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// Chapter 2: A Shortcut to Cupcakes 
// Story: The White Rider 
// by Ascension Call 
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	Near daybreak the wizard awoke, and his first glimpse was of the morning sky. Initially it appeared to him as little more than a distorted blend of colors, which he knew to be caused by his sleep-dulled vision. For some time he merely gazed at the void, and as sleep’s grasp slowly deserted him and he grew awake once more, the beauty of the heavens above became apparent; stars still hung high above like diamonds hung from a high ceiling, and the sky was a shade of deep purple. But that color became brighter and brighter near the distant horizon, which had been painted with streaks of gold by the ascending sun that still lay hidden behind the peaks of the faraway mountains. 

The coming daylight illuminated the bands of cloud that encircled those great towers of ageless stone, and Gandalf could see the wisps of vapor that floated about them even from the tower where he rested. The sight brought the memory of Middle-earth’s ancient mountains to the tired wizard’s muddled mind, and he found himself sleepily wondering what secrets were hidden among those snow-covered crags of Equestria; those of Middle-earth certainly had their fair share of oddities, amassed over the years with the passage of creatures that would walk them.  

Following this thought the wizard’s attention turned briefly away from the grand daybreak, and he berated himself for succumbing to his fatigue the night before within the ruins of the castle; easing his guard to sleep had been most unwise, for so much was unknown to him regarding the newfound mysteries. Were this Middle-earth during a time of darkness, Gandalf had no doubt that such carelessness would have cost him greatly. But as far as he could tell his slumber had been peaceful and his awakening uneventful, and aside from this he had also gained a well-rested mind with which he could think clearly. He had just about everything he needed to start his day off; all he required now was a plan (and of course, breakfast).  

He looked to his side for his belongings, which he was glad to see remained there, unmoved; he had somewhat expected that he would have turned to find them gone, whisked away by some hidden rascal in the night. True, this small fear was a bit irrational, but he knew that he had reason enough to be cautious, and though at first he had believed it unnecessary the wizard was gratified that Glamdring was at his side; he certainly had no wish to bring about pain and death in this land, but the elf-sword had been his companion through all his long travels since he had discovered it decades ago, and so he had opted to bring it along. 

Now, like the grandeur of this palace and the wondrous ponies within it the Equestria he once knew seemed to be a thing of the distant past, and while the land was once free of danger he was not certain that it remained so after all these years. Perhaps the Foe-Hammer would later come to serve a purpose here, but the wizard hoped against that possibility, for Glamdring, as radiant as its fine edge shimmered, served only to weave death. Thus the wizard resolved to allow the sword to gleam only when all lights had dimmed, and truly no other hope remained. 

He rose slowly from the stone floor; lying with his legs folded beneath him felt a bit awkward, though not uncomfortable. But this was to be expected, of course, for many long years had passed since Gandalf had lived amongst the ponies of Equestria, and but a single day had passed since he returned. Of course, this was a rather minor drawback in exchange for such a versatile (not to mention amusing) ability, especially in comparison to the limits that had been placed upon Istari magic long ago by the Valar*. Indeed, Saruman’s example had proven that such rules had been wisely enacted, but the wizard could (and perhaps never would) quite stop entertaining the idea of galloping about Middle-earth as a bearded pony. As foolish as the image that the idea presented to his mind was, the wizard could not deny that it amused him.  

But time was passing without err, and though the sun had still not surpassed the peaks it seemed to have risen a bit, for Gandalf could now make out the green tree-tops of the forest below him, and of others that grew far and away. True, he was waiting for the sun to ascend into the sky and show to him an illuminated and long-awaited view of the land, but it would be wiser to put that time to effective use, rather than fruitless fantasizing. The problem of what events the day would bring needed a solution, as did his need for breakfast. 

The wizard trotted over to his knapsack and opened it by use of his magic, and drew from it a single thin cake of lembas that unsurprisingly still bore its fine wrapping of Mallorn leaf. Upon undoing the covering and finding the gift of familiar, light-brown bread within, the wizard could not suppress a comforted smile.

“Praised be the grace of the Elves!” Gandalf said, and he then began to partake of the meal as he turned towards the great window to watch the coming sunrise, and watch for what it may reveal. The pleasant taste of the waybread brought good cheer, and satisfied both body and mind alike. In fact, so filling was the bread that the wizard’s hunger faded quickly after the third or so bite of the small cake, as was usual in Gandalf’s case. The Elves had crafted the bread to provide sustenance over long adventures, and as a result it was so nourishing that merely a few small bites were enough to fill the stomachs of grown Men. Though he knew this was not the case for Hobbits, as he had seen during his journey with the Fellowship. In fact, Pippin once ate four cakes in a single sitting.

Still, as palatable as it was the wizard, like most of the Fellowship, had never been able to eat much lembas; the many uneaten loaves that remained within his bag and the fact that he was barely able to finish his current breakfast of one loaf of the bread were clear testaments to that. That was just as well to the wizard, however, for the meal had fulfilled its purpose; it was easier to think on a full stomach than on an empty one. Perhaps this was why Hobbits were quick on their feet, or at least most of them were.  

Now came the time to decide on his next course of action, a task which was not so simple. He stood now not only before a grand view of Equestria, but also at the crossroads of his options; to go forward was to risk danger, but to go back was to risk regret. The urge to explore further was almost immediately his first choice, for it was quite obvious to him that much was not quite right with the disappearance of the ponies. But what this choice would entail he could not know. Really, this was no different from wading into the black depths of a strange, murky lake, that which teemed with unseen hazard. 

