“Hail, Jarl Balgruuf!” Rarity called as she strode into the halls of Dragonsreach. As all nords, the Jarl was an earth pony with a stocky build and wide hooves well suited for snow. His mane and tail were a light gold that very nearly matched his crown, and he adorned himself with a patterned red tunic and fur about the shoulders. Despite the chill in the air, his cutie mark was left bare for all the world to see, clearly showing the castle of Dragonsreach and the very crown he wore. Sitting as he was on his throne, surrounded by guards and advisors, there could be no doubt in the mind of any who saw him that he was the city’s rightful ruler.
“Hail, Dragonborn,” he answered, raising his voice to be heard across the long wooden hall. He gestured Rarity forward, waiting as she strode up the long staircase and then past the longer banquet table. Thane of Whiterun and the mighty dovahkiin, Rarity cut a surprisingly elegant figure. Not nordic but an imperial unicorn, she had a slender frame and a coat so white it matched the snow falling outside. Though she had just set hoof indoors from Skyrim’s infamous winters, she was bare save for her jewelry: a stylish rowan wood headband that helped hold back her mane, a simple necklace, and a small jewelled tail bob that seemed vaguely sorcerous. The overall effect was subtle, but compellingly feminine—far from the image some expected of the Great Dragonslayer.
“I came as soon as I got your summons,” Rarity said when she reached the base of the Jarl’s throne, bowing so low her horn almost scraped the floor. “Is Whiterun in peril?”
“No, Dragonborn. I thank you for your haste, but I have called you here to discuss another matter.” The Jarl leaned forward in his chair, his eyes locked on Rarity’s “Some of my advisors have brought me disturbing reports of your recent actions.”
“Yes, I knew it was only a matter of time until such reports reached your ears.” Rarity sighed, and tossed back her mane. “I won’t deny it! I have taken the Black Sacrament and joined the Dark Brotherhood. They are utterly despicable creatures, and servants of a darkness most vile, but they are a weapon I can use to bring this civil war to an end. Skyrim will survive the Brotherhood, but it may not survive being divided against itself. I understand if you have your doubts—”
Jarl Balgruuf raised a hoof, and Rarity fell silent. “I was... not aware of the events of which you speak, Dragonborn.”
“Oh,” Rarity paused. “Then you must have heard that I’m an officer in the thieves guild.”
“Ah... no. I had not.”
“That I sell Skooma outside the city gates?”
“Nope.”
“That all my jewelry is made with black soul gems?”
“That would explain how you were able to afford so much.”
“That I’m married to eight different stallions and two mares?”
“Impressive. But no.”
“Then what,” Rarity asked, pulling her head back and lifting her ears. “Could you possibly have called me here to discuss?”
“According to reports from the orphanage,” the Jarl said, “you have adopted over eighteen foals in the last month alone. I was concerned that they weren’t being cared for.”
“Oh, of course!” Rarity said, shaking her head firmly. “I completely understand. No, don’t worry, Jarl. They’re well cared for. I just couldn't leave them out the street. They were so lonely, and precious! I simply had to do everything I could to help them.”
“Well... that is under two children per spouse, so. I suppose that’s more reasonable,” the Jarl said slowly. “You’re very generous.”
“Well, it was the least I could do after I killed their parents,” Rarity shook her head. “I’ve never looked better, but honestly, being a vampire has turned out to be far more trouble than I anticipated.”
The Jarl tapped his hooves together slowly, and considered the the mare in front of him. He worked his jaw, took in a breath, and then let out a thoughtful noise. Then finally he spoke. “Two mares?”
“Amulet of Mara,” she said, playfully twirling her necklace, adorned as it was with the symbols of the Goddess of Love.
“Ah,” he paused. “Right.”
“Well, that was a refreshing adventure. Come now, Lydia! I think that table will look perfect in the Manor. And if not, it will make a lovely dining room piece in Honeyside.” Rarity elegantly skipped her way up out of the cairn, as behind her, Lydia struggled to drag the half-dozen looting sacks inelegantly strapped to her saddle. Tied to her with a pair of ropes was an ancient, rough-hewn Nordic table, made entirely of stone and slightly larger than she was. Rarity easily made it to the top of the stairs, and then pulled out her whistle, giving it a shrill blow.
