Cartography of War

by Daetrin

Take Great Care

It was worse than the mud. The water clawed at her with icy talons, trying to drag her down, and battering her against the rocks lying under the surface. She sputtered, gulping air, and then dove down toward where Gérard had vanished.

The first dive returned nothing but a nasty scrape along her hind leg, where it clipped the bottom, but on the second one, against all odds, she managed to lay a hoof on fur. She wrapped her forelegs around him and struggled to the surface, lungs burning. He was oddly lighter than she expected, but she still only just managed to break through the spume. And not for long. The current spun her around, smashing her headfirst into something she didn’t even see.

Rose choked on water as she slipped under again, nearly losing her hold on Gérard, but burning panic drove her, thrashing, to the surface again. Dazed and disoriented, she found she had the gryphon slung over her withers, with no memory of how it happened. She couldn’t think of anything beyond searching frantically for the island and struggling toward it, trying to get into the lee before they were swept past entirely.

Her legs began to go numb from the cold of the water or the repeated impacts with this rock or that, and Gérard seemed to be growing heavier by the moment. Then, suddenly, the current slackened and her hooves touched bottom. She tried to breathe a few words of thanks to Celestia but could only cough as she half-swam, half-waded toward the island’s shore, climbing the last few feet onto a gravel spit and collapsing. Gérard flopped bonelessly beside her and she blinked wearily at him.

He wasn’t breathing.

She scrambled to her hooves, slipping and nearly falling over onto the gryphon. She remembered, vaguely, from ages ago, what to do in such a situation but didn’t know how to make it work with a beak and besides, Mercy had once shown her a better way. If she could manage it. Gérard’s head lolled as she numbly rolled him onto his side, her horn glowing uncertainly. It was as delicate a work as changing a map and, she tried to tell herself, not that far different. But it wasn’t her specialty, and it took another agonizing minute before water suddenly gushed from the gryphon’s beak under the force of her magic and he drew in a shuddering, rasping breath.

Only then was she able to actually think. She was soaked tip to tail and shivering, covered in more scrapes and bruises than she could count, but alive. The island was much larger than it had seemed from a distance, at least two acres, with the upstream end rising to a rocky promontory but otherwise covered with grass and maples. The river still roared from the rapids on either side, but it seemed muted now, or maybe it was just drowned out by the ringing in her ears.

They both still had their saddlebags, though they had been somewhat chewed upon by the river, but Gérard’s bandages had been ripped away, leaving his wounds oozing and bleeding and raw. She blanched away from the sight, and wobbled a few steps. Now that the panic was fading she was tired and cold, the chill biting into her thoughts, making her feel slow and stupid.

“Fire,” she said, mumbling to herself as she staggered her way over to the nearest maple. The supply of fallen wood was meagre but still sufficient to get a blaze going on the gravel, and she huddled next to the flame in an attempt to warm up and dry off. Gérard still hadn’t moved. He breathed, sodden feathers rising and falling, but was otherwise limp and dead to the world.

She could leave. The thought came to her as she scrubbed at her fur, teeth chattering. He could hardly stop her now, and besides he couldn’t swim. She could find a safe passage across, or at least, a less unsafe one, and he couldn’t possibly follow. She could leave and be gone and she would never see him again. Even if Ganon and Kree were out there, searching, it wasn’t as if Gérard could protect her now.

But she would be leaving him to die.

She wasn’t going to fool herself. He was battered and half-drowned and half-crippled and Celestia only knew how badly hurt otherwise. Even if he somehow recovered, he couldn’t leave the island without help, and there was nothing on it to hunt. He would starve to death.

Rose bit her lip, looking at the sopping bundle of fur and feather next to the fire, but there was really no choice at all. She could escape, yes, but the cost would be too high. She would never forgive herself.

Deciding was one thing, action was another. The litany of things that needed to be done grew longer the more she huddled by the fire, but it took some time for her to defrost enough to start moving. She set up the tent, thanking Celestia that it and her saddlebags were waterproof, and, despite the ride the river had taken her for, it and the contents were mostly intact.