But had he not ever faced such bleakness? Uncertain odds had been allayed against him countless times before. Never before had they been successful in deterring him, and he would not allow them to finally do so this day. For the good or ill that would come of it, he would go forth and search the land for the Princesses and their ponies, or some sign of what had become of them. It was clear that nothing remained within the castle now aside from his memories of it. He was quite appreciative for the shelter it provided, nevertheless. 

He took a moment to rest, then moved to prepare. The sword was returned to his belt, and his traveling-bag was slung across his back. Sleep and hunger’s grasp had long since been thrown from him, and his mind was as clear as it ever had been. He was quite ready for what he anticipated would be a rather long journey. Gripped within his hoof now was his staff, which he leaned against as he surveyed the land once more.   

The sun still had not risen into the sky, and the moon had not yet fallen. It seemed neither body had moved at all since he first woke to the sight of them, which was unsurprising, given the fact that he had woken less than an hour ago. The tree-tops remained the most he could see of the land below, the rest still shrouded in the blackness of shadow, which was dismaying but expected, for early morning was often the time of slow battle between shadow and light. Though the scene had not changed much over the course of his waking, the sky above the horizon had shifted from a light blue ringed with golden clouds to a somewhat deeper orange hue. It would have been quite a nice sight to smoke to had the wizard felt idle enough to do so, but soon he would be leaving. He reminded himself of the time and day.

“First light of…” the wizard trailed off as he tried to recollect the date, for he had neglected to do so the last few days. “…the 6th of March of the year 3020, of the Third Age. Only mere months ago did the troubled year end!” The year before had been dreadfully eventful, so much so that it felt as if that single year had really been many, many years instead of a mere twelve months. But that time was past, and the wizard saw no reason to loiter any further in these ruins. He shifted upon his hooves to turn away from the window, but suddenly a piercing light shone into the corner of his eye and he turned to look. Then and there he beheld one of many wonders that he had forgotten long ago. 

The great sun had suddenly leapt from its place behind the mountains, and was sailing through the sky alongside the pale moon, which was fleeing just as quickly to the horizon. Stunned into silence by the marvelous yet familiar sight, the wizard watched as the dark sea of the early morning sky above shifted to an ocean of light blue, and the stars faded away as white ships of cloud were revealed by the sudden brightness. Higher still the sun rose until it reached its apogee, and as it casted daylight downwards from its heightening perch the whole shadowed land of Equestria became unveiled. Purged were the shades of night in that fleeting moment of sunrise, and now a far green country lay before Gandalf like a waking dream.

Here was yet another ghost of the past, though it was not haunting in the slightest. Green of all shades filled his vision, from the dark oily green of the tree-tops to the bright emerald of sunlit grass fields. As far as his eye could see stretched the fruits of nature; endless forests and rolling grasslands, and where his sight ended the great mountains stood, capped with ice and clouds. Essentially, the dark shapes of the night before had been brought to life before him.  Memories returned by the dozen of this very image, and it did not seem to have changed in the least now that the wizard could compare them; it seemed almost as if he had not left Equestria for so many long years. 

Quite a lot of things that he wished to say came to the wizard’s mind promptly, but none of them would come close to expressing his full amazement at what he had just witnessed, and so he remained in stunned silence. It seemed as if a new world was now present before him, and all the darkness and danger had been chased off with the veils of shadow. The wizard’s deep memories stirred, and from them he drew the countless times before that he had seen the sun and moon shift in such a strange yet wondrous fashion. He recognized that magic and berated himself for his forgetfulness, but his thoughts froze and were still as his eyes discerned a great white shape in the distance through the blinding sun.

For a moment he believed himself fooled by his own eyes, for the shape was of a vast city constructed of gleaming white stone that bore no small resemblance to Minas Tirith, perched upon a mountainside. It had tall spires that were capped with intricate purple and gold, and aside it there rushed a waterfall, that flowed down from the mountain. He surely was not dreaming, and so he wondered if this was some other form of subtle magic woven to fool him. Far as he was from it the wizard could see much of the city, and it brought together echoes of times past and new beauty, for there was an unmistakable familiarity in the curves and arches of the shining city. He had seen those same structures before in the very castle he stood in now.  

So familiar was the sight that the wizard wondered if he was staring into some strange vision of the past that manifested itself before him, for this was the almost exact form of the Castle of the Royal Pony Sisters that he remembered from his past. But surely there it stood, rooted high into a mountainside in the distance with a sea of sky behind it.  

It was certainly not often that Gandalf found himself speechless, but the magnitude of it all had struck him like a bolt of lightning. In those brief minutes everything had changed; his grim outlook on the journey had gone, for in the light of the sun there was that new white beacon of hope, and of clarity. While what he had just witnessed did not give any definite answers, it had left him with many optimistic guesses. He now remembered where he had seen such strange celestial movements; he had spent countless days watching them during his past stay here, for the Princesses were the ones responsible for raising the sun, moon, and stars over Equestria. 

To say he was annoyed with himself for forgetting such an important fact and also for not catching a glimpse of the moon’s rise the night before was a great understatement, but there was no use in regretting past mistakes, especially when the future now looked bright. The fact that the sun still rose in the same fashion as he knew it made him very glad, for unless the natural laws of Equestria had changed as well it was likely that the Princesses were still here, alive and well. It was his guess then that for whatever reason they had moved to the city on the mountain many years before his return.   

His path was clear now; through dark woods or deep waters, he would search for a way to that place. It was true that he had not much proof that justified his belief that the Princesses had moved to the city before him, and there was undeniably a chance that there was really danger there, but he had little else to go on. While his journey had taken a turn for the better this morning, the things he had seen had not made it any less mystifying to him. In the end, however, he was sure that all things would come to a resolution. 

