Prologue: In which a protagonist awakes within his new realm - breakfast is desired - and medieval english is discussed.
When Taran’s waking confusion subsided and he realised he was no longer in his home, but in what seemed to be a forest near to a colossal stone castle, his first thought was not what bizarre act of God had led him to arrive upon these queer circumstances, nor what effects this would have on his fairly pedestrian life on earth, nor how he could possibly return, but simply how he could obtain his preferred breakfast: a cornish pasty, and a London Fog.
Whether this stunted reaction to his transdimensional travel was due to an innate stoicism and world-weariness, or due to a chronic cognitive deficiency, shall be left to the reader’s judgement.
He stooped down, feeling the ground beneath, and was met with the rustling of dead leaves. He perused the environment in close proximity to him, and found himself standing surrounded by trees and shrubbery. He swiftly came to the deduction he was indeed in a forest, as he had thought before, and since forests tended to be unlikely locations to find a cooked breakfast pastry and specialty tea, he set off in the direction of the castle, humming tunelessly and hoping whatever group of ennui-filled sentries there should prove amenable to passing lunatics, rather than inclined to kill them for leisure.
Obviously, it’s the latter option, he thought with a hint of bemusement, as a well armoured stallion galloped out from behind a hedge line and placed a large pike to his neck.
‘Ah, I’m in Equestria. Right, not going to question the logic in this, might as well go along with it.’
‘Hold thy tongue!’ the stallion barked, ‘A foul creature such as thee I have ne’er before witnessed. What manner of beast art thou?’
‘Considering ye olde butcherede Englishe, I’d say I’m in quite ancient Equestria. Ooh, maybe I could see prepubescent Celestia and OHMYGOD YOUNG LUNA WOULD BE ADORABLE!’
The soldier paced back, visibly distressed by Taran’s pointless rambling. Mustering up the remainder of his nerve, he proudly announced, ‘I know not what foul abomination standeth before me, but know I am sworn to defend the Royal Heirs, and if need be, I shall kill thou with no flicker of hesitation!’
‘Thee.’
‘I beg thy pardon, abomination?’
‘You said “I shall kill thou”. It should be “I shall kill thee”. You see, thou is the nominative, and thee is the oblique.’
A momentary silenced ensued, before the soldier swung his pike round the other away, smashing the heavy wooden pole directly into Taran’s face. A plume of blood erupted from his nose, delicately raining down onto the grass, with the grace of a really quite elegant public fountain being carbombed by the IRA. As sweet, liberating unconsciousness washed over Taran, his last musings were on frailty of life, and the fruitlessness of hoping to enjoy a decent breakfast.
Taran awoke confused and uncertain of his location for the second time in a few hours. This time, however, his attention was immediately drawn to his attacker, who was standing at his side, weeping and spluttering apologies.
‘I bey thine infinite pardon, I swear I did not mean to hurt thee! It was an accident! Thou wert trespassing, and I was gravely afeard, and thou spoke not once a word of sense, and thou --’
‘I, erm, I understand, it’s quite fine,’ Taran said, cupping his hands around his nose and wincing, ‘I imagine it was quite startling.’
‘Oh, thou art kind! Thou must understand, the Royalty are staying at this castle, and forgive me, I am not well travelled, I have never seen thy species. Be thou a Gryphon?’
‘Actually, I’m a --’, Taran paused, and contemplated when he would ever again have a chance to be designated a mythological hybrid of lion and eagle. ‘--Yes. A Gryphon, that’s me. Flew all the way here from . . . erm. . . Talon-land. I had hoped to represent my nation to the Royal Heirs, as you said they were near here.’
‘Thou art an ambassador?’ The sentry managed to look even more dejected than he had before. ‘I have assaulted a foreign dignitary?!? Oh, I beg thee, let me do thee some service to I may return to thy graces.’
‘It’s fine,’ Taran said, feeling sympathy for the guard, who was clearly stressed to breaking point from guarding royalty, ‘If you could just lead me to the castle, that’d be grand. Ooh, and also, do you think some breakfast could possibly be arranged?’