Gérard’s bags were less well off. She grimaced as she laid the smoked meat strips out by the fire to dry off, since they were the only food he had. The remnants of Mercy’s kit were truly pitiful, but she set them aside anyway, in case she could salvage something of use. And the oilcloth-wrapped box remained wrapped in oilcloth.

Remembering the reverence with which the gryphon had handled that, she was equally careful setting it aside, though it was solid and heavy and didn’t seem at all fragile. Gérard himself did, still limp and unconscious and cool to the touch as she carried him from the gravel beach to the tent, depositing him inside and wincing every time the movement made the gouges in his side and wing yawn open. Reluctantly, she draped her bedroll over him, feeling keenly their lack of supplies. Even the last of the other tent was gone.

The warning grumble of thunder jerked her head up from where she was tending to a second, larger fire, still trying to shake the last dregs of chill from her dunk in the river. There was a haze of dark cloud to the west, and the feel of the wind had changed. A pegasus or a gryphon would have noticed it earlier, she thought, but there wasn’t anything she could do about it. Other than move their supplies.

Meagre as they had become, two sets of saddlebags didn’t make the tent any more crowded than before, though this time it was Gérard at the back, and herself guarding the entrance, looking out at the firepit as the wind whipped ash out and over the water. Though it wasn’t loud, his labored breathing filled her ears, a pitiable counterpoint to the rush and hiss of the mighty river.

And Rose had no idea what to do. There was needle, but no thread, and the only remaining jars had liniment for treating burns and bruises, which was useless and insufficient, respectively. Mercy would have had him roused by now, and Goldy could have found some herbs or roots to soothe him. And of course, it wouldn’t have been an issue to begin with for Sky Shadow or Scarlet Shimmer.

The rain began to patter down, and Gérard still wasn’t awake. It wasn’t like him. She’d never really caught him asleep, not when the slightest movement seemed to bring him to full wakefulness, watching her with his sharp golden eyes. But he hadn’t stirred for hours, and she didn’t think even a near-drowning would put him out for so long. She gave the tousled blue mane a tentative prod, half afraid that he’d just react, lashing out without ever waking up. But when he didn’t stir, she gave him a harder poke, trying to get some reaction from the gryphon.

His eyes snapped open.

She tried to jerk away but he had already seized her foreleg, clinging to it as if he were still drowning. “Peidiwch â wrthod fi, fy annwyl.” His liquid words were earnest, if incomprehensible. He pressed her hoof against his cheek, and she stared at him. He wasn’t cool anymore, but hot, burning feverishly under his fur. “Nerys, Nerys,” he sighed, and closed his eyes again.

Rose stood awkwardly for a moment until the grip loosened, and then she backed away, all the way out of the tent and into the rain. After a moment, with the whirling drops being flung in her face by the wind, she relaxed, if only a little. So far as fevered hallucinations went, mild affection was harmless, if a bit embarrassing. But if he attacked her, even in his condition…

She danced nervously from one hoof to the other, bending her head against a stronger gust of wind, and then ducked back inside. Unless she was willing to turn Gérard out into the storm, or brave it herself, there was nothing to do but hope.

He was still sleeping when she checked on him. Peacefully, she thought at first, until she saw the damp tracks of tears on his fur. She rubbed at her throat, feeling as if she were somehow intruding on him, no matter that it was her tent and her bedroll. And no matter that it was his fault she was stuck with him.

But as time wore on and he didn’t stir again, even when thunder cracked nearly on top of them, she screwed up her courage and lofted the canteen to try and pour some water down his throat. Gérard’s presence, even if unwelcome, had been company, but now she was completely alone. And despite all her maps, she was quite lost.

As the rain battered against the tent fabric, she didn’t have anything to do but think. She tried to sleep first, since all her bruises had caught up with her and everything ached except her horn, but the gryphon’s breathing was just labored enough that it kept her on edge, not quite awake but nowhere near sleep. Finally she sat up, rubbing at her eyes and looking down at him.

Now she could smell the sickness coming off him in the enclosed tent, along with the fever heat. But all she could do was open the tent flap partway, no matter the storm outside, to get some fresh air and ply him with the canteen again. There was only one other thing she could think to do to help him, and that would have to wait until the storm passed. Scarlet could have started a fire in the downpour, but she couldn’t.