“Not to...” Lydia tried to speak, huffing and puffing with every step. “Question your wisdom my...”
“Breathe, Lydia. Don’t speak in fragments.”
Lydia fell into silence as she struggled to the top of the steps, her heavy breathing audible. She managed to make it all the way to the last step before she collapsed, lying on her side as she took deep, desperate gasps for air. Finally, she managed to speak, “Not to question your wisdom, my Thane, but I do not think we will be able to carry this table that far”
“Oh, don’t worry, Lydia. We won’t be walking.” Rarity laughed. “Last time we were in town, I purchased this enchanted whistle. One blow conjures a powerful magical flying beast to carry us wherever we wish to go.”
“Very good... my Thane,” Lydia managed a weak nod. In the distance, the sound of galloping hooves could faintly be heard. Lydia and Rarity alike raised their heads, in time to see a blue form streak towards them. A cyan pegasus with a distinctive rainbow mane, little beats of her wings making her gallop all the faster. She sped towards Rarity, and came to a sudden halt, her hooves digging little ruts in the ground.
“Rainbow Dash?” Rarity blinked and leaned away. “What are you doing here?”
“Uh... you called me?” she replied. After a moment, she nodded at Rarity’s whistle. “Powerful magical flying beast?” Rarity blinked once. Then again.
“So uh...” Rainbow Dash coughed. “You wanna just get on or what?”
Emerging from under the cover of her invisibility spell, Rarity crept forward into the darkened alley. She hated to expose herself, but she knew her contact would react poorly to being snuck up on. Thieves tended to have a certain brand of paranoia. She was out of sight of the street, but kept low anyway, looking carefully through the shadows. As a vampire, her night vision was excellent, and she soon picked out an outline in the gloom—the distinctive form of a mountain lion.
“Khajiit was getting tired of waiting,” whispered the cat, slinking forward out of the darkness. His whiskers curled back in a grimace of disgust, which had the effect of showing off his long, predatory teeth. “Perhaps Rarity wishes to take her business elsewhere?”
“Stop being dramatic,” Rarity chided. “You know very well there’s nowhere else to go. The merchants in this town are impossible! Somehow they always know when my goods are stolen. I have nineteen foals to feed, plus six anniversaries coming up. I need to liquidate a few items post haste.”
“You’re still late.” The mountain lion growled. “But Khajiit will see what you have to offer.”
Rarity withdrew the sack from over her back, and slowly opened it. Her horn glowed, and from within, she drew forth a tomato. The mountain lion’s eyes widened, and he sniffed at the air appreciatively.
“It’s the good stuff. Plucked from right under the innkeepers nose,” Rarity said, keeping her voice low. “Three septims each. And if you get caught using them, we never met.”
“Yes.” The mountain lion nodded. “We can deal.”
“Please no! My shop hasn’t turned a profit in months!” begged the shopkeep. He was a scrawny little pegasus, with a wirey yellow mane that clashed unpleasantly with his lime-green coat. He wore only a loose-fitting collar and a set of iron horseshoes that banged awkwardly on the ground as he fell to his knees.
“Now now,” Rarity said, tisking quietly. “We’ve spoken about this. I’m on a quest to save the world. You do recall that, yes? And that you are a part of the world?”
“Yes, but—”
“So, therefore,” she said, her smooth and calm intonations easily overpowering his panicked stuttering. “I’m doing you a favor. Saving your life, really.”
“Yes, I understand, and I’m grateful, but—”
“Ah ah,” Rarity lifted a hoof. “You had a chance to charge reasonable prices. Now we have to do things the hard way. You know the rules.”
“Can’t... can’t I keep some of it?” he begged, starting to tear up. “I have two foals to feed!”
“Wow, two foals. That must be so difficult.” Rarity rolled her eyes. “You know the rules,” she repeated, lifting the basket. “Don’t make me use The Voice. It puts the basket on its head...”
“Or it gets the shout again,” the merchant sniffled. Rarity nodded, and gently lowered the basket over his head. There he sat behind the shop counter, crying quietly as he heard the sound of his inventory being rearranged.