The wizard looked out the window to see if he could spot a way through the forest that would bring him closer to the castle atop the mountain. Though he saw no obvious split in the tree-tops, he did not despair in the least, for he was optimistic about what was to come.  

“This will be quite a curious trip indeed!” said the wizard, and he laughed. He was relieved; at least he had found some clue pertaining to the well-being of the Princesses, and while he still did not know why they had moved (as he deduced), all would be revealed in due time. He turned to make his way to the heavy wooden door that would lead him out, but one last urge to catch a full view of the land tugged at his heart, and he succumbed to it. 

He took in this last view, memorizing all he could of Equestria beneath the sun, from the steep slopes of the mountains to the gentle rise of the rolling hills. It was picturesque, really; a place fit for great fables. He had to come to the admission that as much as he disliked treading through the unknown, he was exhilarated, for here was an old land made new. It was ripe with adventures that he would soon come to know, perhaps at the side of his old friends.

He turned now and walked evenly across the cracked stone floor of the tower to the rusting door. He no longer had reason to stay here any longer, but nevertheless there was a sense of sadness and longing which haunted him with every step he took; he did not wish to abandon the palace and leave it to decay. As Gandalf opened the door and looked downwards at the tragic corpse of the Castle of the Royal Pony Sisters, he saw not ruins but fragments of memory in the courtyard below. He went on brooding as he swiftly descended the tall stairs of the tower and went on to pass through the maze of debris at the foot of it, and walked further on up the stairs to the battlements, and then to the hall. Each second of his departure reminded him of what this place had once been, and warned him of what it would eventually be in the far future, when the waves of time had finished their siege. 

The wizard found the silence of the entrance hall unnerving, for he had been recollecting the days it had been rowdy, and full of drink and song and merrymaking. The monument that was the Elements of Harmony stood there, mute and still in the sun, and just as puzzlingly different as it had been the day before. Glancing at it as he walked past, the wizard felt a stirring of intuition within him. It was a peculiar unease, one that he could not explain, but he remained wordless as he opened the door, and went out into the wilds. 

The chasm remained there still, as did the opaque fog and the dingy bridge. They no longer appeared as eerie as they had the day before, as they were simply minor pieces of this vast puzzle, and it would not help him to dwell too long on them. An early start to his journey would be wise, and there was no better time to begin then morning. He breathed deeply, enjoying the scent of the morning dew upon the grass, as he walked down the small flight of stairs and on to the grounds of the former castle. He walked steadily towards the white mist and the bridge that he could just vaguely make out within it, but his sentimental feelings had not left him, and neither had the strange unease that had come over him when he saw the Elements of Harmony. He was nearing the mist when he turned once more to the ruined shape of the castle that no longer seemed foreboding, but forlorn instead. 

“This place will go with time,” the wizard said, sadly. “But I suspect it will have another role to play before my time here is done.” Such were his feelings, put into speech that was heard by nopony. Sighing, Gandalf faced the mist and bridge once again, and, knowing from his test yesterday that no harm would come to him from the smoke and he needed only to step cautiously while on the bridge, he set a front hoof on to a rotting plank before moving into the haze. 

He emerged on the other side, and now he could see the countless trees of the Everfree, the sight of which had been blocked off by the thick fog when he had exited the entrance hall. He looked to his left, and saw the precipice that he had stood upon when he had first seen the castle, and the wood from which he had come. That way lead to the road on to which he would later return, but he would not be going until his tasks here were done. But already, the wizard found his first stroke of luck; straight ahead of the bridge was a path that lay somewhat concealed behind fern plants and tree-shadows, which he guessed had been hidden from him in the darkness of dusk yesterday. Now, the high sun cast light through the leaves and showed the path to him, and he went to it. There he saw that it was actually a rather wide dirt road that cut cleanly through the forest floor.   

The road seemed promising to the wizard, for the utter lack of encroaching vegetation meant that it was likely of fairly recent construction, perhaps by ponies, perhaps not. But this at least gave him a clear path to travel upon, which he knew was a safer option than wading through the tall grasses of the Everfree. Where the road would take him he did not know, but he hoped that each step would lead him closer to the mountain, and he would break from the path if needed. He would also not be so foolish as to be carefree on it; his eyes and ears would be sharp. 

He glanced behind him to see if he could catch one more glimpse of what was once the capital of Equestria, but there was nothing but a black shape in the plumes of whiteness. Gandalf looked back down the path, and though troubled by the questions all this had raised he saw the other city far above in the mountain overlooking the forest. Its golden spires cast bright light in his eye even as he stood so far away, and he was spurred onwards. He knew he would find the answers he wanted there.  

Though he did not know why, the wizard found the hard packed earth of the road more comfortable to walk upon than the soft soil of the forest. Around him the Everfree was dark as ever, but to an extent this was ameliorated by the golden rays that spilled through the tree-tops to light the path he was on. But the woods were not silent; there was the occasional rustle of movement somewhere in the surrounding depths or above him in the trees, and now and then he heard snippets of birdsong and the fluttering of wings. For now this was a typical forest-walk, but no woods were without beasts. 

He struggled to recall his knowledge of Equestria’s beastfolk as he went on with the road, turning when it curved and going ever onwards. He vaguely remembered some manner of vile wooden wolf that prowled about in the far corners of the Everfree, where ponies seldom ventured. In fact, there had been stories of beasts other than wolves that had dwelled in the deep of the Everfree; accounts of fantastic, terrible beings such as winged lions with tails of red armor and serpentine creatures that could turn ponies into stone, and other worse creatures. 

