someone else.” Talos himself had sanctioned this meeting? The greatest Emperor to ever exist, Talos of Old Atmora, Tiber Septim, the hero-god of mankind. “I only have a few things to say, so listen up.” Reman stood with perfect posture, a gesture of respect he rarely gave anyone.

“You never failed me, Reman, despite what you may like to think.” The Imperial felt the Breton's hand on his shoulder, he hadn't noticed the battlemage cross the distance between them. “I know, you promised to watch over Lynette and Isabella if something happened to me, and to protect my daughter from the dangers of Nirn.” A pang of cold guilt ran through the younger man and his friend spoke. “My condition for you to marry her, if you remember.” Despite himself, Reman cracked a smile.

“But, I-”

“Don't interrupt. Didn't your father and I teach you better than that?” The Imperial cheeks ran red as he was scolded, he was too old for that. “You've done things that make your ancestor, Joan, would have been impressed by.” Reman's chest swelled with pride, he never cared for the opinions of others, but Gaston was one of the few exceptions. “You were the first in your family to see Black Marsh, to climb the Throat of the World's Seven Thousand Steps. You destroyed a fort full of Thalmor, something my own father failed to do, you've made your mark on the world.” The Breton's words were full of praise, the pride of seeing a loved one accomplish great things. “Never forget that, where most men would have given up, you held fast.”

“Thank you, Gaston, you do me too much honor.” Reman bowed his head, in respect this time.

“I'm not the one who deserves thanks.” The hand on his shoulder squeezed, firmly but gently, and the Breton man continued. “You know, Lynette cried for a month after you disappeared.” What? Gaston wouldn't have known that, he died the night of the attack, Reman had seen his corpse. “Don't look so surprised, I stuck around for a good bit after I... well, died.” The man shrugged and laughed, odd, given the contents of his words. “She had a feeling that you had been infected that night, and joined the Silver Hand in an attempt to find you. No, no! Don't get the wrong idea, she was trying to find you, she wanted to bring you back home.”

That... that took Reman by surprise. Lynette wanted him to come home? Did that extend to their last meeting? He couldn't have made a good impression on her, not after that display.

“Are you sure?” The Imperial had to know.

“Reman, she loved you, she still does.” Devotion like that was rare, even rarer than one would think, it seemed. “When she saw you, at that Silver Hand camp, she didn't want to believe it was you, but when you spared her, she had no doubts.” Of course, mercy wasn't commonplace on Nirn. “She still wears that locket you bought for her birthday, the one with the portraits of you two in it." Right, Reman remembered the necklace, and how expensive it had been. the area where he would have kept his sack of coins started to burn. “She cried after you ran off, you know.”

“I regret not staying.”

“You shouldn't, anyone would have fled in your position.” The hand left his shoulder, its absence was immediately felt. “Just promise me that you'll make things right when you return.” Reman nodded instantly, he didn't need to think in order to make that decision. “My time is nearly up, it was good seeing you again, Reman T..., wait, you don't use your family name anymore, do you?”

“No, sir, I haven't in four years.” He wouldn't use it again, until he was cured.

“Well then, Reman of Cyrodiil, I hope that when we next meet, it will be as warriors in Aetherius proper.” With each word, Gaston Jemane's image faded, leaving nothing but the air in his wake.

It seemed like hours before the next sign of life. Even then, it was distant, but certain. The steady rhythm of a horse's hooves in full gallop, then a white dot appeared on the horizon. Given its speed, Reman briefly entertained the thought that Princess Celestia was here to free him from the afterlife. As the steed approached, it was made evident that it was mounted, and the Imperial was certain Celestia would never allow someone to ride on her back. The white stallion came to a halt about twelve feet from the man on foot, and Reman got a good look at who was riding. It wasn't a rider, there were two, a man and woman.

The man was wearing steel armor, with a white tunic over the breastplate, a red diamond was emblazoned on the fabric. He recognized the armor instantly, for he'd seen it in paintings during his childhood: Pelinel Whitestrake, the Divine Crusader himself. That would mean that the woman was Joan the Champion. Together, the pair made the most lethal married couple in Cyrodiilic history.

“So, this is where my family line has gone? Seems about right.” The voice from inside the helmet was joking, at ease with his surroundings.

“Watch what you say, Aurelius, he's my descendant, too.” So that was how they had behaved in life. It was amazing that history books left this sort of thing out, but, what can one do? “I guess you already know, but I'm Joan and this ugly mug is Aurelius, but everyone calls him Pelinel.” The armored figure bowed as his wife introduced him.

“Forgive me if I'm a bit taken back, I’ve had a rough day.” The other two Imperials started laughing, a bit more than they should have.

“Kid, we had a tough everything, I had to fight Umaril the Unfeathered, and Joan had to stop the Oblivion Crisis.” Said woman slapped the armored man's pauldron, clearly not amused by his words. “Sorry, but I'm just speaking the truth.”

“But Mister Stabby-Stabby over here means is: things are gonna get better, just wait.” Joan winked and gave a thumbs up “Now get out there and be somebody!” She spoke as though something was supposed to happen then, but nothing did.

“I don't think the Nine want him to go just yet, love.” Aurelius, or Pelinel, had removed his helmet, and Reman could see why he'd been recorded as one of the most eligible bachelors of the Empire. His face was one to behold, a classic representation of Imperial good looks: brown hair and sharp eyes.

“I never thought you'd look like this.” Reman accidentally thought aloud, and he immediately covered his mouth.

“You should have seen me when I was a vampire.” Pelinel laughed that out, seemingly finding the prospect of undeath humorous.

“To this day, I regret not staking you when we first met.” Reman was now certain that this is where all the jokes about married couples came from.

“Relax, kid, you'll be back with your pony friends soon enough.” Pelinel was still laughing.

“The whole pony thing isn't strange to you two?” Reman cocked his head as he asked his question. In his defense, it made sense to ask that.

In response, the other two Imperials laughed even harder, and Joan nearly doubled over.