It was silence that woke her, heart hammering, and she didn’t even know what had frightened her so until she heard Gérard breathe again, after far too long a pause. Her muscles protested as she shook her head muzzily, bruised and cramped and not even remembering falling asleep, and she wobbled out of the tent to wake up.

There were stars out above, shining through the occasional hole in the cloud cover, but after her awakening there was no chance of returning to sleep. And there was Gérard to attend to. Once again she started a fire in preparations for treating Gérard’s wounds, boiling water to clean it and scavenging moss to catch the runoff so it wouldn’t dirty the tent.

She was perhaps halfway done when he grunted and opened one golden eye to peer at her before closing it again. “My beak hurts,” he said, his tone light but his voice raspy. “How is that even possible?”

“”Well, I did smash it with a pole. And maybe there was a rock or two,” Rose said, giving Gérard a relieved half-smile. “I don’t think you even noticed. But it’s probably mostly fever. You should have stopped and rested when I told you to.”

“Tch.” He was silent then, and for a moment she thought he’d gone back to sleep. But then he spoke again, his tone far different than before. “You should have left me,” he told her.

“What?” She blinked at him, startled.

“You still should. Go home, Rose. You owe me nothing.”

“Maybe not!” She said tartly. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to leave you to die, either.”

She didn’t get the satisfaction of a reply. Either he didn’t have one, or was already gone again because his talons, which had been clenched, relaxed. Rose frowned at him, sighed, and continued her work. He wasn’t lucid the rest of the night, twice rousing enough to call her Aida and talk at her in his native tongue, and once to call her Nerys. She, on the other hoof, didn’t get another minute of sleep.

The dawn light was filtering through the maple canopy and casting leaf-shaped shadows on the tent when Gérard groaned, rasping incomprehensibly before managing clear Equestrian. “Help me up.”

“No. You’re not in any shape to go anywhere.” Rose gave him a scowl.

A hint of humor gleamed in his eyes. “I do not plan on traveling, I just do not want to make a mess of the tent. Help me up, please.”

“Oh.” She helped him up and out of the tent, leaving him in privacy to refill the canteens yet again. With the amount of water she was going through, she was obscurely grateful that they hadn’t been ambushed in the badlands. Then she shook her head at herself. Surely things weren’t so bad that such a small morsel was something to be grateful for.

When she returned she found him half-in, half-out of the tent, rubbing wearily at his beak. “I’m as weak as a day-old hatchling,” he complained to her, heaving himself over the bottom flap before she could move to help. “Did any of my food make it?”

“Yes…” His mannerisms seemed off, but then, she could hardly blame him under the circumstances. She retrieved his saddlebags from under the bedroll and averted her eyes as he snapped down a strip of meat, followed by practically emptying the canteen. “Most things did, except the raft.”

“Good,” he said. Then, after a moment, his voice came again, this time completely different in tone. “Why are you still here?”

“What?” She drew back, stung. “I’m trying to take care of you! I would have thought you’d want me to stay!”

“I do,” he said. “Desperately. But for your own sake you should not.” The gryphon sighed and lowered his head to the tent floor. “Forgive me, Rose. I must seem most ungrateful. I thank you a thousand times, but I do not understand why you have done it.”

“Why? Because it just wouldn’t - “ She cut herself off. He was asleep again. Rose let out a slow breath and yawned, leaving him the tent as she stretched her abused muscles, walking slowly across the sun-dappled grass of the island. After so many days moving at double pace it was nice to be able to walk normally for once, simply meandering through the maples. Not far, of course - the island wasn’t that large. But at least the rocky spur gave her a good view east and west, upstream to where more clouds were gathering and downstream to where the Baltimare stretched, calm and gleaming in the morning sun.

It was easier to think there. Or at least, it wasn’t as oppressive as being stuck in a tent with a fevered and incomprehensible gryphon. Unfortunately, the dawn light didn’t reveal anything new. She was still far from home, Gérard was still too sick to be left alone, and there were still too many dangers for her to venture out unprepared. And she had bruises on top of bruises, as well as a mass of scabs, to convince her to be careful about her next move.