Eventually, he realized the sound had stopped, and opened his eyes. Rarity was gone, and all of the inventory was gone with her. Every drawer was empty. Every shelf was bare. With one look, he could see that it was all gone.
He could see. He lifted a hoof to his tear-stained eyes.
She’d stolen the basket too.
Another fireball from the rebel mage landed in the middle of the Imperial formation, scattering ponies in all directions. What had been a peaceful forest a scant few minutes ago was now a scene from soldiers’ nightmares. Ponies lay screaming and dying, with shattered limbs or arcane burns. Huge sections of the woods were on fire, and the rest was filled with traps. It was a perfect ambush, and the fifteen odd imperial defenders were now less than a half dozen.
“There’s nothing for it,” Rarity shouted from behind the cover of the trees, hunkered down with what few imperial survivors remained. Her leg was battered from a bear trap she’d missed, her perfect mane scorched by spellfire. “We’ll never win unless we engage those mages in melee combat. I’m going to have to charge them.”
“You can’t!” one of the soldiers shouted. “That’s a hundred yards of no cover, it’s riddled with traps, and you’ve got an injured leg!”
“Don’t worry.” Rarity reached down to pat the soldier's shoulder. “Just stand fast and you’ll be fine. I have a secret weapon that will get me across that field unharmed.” Gesturing to the other soldiers, she turned to face the enemy, and took a deep breath. “Stand back!”
Reaching into her pack, Rarity pulled out a dozen wheels of cheese. Taking a deep bite of the first one, the drew her sword, and charged.
Lydia lay back in bed, letting out a relaxed sigh. Beams of sunlight streamed down through her windows, basking her in their warm rays. Angelic symbols surrounded her—from the finest of statues, to the simplest of wood carvings, all depicting the holy symbols of the Nine. Even the air was sweet and rich with the potent smell of garlic.
Rarity stood nearby in the door to the main hall, a peevish expression on her face. “Lydia, I want you to know that I’m not mad, but I think you’re being awfully selfish.”
“Thane!” the door to Rarity’s house flew open, the town blacksmith rushing in. “A dragon is attacking!”
Rarity slowly lifted her head to see her visitor, and after a moment, turned back to her magazine. It was the most recent Fantasy Interior Decorator Monthly, its cover displaying a tasteful article about Dwarven Sentinel Core lamps. “Yes,” she said. “Because there are so many dragon corpses piled up outside the gates it’s starting to impede merchant traffic, but this one? This fine young buck could be the one to finally do it.”
The blacksmith hesitated, looking uncertainly between Rarity and the door. Her horn glowed, and she turned the page.
“I’ll get right on that,” she said.
“Mmmm. What do you think, Calder?” Rarity held up the sparkling dress before her. It was a soft blue, made of a translucent, silky fabric that rustled in the slightest breeze. Its sparkle came from within the material itself, like tiny gemstones had been washed into the threads. It was obviously intended for a mare of a slight build, with a short frill at the base that expanded into an open skirt.
“I’m not sure,” Calder said. “I think it’s trying a bit too hard.” Calder was a simple pony—a nord with a strong build and a square muzzle, his fiery red mane matched by his distinctive sideburns. Though he wore heavy plate, his cutie mark was visible, and it showed a hammer and a hearth, befitting his role as Rarity’s follower and housecarl. His voice was deep and scratchy, and if he had any care to sing he could have made mares swoon. But he didn’t care for much outside of his duties, and simply stood there patiently as Rarity resorted her entire wardrobe.
“Mmm, maybe you’re right.” Rarity held the dress against her side experimentally. “Yes. Definitly trying too hard. Oh well.” She handed the dress off to Calder and then turned back to her dresser. “I suppose I could wear something a little more functional. Normally light armor would be absolutely gauche, but it could do to remind people I’m a warrior, not just...”
Rarity fell silent as she turned back to her housecarl, finding the big, blocky stallion stuffed into the tiny dress. The fabric strained around his shoulders, torn in places, and the alluring skirt fanned out sharply around his waist. Being stretched only made the fabric clearer, until it was less a clear color and more a mesh over his dark red coat.
For a time, the two stared at eachother.
“You gave me clothing that was higher quality than the clothing I was wearing before,” he explained.
Rarity bit her lip, and quietly decided he could keep it.