Such tales had been deemed as rubbish by most of the Princesses’ court, but the wizard had always believed that the stories held at least some truth. After all, some ponies who went beyond the safety of the castle grounds and into the wild Everfree never returned. But it was different now, for the Everfree had no longer borne a safe haven for quite a long time now. Perhaps those creatures were real, and had spread from the distant lairs they once inhabited. The very thought was more than a bit unnerving, and though the wizard had faced viler creatures before he listened carefully for more than the occasional sound of movement in the bushes. However, ahead the woods parted further and the road was bathed entirely in the light, which was certainly welcomed. 

A short time after the road turned completely sunlit, a new sound reached Gandalf’s ears; a faint sound of rushing water. In the distance, past several more stretches of the path, he could see the glint of the sun on what he guessed to be a river. Wary of the obstacle this could present to his journey, the wizard looked upward to the sky at the distant mountains above to see where the white city was relative to his location, and he was very pleased that he not only spotted it with ease, but he also seemed to have gotten closer to it, for the mountain it stood on certainly appeared more looming now than it had before. The wizard trotted onwards eagerly, sure that the path curved along the banks of the river, or a bridge of some sort would allow him passage. 

As he had expected, a river open to the sky soon came clearly into his view. Its waters were dark, showing depth, and its current was rather powerful. The river snaked onwards into the forest, and the wizard wondered for a bit where it would lead. What he did not see, though, was a continuation of the path near where he stood; there was no sort of bridge and the woods beside him were dark and thick, and in fact the road actually seemed to continue on the other side of the river directly opposite from where he stood now. Upon discovering this, there was both frustration and confusion. 

“For what reason is there no way across?” the wizard said. This was certainly baffling; the wizard saw no sign of a bridge having ever been here, and the depth and strong current of the river showed to him that it had been there long before the creation of the path. He wondered if whoever crafted this road did this deliberately, and for what reason. 

For a moment Gandalf stood there, trying to formulate a method of crossing. He would not chance swimming, for the waters appeared far too dangerous for that, and he also did not quite know how to swim in this hooved form. He would not jump either, for it was simply too great of a gap. Overhead the white city gleamed on the mountain, and though he had come closer to it, it seemed as if the rest of the way was inaccessible. With no other options the wizard considered traveling along the river until he found some means of crossing, but suddenly the waters of the river burst, and a tall shape emerged. 

With a quick movement Gandalf jumped back, his staff gripped tightly in his hoof. A great scaled beast now loomed over him, casting a long shadow. The armor of its skin was purple, from its head burst three small gouts of flame, one purple and the others orange, and from its long body there extended two arms with a webbed claw on each. It was a sea-serpent; a Fish-Dragon. He had never before seen any sort of dragon in Equestria even though he had heard tales of them, but he knew very well the power of Middle-earth’s drakes. Never did he expect to meet such a monster here, but it mattered little now. The wizard’s face turned grim, and with his magic he drew Glamdring forth from its scabbard. 

The beast’s gaze was set upon him, but strangely it made no move to strike. Instead, it raised a claw to its mouth and yawned, which produced not the deep rumbling groan he expected, but instead a somewhat high-pitched note not different from those of voices typical to Men or Elves or Hobbits.  Then much to Gandalf’s surprise, it spoke. 

“Oh my, it’s been so long since I’ve seen a pony around here!” the serpent said. The expression it wore was unmistakably a smile, and a friendly smile at that. “Months, I think! Oh, but where are my manners?” the serpent’s face turned sheepish suddenly. “Good morning, Mr. Pony!”    

This surprised Gandalf very much, for this serpent seemed uncharacteristically amicable. With his magic he lowered his blade behind him, out of the serpent’s sight, but he did not sheathe it. Dragons were known to be deceptive when they deemed it necessary, and he was loath to imagine being caught off-guard by one. Yet to Gandalf, combatting a dragon was far easier to visualize than making cordial conversation with one. The serpent smiled expectantly at the wizard as if politely waiting for him to return the greeting, which Gandalf did, somewhat awkwardly. 

“Well, good morning to you as well, friend!” he said, with as much cheer as he could muster. He did not want to address the serpent simply as “serpent”, as that seemed rather confrontational; never before had there been a record of such a civilly-behaved dragon, and Gandalf did not want to anger it. But it seemed to him that the dragon was truly no threat, for he did not feel the same malevolence that evil creatures’ gazes bore, and was really a benevolent one. Or perhaps Equestria’s dragons were not like those of Middle-earth?

He wondered if he had already been enraptured by the creature’s dragon-spell*, but he felt it was not so, as he would have noticed the disturbance in his thought. Feeling a bit more at ease, the wizard decided to chance a few questions, for the dragon seemed amiable enough to answer them. Suddenly the serpent spoke then, either not bothered by or not taking notice of the wizard’s silence. 

“Why thank you! Yes, it is a good morning!” it said, and it looked to the sky. The beast (which Gandalf had to admit was not acting very beast-like) raised his arms up as he took in the sights. “My, my, such a nice day! The sun is shining, the river is clean, and the sky is clear and blue!” he declared, and then he looked back at Gandalf and grinned. “Your Princesses really know what they’re doing!” 

At this, Gandalf’s eyes widened. “Princesses! What do you mean?” he said quickly. Upon hearing the word “Princesses”, his uncertainty had gone and was replaced with great excitement. 

Now it was the serpent who wore a look of bewilderment. “You don’t know? Why, the Royal Pony Princesses of course! Princesses Celestia and Luna!” said the serpent with much enthusiasm, as if he was announcing their arrival, and he then leaned forward to look questioningly at Gandalf. “You know them right, mister? They rule Equestria after all! They’ve been doing so for years! Everyone in Equestria knows that!”