Carefully, she went back down the rock face.

Gérard’s fever seemed to get worse over the course of the day. His breathing, still raspy, become more labored, and he never quite woke, just stirring restlessly every once in a while. She poured cold water from the river over his brow and more over his wounds, scrubbing them with raw telekinesis out of a lack of anything else. The rest of her time was spent praying to Celestia that she wouldn’t be forced to watch him die under her care.

Hour after sleepless hour passed in a tent that reeked of wet fur and sickness. The rain swept in again, pattering over the tent in slow waves and carrying with it a breeze that did little to stir the stale air of the tent. But she didn’t dare take a break, for fear that something would happen while she was gone. She even resorted to grinding some of Gérard’s rations with an improvised mortar and pestle so she could make him swallow a sort of meat paste.

The setting sun turned the clouds to rippled sheets of iron, only occasionally visible through the driving rain. It was miserably picturesque, which matched her mood perfectly as she hunched next to Gérard, nerves strained to the limit as she waited to find out if he would live or die.

It had just turned to full dark when, going to wet the fur and feathers on his head once again, she found him soaked in sweat, his breathing easier, and his eyelids flickering. She almost collapsed right then, exhaustion crashing in just after the realization he was out of danger, but she stayed awake long enough to pour the last of the canteen down his throat before dropping down next to him. Breathing the sour smell of sweat, she closed her eyes.

That time, he woke her by trying to leave the tent rather than the other way around. In fact, he woke her by toppling over onto her, his front half already out of the tent but not quite ready to support him.

“My apologies, Rose.” His voice was simply hoarse, rather than strained. “I am still not quite myself.”

“Mmph.” She had something more eloquent in mind, but that was all that came out as she rose to her hooves, pushing him the rest of the way out of the tent. She had completely lost track of the time or day, and the rain spitting down from the clouds overhead helped not at all. Even if she wasn’t awake, she needed to get out into the fresh air. The tent stank.

Even leaning against the maple tree and under its canopy, the wind flung drops into her face, waking her up almost against her will. Gérard joined her, leaning against the other side. His words caught her mid-yawn.

“You have made things very complicated.”

Her muzzle snapped shut. “Me?” She demanded, glaring at the tree between them.

“A gryphon would have taken advantage of the situation,” Gérard, his tone of voice still odd and off. “By any sane measure you should be far away by now, and I would be dead. Yet, we are both here.”

“Sorry, I’m not a gryphon,” Rose snapped. “I didn’t think about how inconvenient it would be for me to save your life.”

“Of course not.” Gérard’s voice dripped with irony, not at her, she thought, but at himself. “But I am now at once indebted to you for your care and caring, and committed to my mission, my kingdom, and my people.”

“So?”

“So,” he agreed. “I must find the balance between honor and duty.” He sighed. “Compass Rose, I can no longer claim you as my prisoner. My debts to you are too great. Go, and when the war is over, I will do what I can to redress the balance.”

“No.”

“What?” Startled, he peered around the tree at her.

“You’re half dead and I’m half awake and neither of us are going anywhere for a while.” She scowled at him, irritated for no reason she could put a hoof on. “So, no.” She stalked over to the tent, opening all the flaps despite the rain. It was the only sensible thing she could think to do.

“Rose.” His voice came from behind, pained and pleading. “I do not understand. What have I done to anger you?”

She turned around, opening her mouth to tell him something, anything...and then balked. “You first!” Rose waved a hoof in poorly-directed frustration. “I don’t understand either! Why are you so upset at me for helping you?”

“Rose,” he said, and then stopped. He wobbled his way toward her and planted himself on the ground next to her, rubbing at his beak. “I am not upset at you,” he said at last, his voice weary. “And I am not upset that you helped me. But I am your enemy, and you helped me not when you were constrained to, but when you should have done the opposite. And you continue to do so. So either you are a traitor, which I do not believe, or you have completely surrendered, which I cannot imagine. Or you are insane, which is absurd.” He held a talon out toward her. “So what am I to think?”