Gandalf laughed joyously; his guess had not been wrong after all, and he certainly had not expected to find that out from this eccentric creature. The Princesses were indeed alive, and he needed only to find out where they were now. It struck him then that this serpent was not at all a monster; it was a friendly being that deserved to be treated as such, and it was certainly no less magnificent than any other creature of Equestria.

“Yes, I know them! Where may I find them?” Gandalf asked, and he glanced upwards at the white city on the mountain far above him before looking back quickly at the serpent, who had been smiling at his elation. 

“You don’t know that either? Well…” he turned, and gestured to the white city that Gandalf had been looking at. “…You can find them in that fabulous city right there! But oh, that’s an awfully long walk! Maybe if you go to Ponyille and ask for help-”

“Ponyville?” interjected the wizard, as he considered the latest news; his guess as to the Princesses’ location was also correct, and he believed his assumption was also correct regarding “Ponyville”, which he thought meant a town of ponies. 

“Oh my, you don’t know that too?” asked the serpent, who was beginning to look somewhat exasperated. “It’s the town full of ponies! I mean, you’ve been there before, right? Everyone knows where that is too!” he pointed down the path on the other side of the bank. “It’s right down there, just barely another hour’s walk!” 

The wizard was absolutely gratified; he had learned so much in such little time, and all of it bode very well. Greatly unexpected was this turn of events, that he would meet and gain all this news from a serpent, of all creatures! 

“You have been of great help, friend!” Gandalf said, and he beamed at the serpent, who reciprocated, though he was still visibly confused by Gandalf’s apparent lack of knowledge. 

The serpent bowed. “Oh, it was my pleasure! After those other ponies helped me, it’s the least I could do!”

This drew the wizard’s curiosity, and though he was not one to pry into the business of others he could not help but ask the serpent’s meaning. “Other ponies?” Gandalf said.

The serpent nodded. “Oh yes!” he said. He then leaned forward, and Gandalf saw now that it was not flames that were bursting from the serpent’s head, but hair; the serpent had a full head and long mustache of it, which was fiery-orange in color. It seemed to Gandalf that the more he learned about the serpent the stranger the encounter grew, for he knew of no dragon that had hair, but this was of no consequence. The serpent was pointing to the end of one half of his mustache, which Gandalf quickly noticed ended in curled, brilliantly-shaded indigo hair.  

The serpent began to explain. “A few months ago, I was minding my business and just swimming about one night when a little cloud of purple smoke just whizzed past me, and cut off my oh-so-fabulous mustache!” he said, and then he paused for what seemed to be the cause of creating drama. The wizard knew not what he meant by the cloud of smoke and wondered if there was any relation between it and the wall of mist around the ancient castle. The serpent continued with a look of exaggerated horror on his face as he remembered that difficult time. “Oh, I was so desperate! My fabulous mustache had been cut! And oh, it was just so dreadful that I started to flail about! But then, those six ponies came!” 

“Six ponies?”

“Yes! I don’t know what they were doing, except that they were looking to cross over the river from the path from Ponyville, but they couldn’t because I was making such a big mess…” his smile returned now, more radiant than ever, as he recalled something pleasant in the memory. “…But then one of the ponies, a very fashionable white mare with a very fashionable mane took one of my scales to cut her tail off, and used it to fix my mustache!” he said happily, as he indicated the distinct, springy purple end of his facial hair. “She saved my mustache! She saved my life!” 

It was certainly a curious tale, and one that had obviously also been exaggerated in certain aspects; for one thing, Gandalf was quite certain that the mustache would have grown back, and he also felt it unlikely that the serpent’s life was at risk when his mustache had been cut. But this did not matter to him, for the implications of the serpent’s tale were more important. What had the six ponies been doing here? The only thing down the path was the castle, and nothing was there. Then, there was the talk of the dark cloud of smoke. It seemed there would be no end to the mysteries he would encounter.

Though the wizard was very eager to continue onwards, he wanted to see if the serpent knew anything else about that rather curious-sounding night. “You know nothing else then? Of why those ponies were here in the forest, or of that cloud of smoke?” 

“Nope! I don’t know anything about why they were here. After that wonderful mare’s show of generosity I helped them across the river, and then I just lounged around for the rest of the night because I didn’t see them again. Oh, and I don’t know anything about that dastardly cloud either. All I know is that it was very fast, and it cut my mustache right in half!” 

This was odd; how had the six ponies returned from their errand? Or had they not? It was possible that these questions would be raised once again later, and Gandalf made sure to remember them. For now though, he was satisfied. To an extent he wanted to stay and learn all he could from the serpent of what it knew about Equestria’s recent past or beyond, but his desire to return to his journey was too great to bear. 

“A curious tale! And certainly a very fascinating one!” Gandalf said. “I learned much from it, but I’ve one more favor to ask of you, if you do not mind; can you help me cross these waters?”   

“Oh, allow me! After all, we can’t let those elegant white robes get wet now, can we?” the serpent said happily, and he snaked back underneath the surface of the river. His body formed great looping arches upon which the wizard jumped effortlessly to the other side. Landing safely on the bank, Gandalf turned back to the serpent, who had emerged once again from the river. 

“For only mere moments have I known you, and yet I already owe you a debt of gratitude!” said Gandalf, who had also chuckled at the comment about his robes, and the serpent blushed at the praise and appeared quite appreciative of it. “The path to Ponyville is just ahead, you say?”

“Yes indeed! Just follow the road straight ahead of you, and don’t move from it. You’ll get to Ponyville in about an hour.”

“Very well then!” said the wizard, though he could not help but wonder, finally, how the serpent knew so much. It certainly did not seem to be spinning lies, for Gandalf was quite proficient at finding lies in words, and he found none within the serpent’s. He stowed away his sword, which he had kept out for far too long. “Now, I cannot help but wonder; you seem quite fond of your river, so where have you learned so much about the ponies?”