“That none of that matters!” Rose shook her head at him. “Whether you’re an enemy or a captor or...whatever. Maybe if you were a horrible monster...but you’re a person, and you needed help. That’s all that matters.”

“I am glad I am not a horrible monster,” Gérard said, a glint of humor appearing in the gold of his eyes. “That was beginning to worry me.”

“That isn’t funny,” Rose said with a flat, repressive look.

“Oh, but it is,” Gérard sighed. “I have no wish to play the monster. But you must understand, Rose, it is not that I am upset. It is that your actions make no sense, and all my years of experience are telling me that is because you are working up to something extraordinarily dangerous.”

“But I’m not,” she protested, without vehemence. She was beginning to understand why he was acting so oddly now, even if his reasoning was alien. “It might not make sense to you, but to me - to ponies - it’s just the way it is. I - we - don’t worry about honor and duty and enemies and all that so much. If someone needs help, you help them.”

“Even if they’re a horrible monster?” Gérard murmured, his eyes fixed on her.

Rose bit back the immediate yes, because she wasn’t at all sure that was the case.

“Forgive me, Rose, that was a poor jest. I know it can be complicated.”

“It shouldn’t be,” she said reluctantly. “But it can be.”

“It is,” he said firmly. “For me the complication is this. I have a debt to you and an obligation to your friends, and this I must pay. But I have my duty to The Eyrie and to Aida, and my comrades-in-arms fallen under my command. And that is a duty I must discharge. I cannot do both; one contradicts the other.”

“Well, which one is more important?” She asked, though she imagined if it were so simple Gérard wouldn’t be in what seemed nearly physical pain.

“Which is more important, your heart or your lungs?” The gryphon clicked his beak softly.

She laughed, a short, sharp exhalation. “So which am I, the heart or the lungs?”

Gérard cocked his head at her, his expression unreadable. “The heart, most certainly.”

Rose blinked, quailing away from the intensity of his gaze. She didn’t feel up to picking apart that reply. Instead she averted her gaze, rubbing at her throat. “Is that why you tried to send me away?”

He stirred a bit, as if the question bothered him. “I know I cannot settle my debt to you that way. I can only keep from transgressing more than I have. You belong elsewhere, among ponies, not tangled in my mess.”

“It’s a little late for that,” Rose said, and couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her tone.

“I cannot unmake my decisions,” he said helplessly. “Nor could I choose any differently. Believe me, Rose, I wish it might have been otherwise.”

“I know,” she said, regretting the barb. It wasn’t like he was any better off than she. “I’m sorry.”

He waved a talon vaguely, a little flutter at the edge of her vision. “I have earned the rebuke.”

“No, I -” She cut herself off, abandoning the line of thought. “All right. I think I understand.” The strain he was under was an alien thing to her, but she could still grasp it. And more importantly, see it in his face and hear it in his voice.

His beak clicked, softly, but that was all the reply he made. Rose watched the river, still trying to digest all that he’d said. At least, until his voice came again.

“Your turn.”

Rose blinked and gave Gérard an apologetic look. “Of course.” She took a moment to think, while the gryphon waited patiently. “The thing is,” she began, “for us there isn’t any of this debt or duty or obligation, not like you have. We just…do what we can for each other. Our herds, our communities. And when someone helps you, you show you’re grateful, but you aren’t indebted to them. The only expectation is that you share your special talents with your community. That’s how ponies work.”

“Tch.” The noise wasn’t aimed at her. She wasn’t sure it was aimed at anything in particular, beyond the words themselves.

It took her a moment of struggle for the next part, because she wasn’t sure she wanted to admit what was in it. “And you don’t reject somepony in your community. It’s hurtful to tell them to just go away.”

Gérard didn’t reply at first, one talon scratching at the ground. “Ponies are not alone very often, are they?” He asked at last.

“No.”

“So you lose all your friends, and the only one around is me...and I make for a very poor pony indeed.”

“But you’re not a pony,” she ventured. “And I’m not a very good gryphon, at that.”