“Oh, well, everyone knows that the Princesses rule Equestria, because they’ve been doing that for so long, and I hear that they even used to live in the Everfree, back when I was a teeny-tiny serpent that lived all the way upstream! And I know all about Ponyville because I was all grown up when they first began to build here. I even talked to the settlers! Er, or at least those that didn’t run and call me scary…” he said, and a bit of a sad note came into his voice. 

Gandalf considered this; a settlement had been formed some time ago, and there he would find some way to finally meet the Princesses. He spoke again to the serpent to comfort it. “No. I’ve met many a beast, and I can tell that you certainly are not one of them,” said Gandalf, for he found this serpent to be quite agreeable, even more so than other beings that many would not deem as monstrous. “But you’ve been here since the Princesses lived here in the Everfree?” Gandalf asked, and when the serpent nodded the wizard realized this was not so surprising, for dragons had lengthy lifespans. Now there were a great many questions that Gandalf wanted to ask, but he no longer wished to pester the creature, and so he only asked the most important one. “Then do you know what caused them to leave?”

“Oh… well, I lived here, but not actually here, as in, ‘here in this part of the river’. I lived all the way upstream all those years ago, and upstream is very far away…” the serpent trailed off for a bit. “…So no, I don’t know why they left. By the time I moved down here barely anypony came by. Sorry!”

“It is just as well,” Gandalf said, for it only really mattered that the Princesses were well; he would learn more from them. “And I thank you greatly for all the help you have given.”

“Oh, it was nothing mister. It’s the least I could do to help a kind old pony!” said the serpent, whose expression then turned despondent as her realized that the wizard was preparing to part. “Oh no… is this goodbye? I hate goodbyes. This is a goodbye, isn’t it?” 

“I’m afraid it is,” said Gandalf. “Had I more time I would stay and talk for much time with you, but I’ve very pressing matters to attend to. However I am sure that our paths will cross again one day, and not a day too far off either.” 

At this the serpent immediately turned cheerful again, and he laughed. “Oh, I think so too! But until then....” His body then began to sink back into the river’s depths, and he waved at the wizard. “… take care of yourself, Mr. Pony!” he said, and then he was gone. 

The encounter had been an insightful one, and left Gandalf delighted. It seemed that even some of the most fearsome creatures of Equestria were peaceable, as the serpent’s demeanor just proved. Gandalf’s sole regret was that he had neglected to ask for its name, for he would certainly not forget it had he learned it. Jubilant was the wizard now, and determined; he knew now that the Princesses were alive and well, and not very far off. 

He turned to look at the sunlit path that stretched now before him and the mountain that was coming steadily closer; there was the world ahead, and he needed only to go to it. With a quickened pace he went down the road, for he wished not only to see the Princesses, but to reach the place called Ponyville as well.   

The woods around him were no different than they had been before and were no less dark or eerie, but in his lighthearted mood they seemed tranquil to him. It was still morning, though it seemed as if many hours had passed with all he had learned, and the day seemed now to be at its brightest, for the sun was nearing its greatest height. The castle remained high above on its pedestal of stone as he walked faithfully onward. Now and then the woods closed on to the path, only to back away later from it, and at one point they came so close that the tree-tops above covered up the view of the sky, and the way became dark for some time. In the shade, the wizard came across a small, tightly-bunched group of strangely-shaped trees right in the middle of the path, which he felt were quite out of place. 

But he thought little of them, and before long the the trees opened up to the sky again. Eventually the routeway widened greatly, and two giant trees appeared on either side of it, towering over all the smaller ones. Beyond that he could see that the path continued to widen, until it was a bare clearing. There he saw vast chunks of stone buried in the earth, and above there was a small mountain that bore a broken cliff. It was quite obvious that the stone near him had fallen from above. Not wanting to risk being the victim of a rock-fall, the wizard hurried onwards through the clearing, where he could see that far off, trees were once again thinning the road into a narrower path. 

Now he was sure that the serpent had been mistaken, as helpful as it had been; the journey had surely taken more than one hour. He was tired and ached for a rest that he was not willing to take, for he felt that soon this part of his journey would be over. The shade of this part of the forest was not so threatening, and around him the woods were not as dark as they had been before, at the ruins of the castle. He walked onwards through this vast maze of wood and weed for what seemed to be yet another hour, but he was not quite sure of this guess. 

Before long the woods ahead grew brighter and Gandalf could see rolling plains of green dotted with flowers past the trees, and the distant peaks of overlooking mountains above in the sky. The road did not end there; he could see the path leading through the field of green there, and though he knew not how much farther he would have to travel his spirit was nowhere close to breaking, for he had walked much farther for less worthy causes. However it seemed that noon was at hand, and the wizard deliberated on whether he would soon sit and take a brief rest. Ahead of him the long road stretched on, and at once he was reminded of a song he knew that would fit this moment very well, and so he hummed and hymned. 


The Road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can,
Pursuing it with weary feet,
Until it joins some larger way,
Where many paths and errands meet.
And whither then? I cannot say.


It was a grand old song, titled simply A Walking Song, and it was yet another one of Bilbo’s merry crafts. There was a second part to the song which he knew well, but he did not sing it, for suddenly he thought he heard the sound of another singing voice not so far away, which ceased as spontaneously as it had begun. It had been indistinct in his ear, but it seemed to have come from somewhere further ahead, where the wood was much brighter. Carefully now and listening intently the wizard trotted softly; he wondered if he had truly heard anything, for he was fatigued, but nonetheless there was safety in vigilance. On he went with the path, and aside from a continuous chorus of birdsong that he had been hearing for some time now, there seemed to be nothing. 

But then he heard the voice again; it was louder this time, and from what the wizard could hear it was accompanying the bird-speech in some delicate melody, not of words but only mellifluous notes. He could not clearly discern the voice from the rest of the music, but he listened closely for it nonetheless. The wizard was reminded very quickly of Elven-song, for like the arias of that ancient music the tunes and voices of the song he was hearing now were gentle like silk, and at the same time indescribably serene. So soothing was the sound to his ears that the enervation of his long trek seemed to ease into a quiet calmness, and his pace lessened as the song continued, the sweet voice singing along with it. But the wizard reminded himself to be watchful of whatever forces that were at work here, and stepped softly. 

Further ahead where the path lead on to the field and past the woods, the wizard could see that a trail branched off to the left of the road, and a tight grove of trees obscured wherever the route lead from his view. As he approached that fork in the path the singing grew louder, and so he guessed that the music was spun from behind the grove. Soon he approached the turn, and carefully he stepped from behind the trees and searched for the owner of the voice. 

There was a large clearing behind the copse, and the first thing the wizard noticed was the peculiar little house that sat on a small hill in the center; it was made of wood and many windows of differing shapes were haphazardly set into it, along with a firm-looking door of brown wood that stood at the top of a path that lead down from the house and snaked through the clearing, past a small pool and on over a bridge on a stream. 

The house’s roof was so large that it overshadowed the wooden construct beneath it, and also looked to be sculpted from either grass or moss or tree leaves. From where Gandalf stood the whole place looked quite like a Hobbit-hole, and for a moment the wizard almost suspected that a Hobbit had confusedly walked into Equestria. But he quickly found that was not the case, for his ears brought his eyes to the source of the singing voice, who he guessed was also the inhabitant as he saw her. 

It was a small winged pony; a pegasus pony, who was hovering in the middle of the clearing with her wings fluttering about in the air, in the midst of voicing the song that Gandalf had heard. Her mane was pink, and her coat a very pale gold, so bright in hue that at first glimpse she was nearly indistinguishable from the yellow and orange of her sunlit surroundings. Around and above her were many birdhouses hung from tree-limbs, each of which housed a chirping bird that was singing conjointly with her in sequences of flawless cadences.  

Stunned was the wizard, not just by this first glimpse of ponykind that he had taken in centuries, but of the music as well. There he stood by the trees as the fanciful spectacle returned some of his fondest memories of the old Equestria and far beyond that time. There were visions of sprite-like Elf-children dancing about in their green forests and visions of young ponies wandering about with morning light spilling about them, and countless more of all the innocent, fawn-like creatures he had known throughout the years. 

As he listened to her song, which he could describe only as a rich amalgamation of rising and falling notes, he watched as she worked as one with the nature around her, and the wizard breathed a sigh not of lament, but of reverence. Gandalf could sense no mischief about this creature, for she seemed to be the purest being even amongst all the righteous that he had come to know. 

Then she ceased her song, and the birds followed suit promptly. The honey of the music ceased flowing at once, and as if there had been a spell upon him the wizard broke from the echoes of the past. It struck him as especially remarkable indeed that she wielded the voices of the birds with such skill, but that was of little importance for now. As the pony's back was turned to him he could not see her face, but he heard her speak, and her lighthearted tone hinted to the wizard that she was smiling at the birds. 

“Oh, good job everyone! That was just perfect! Just do it again with me, okay?” she said, and Gandalf saw that some of the birds nodded. There was an unmistakably motherly note of gentleness in her crisp voice which softened even the wizard’s heart, and it was so soft that it was nearly inaudible. She still remained unaware of the wizard's presence, but he could not move himself from his spot, for she and the birds were readying for another chorus, and he hoped to hear the song once again. Yet this felt wrong, somehow; almost like eavesdropping, in a way. 

All of a sudden a white rabbit jumped forth from the tall grasses by the small pond, and sprang over to the ground beneath the pony. With interest Gandalf watched as the rabbit jumped up and down, gaining the attention of the young mare. As foolish as the thought was, the wizard was also rather sure that the rabbit was wearing a worried frown. 

“What’s wrong, Angel Bunny?” said the pony said as she looked downwards at the rabbit, who then began a series of obscure gestures that the wizard did not know. It seemed then that this pony was capable of communicating with not only birds, but with rabbits and perhaps other animals as well, an ability he did not remember any other ponies in the past possessing. There was not a doubt in Gandalf's mind that Radagast* would be quite fascinated by this. Then he saw, much to his shock, that the rabbit was gesticulating frantically in his direction.

“What? Is there somepony behind me?” the pony said incredulously, and before Gandalf could move she craned about in the air to look in his direction. Upon seeing him the pony's eyes went wide with shock, and she yelped and lost flight and fell into the pond below her, and though the pool was shallow she began to flail about and squeal in panic. Alarmed, Gandalf hastened forth to the pool, for he feared for her. 

“Are you injured?” the wizard asked, as he stood by the side of the pond. Upon closer inspection he was relieved; the pony had recovered from her fall rather quickly, and aside from a wet coat and ruffled feathers she did not look otherwise affected. By her side now were the white rabbit (which Gandalf was now wary of) and her choir of birds, who had panicked at her fall but were then appeased by her apparent lack of injury. 

She was quiet now, and had risen to her hooves in the pool. Now Gandalf saw that he was a bit taller than her, which he now remembered had been the case with previous ponies. She was staring up at him with what looked to be a mix of embarrassment, confusion, and perhaps even fear, but she maintained her silence and did not answer Gandalf's question. While this would irk the wizard in many instances this was not one of them; he could tell at once that she was dreadfully shy, and she had been very startled by him. The wizard felt quite guilty at having caused this. 