“Aren’t we a pair. I’m upset you’re not a gryphon; you’re upset I’m not a pony.” He chuckled softly, a throaty rumble. “Is it any wonder we are at war?”

“Mm,” Rose said. If simply being nice at the wrong time made Gérard uneasy, she could only imagine how threatening Equestria entire would be to a whole kingdom of gryphons.

The deluge returned, driving them back into the tent. Rose took the opportunity to dig food out of the saddlebags, chewing on the mushrooms she’d picked while Gérard gave his meat a few desultory gnaws.

“I still must ask when you will leave.”

Rose lifted her eyebrows at him, since her mouth was full of mushroom.

“I know.” Gérard clicked his beak. “I have not forgotten our conversation. But I have kept you against your will, and now I no longer am. I cannot imagine that you would rather have my company than that of proper ponies.”

“You’ve overlooked something,” Rose said, swallowing the remaining mushroom. “At least I think you have.”

“I’m sure I have,” Gérard agreed. “But what is it?”

She retrieved her maps again, spreading out the appropriate one between them. “We’re here,” she said, pointing a hoof at the tiny island glyph she’d drawn in where their river met the Baltimare. Then she slid it back along their line of travel to the camp, and then all the way to where she’d left town what seemed like long ago. “Here’s the closest Equestrian town. Almost three hundred miles away.”

“Oh.” The gryphon sounded chastised.

“And it’s all wilderness. And I’m a pathfinder, not a fighter. And there are things out there that are more than a threat to a lone pony.”

“But -” Gérard snapped his beak closed on the rest of the objection. “Threat to a pony, but frightened by a gryphon.”

“Right. So the question is, are you willing to trek all the way back with me?”

He closed his eyes. “I am sorry, Rose,” he said, sounding genuinely regretful. “But I must return. And as soon as possible.”

“Why? I mean, you can’t possibly make it where you were going before, not for ages.”

“No. But there is still Kree, and the others at camp.”

“But...won’t they be taken care of when they go home? And talk to, um, Aida?”

The gryphon’s eyes opened wide in alarm. “No! I must reach Kree before he returns to Aida.”

She frowned at him. “Is this one of those honor things?”

“Perhaps.” Gérard rubbed wearily at his beak. “If Kree returns without me, our task undone...he will be guilty of, and responsible for, much. But if it is I who return, it is I who am responsible, and anything Kree has done will be between him and me.”

Rose stared. “But why would you do that? He killed my friends! He tried to kill you!”

“Aida has already lost her daughter,” Gérard said quietly. “She does not need to lose her son as well.”

Comments

[FinalFan]

I would have expected the "you" to be italicized, but I suppose you know your character better than I do.

As for the chapter? As good as ever, which is very. I get that Gerard appears to be trying to make it back so he can take responsibility as commander of the mission for what transpired (and very possibly because of the box), but surely Kree would suffer some consequences for his actions despite that.

[Rocinante]

Hmm... Welsh.

An interesting choice for the Griffon language. Going for a bit of an arthurian flavor for the griffon culture?

[Daetrin]

4821657 Half bushido japan, half 1450s scotland, half xenofictional construct. And Welsh because it seemed to fit my description of his native tongue. If there's any thing Arthurian about this it won't be intentional, but it's such a huge myth I'd be surprised if nothing matched up.

4821617 Surely!

[Short Blade - The Oak]

I've really been enjoying your story. The mystery behind Gerard has been a lot of fun. Reminds me of that 1985 flick 'Enemy Mine'. I look forward to reading the next chapters.

[Daetrin]

4822053 I had completely forgotten about that book series (and movie). Huh, yeah, I can see the resemblance.

[Oak Stride]

 “So which am I, the heart or the lungs?”

Gérard cocked his head at her, his expression unreadable.  “The heart, most certainly.”

Rose blinked, quailing away from the intensity of his gaze. She didn’t feel up to picking apart that reply.  Instead she averted her gaze, rubbing at her throat.  “Is that why you tried to send me away?”

Yeah, right. No romance tag. I would so ship them in a minute.

[TheGrandNil]

*yells from the back of the audience*

"they should bang!"