“I am sorry,” he said. "I was merely passing by, with no intention to startle you." This was not entirely true of course, for he had been loitering to hear her music, and the lie did not ease the wizard's regret. She still did not speak, but her gaze turned from the wizard and instead went down to the pool, while she began to prod the water with her hoof absentmindedly. Not quite knowing what to do next, the wizard offered forth his hoof, which she glanced at, but did not take. 

"There is no need to loiter within the pool," Gandalf said to her very patiently, and this time she took his hoof. He pulled her gently from the water, but upon setting her hooves upon soil again she did not resume returning the wizard's gaze. Instead Gandalf noticed that while she was keeping her eyes away she was sneaking a few peeks at the wizard's robes, and his staff. Despite the uncomfortable silence the wizard continued, while trying to remain as tactful as he could be. 

“I suppose introductions are in order. I am Gandalf,” said the wizard. "Or, at least that is what most know me by." 
He paused here, waiting to see if she would introduce herself in turn, which he did not expect her to do. To his surprise she spoke, but the volume of her quiet voice was soft and ephemeral, like fresh-fallen snow, and the wizard did not hear her clearly.

“I'm afraid I did not quite understand you, friend,” he said, and he expected her to resume her silence. But instead she spoke again, and louder.  

"I-I'm... I'm Fluttershy," said the mare, and she looked back into his eyes briefly before quickly shifting her gaze back to the ground. The wizard nodded, but he was taken aback both by how direct she was now, and how appropriate a name it was for her; the name brought forth the image of a gentle and timid creature, a perfect description of her. 

"I am at your service then, Fluttershy, and again I apologize for your trouble," said Gandalf, noting to himself again how miraculous this encounter was, with this remarkable pony he now knew as Fluttershy. He smiled reassuringly at her, hoping that she was not stricken. "And, I bid you good morning in any case." 

Upon hearing the greeting Fluttershy seemed to ease slightly despite her puzzlement at the new pony's sudden appearance, and she replied in kind. "Oh, um, good morning to you too, umm..." she trailed off suddenly, as if wondering how to address him. "...Mr. Gandalf." 

The wizard laughed kindly at her formality. "Mister? Quite! Not many have referred to me as such, but your manners are appreciated," he said, and it was true; "mister" had not ever been a term commonly used with his name. "If you so please you may refer to me simply as Gandalf." The wizard was impressed with how mild-mannered she was, but wondered if she was so polite that it came to a fault. 

"Oh, okay, if you don't mind then, um, Gandalf," she said. She certainly seemed more sociable now despite the breaks in her speech, and comfortable as well; it seemed that her mane and coat were drying quite quickly in the sun. It was evident though that her shyness was now replaced with curiosity, at both his appearance and origin, and perhaps also at his name, for Gandalf knew from the past that the names of ponies were quite different from the names of peoples and beings of Middle-earth. He had hoped to walk unnoticed among any ponies he would encounter, but it seemed now that that would likely be far from the case. 

Fluttershy, meanwhile, could not bear to resist asking why the old pony was so far from home, for she believed him to be no more than a retired citizen of Ponyville, and perhaps a more confused one at that given his odd manner of dress and the name he gave himself, among other things. She was worried greatly for him, so much so that she went forward and voiced her concern. "Oh, umm, if you don't mind me asking, umm... well, do you mind telling me what you were doing in the Everfree Forest? I mean, umm, isn't Ponyville Retirement Village a little far away?"

"Hm? Ponyville Retirement Village?" asked Gandalf. He had expected such a question, but he did not know what village she was referring to. "I am not familiar with any place that belongs to that name, I'm afraid. But to answer your previous question," he stopped himself there, and contemplated what to say. He knew at once that no mention of Middle-earth would be made, for he himself had to admit that the truth of his journey would not sound quite too believable to those who knew little of the history between this land and the other, and aside from that he did not want anypony, particularly this tranquil creature, to know the existence of such a brutal world. 

"I am returning here from a place far off, where I spent many a year. I had no other path to take other than that which lies in the Everfree, and though it was not the safest of routes it was certainly of use, for here I am now, closer to my goal but still with some ways to go," said the wizard. Upon hearing this Fluttershy's eyes widened, and she looked now at him. 

"Wait, you mean... you walked all the way through the Everfree Forest?" she said, the note of doubt in her voice surpassing the bewilderment in her tone. "By yourself?" 

"Yes", said Gandalf, and he took her skeptical astonishment as proof that the Everfree had been deemed unsafe by ponies since his departure from here. He then went on. "A great walk it was as well, but not as great as the purpose for which I have come." He looked away from Fluttershy and off towards the distance, and there he saw the great city that now stood closer. It was now no more than a matter of time until he reached his destination, and his spirits had been lightened even further by his first meeting with one of ponykind.

He looked back at Fluttershy, who had gone silent and was looking at him with more curiosity than ever. Evidently she was considering the truthfulness of his last few claims, among other things about him, for this meeting was doubtlessly strange to her. It was Gandalf's hope that her suspicions would soon ease, not solely because he did not wish her to be discomforted, but also because he knew he would soon be seeking her help.

It seemed to the wizard that much more than a day had passed since his return to Equestria, for his journey had taught him much of this new place within that short span of time. Yet he knew the real journey had not yet even begun; this was barely the beginning. Smiling, he spoke then to Fluttershy. 

"I have come to visit two of my oldest and dearest friends, both of whom you likely know well, and I shall tell you more of that soon," he said. "But first, friend, would it trouble you to tell me of Ponyville?"