Previous Chapters
Close
Prologue: Glimpses of Intrigue690 words
1 — Morning Machinations4,416 words
2 — A Gauntlet of Guests3,845 words
3 — The Party Perturbed8,647 words
4 — The Frigid Foreigners6,475 words

4 — The Frigid Foreigners

The colors of twilight were beginning to settle in as the party assembled outside. Purple clouds floated lazily through the red skies, the light painting the walls of Canterlot orange. A cool breeze was settling in; the flowers of the front garden swayed and rocked, filling the evening air with their sweet fragrance.

Fluttershy took a deep breath of it to steady her nerves. It was never easy waiting for something to happen, but in this case, it was still preferable to the thing actually happening. It was one thing to meet new ponies, but these were an entirely different… people.

How should she act? How would they act? At least with her fellow Equestrians, she had some reasonable expectations, but these Snowbounders…

She thought of griffons fighting windigoes, and whether she could ever relate to such a thing.

“So, Fancy Pants,” said Rarity, “I did hear you correctly, yes? You said our guests would be ‘arriving shortly’?”

“Ah, yes I did.” Fancy Pants glanced around at the crowd that had assembled in front of the manor, and had been waiting there for ten minutes now. “Perhaps I jumped the gun a little bit.”

Rarity chuckled. “Oh, well. A little suspense never hurt anypony.”

Fluttershy took another deep breath.

“I must admit, though,” Rarity continued, “I’m getting a little anxious myself.” She shuffled her hooves in excitement. “It’s hard to believe that we’re finally here after all this time.”

“Indeed,” said Fancy Pants. “We stand on the threshold, in more ways than one. All we need do now is to take a few more steps.”

“Oh, are we going somewhere?”

The smell of flowers filled Fluttershy’s nose again, only this time, it did so forcibly, like a heavy breeze blowing open window shutters. She held a hoof to her face to try and dam the sudden flood of sneezes. Through her squinted eyes, she spotted Fleur de Lis sidling up to Fancy Pants with a dreamy smile.

He smiled back at her, warmly. “No, no, not at all, my dear. I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

“And neither would I!” said Fleur. “Imagine, forging an alliance between two great nations!”

Fluttershy tilted her head. Didn’t she say that already?

“I believe you said that earlier,” said Rarity. “Though, I can’t but agree this is still a momentous occasion.”

Fleur looked at her with an expression halfway between surprise and annoyance. “Yes… I suppose it is. Oh, my darling Fancy Pants—” she turned to him with a flutter of her long lashes “—tell me, how does it feel to be standing at the forefront of history like this?”

“It’s…” He shrugged. “Well, how does anypony feel when stepping into the unknown?”

“Oh, I know that look, Fancy.” She inched closer to him. “You’re not worried, are you?”

“Well, I…”

“Of course he’s not,” said Rarity, “After all, we’ve been preparing for this event in exacting detail. There’s no reason any of us should be worried.”

Fluttershy coughed.

Fleur again focused her attention on Rarity; her violet eyes slightly narrowed. “I should think I know when my dear Fancy Pants is a little worried, thank you.”

“Rarity is quite right,” said Fancy Pants, glancing at Fleur. “We have spent countless hours making sure everything is just so. I’m hardly worried. Rather, at this point I can only say that I’m just anxious for this party to really get started.”

Fleur frowned, her lips curling into a pout. “But, Fancy, you—”

“Pardon the interruption,” said Rarity, holding a hoof out, “but does anypony else hear that?”

Fleur looked around in confusion; Fancy Pants tilted his ear to the sky. Fluttershy flicked her own ears, listening intently to the breeze. There was something out there, all right—a sound echoing from far away in the city proper. As it grew louder, she realized it was not one sound, but many.

The first things she heard were the drums. Like thunder over the mountain, a low, steady rumble swept through the streets. It was followed by the rain-like pitter-patter of snares, the ringing crash of cymbals, and finally, the deafening blare of horns. Almost as an afterthought, the twinkling sound of a chime carried the melody like a bird chirping amidst a storm.

Fluttershy had never heard anything quite like it. It was grand and powerful—each ringing note, each beat of the drum, spoke of valiant struggle and triumph. All on their own, images of waving banners, gleaming weapons, and opulent uniforms sprang to her mind, all moving inexorably forward.

A moment later, she didn’t have to imagine it. Through the streets came the Snowbounders—an entire army of them, dressed for battle. They wore black coats with matching shakos, and most carried silver spears, swords, or halberds. Those that didn’t played instruments at the head of the column, or pulled a train of carriages at the rear.

She’d seen processions of the Royal Guard, but even they never presented with such a purely military purpose. There was complete unity to their movements, each step in perfect time with the beat of the drums, which was all the more impressive considering they were comprised of different species.

There were ponies in the formation, but they were a minority. The remaining two-thirds of them were either griffons or…

“Are those… diamond dogs?” Fluttershy looked at Rarity, who wore a hard frown on her features.

“I... believe you’re right, Fluttershy,” she said grimly.

Sure enough, there were diamond dogs among the soldiers. Their tall, wide-shouldered silhouettes were familiar and unmistakable, immediately giving her flashbacks of dark, dirty caves and their brutish occupants. These dogs seemed leaner, though. Hungrier. Their muzzles were more wolfish, their limbs sleeker—they were bred hunters, not diggers.

As the column came to the manor’s outer palisades and marched its way up the main drive, the music grew to a near-deafening volume. Fluttershy could feel the hammer of the drums in her chest; the blare of the horns rang through her ears, even as they laid flat against her head.

The music abruptly halted, but the soldiers kept the beat alive with their rhythmic steps, their legs lifting and falling in time with the cadence. A voice, loud and rough, rang out, and with a final stamp, they fell still. With another barked command, the entire procession turned as one to face the manor, their paws, talons, and hooves scraping a unified chord against the cobblestone.

An awed silence reigned for a few moments, before somepony got the idea to start applauding. Slowly, as though awakening from a dream, the assembled nobles began to stamp their hooves. Fluttershy joined halfway, timidly tapping her hooves against the ground.

“Well, they certainly make an impression, don’t they?” Rarity said with an appreciative smile.

All Fluttershy could do was nod in agreement. I’m not sure “impressed” is the right word, though.

There was movement down on the drive; a trio of Snowbounders had separated from the main body and were making their way up toward the manor. A group of ornately-armored soldiers—an honor guard of all three species—went with them.

In the lead was a griffon, and he was huge. His neck and chest were as thick as a tree trunk, holding his head at an imposing height. Each of his wings must’ve been twice as long as she was, head to tail. His fur was a sooty brown, his feathers black, and his eyes were bright and hard, peering from beneath his wide brows like a coals in an oven. Almost superfluously, he wore a dark overcoat, its red trim standing out in stark contrast against his chest.

On the griffon’s right was a diamond dog, and he was as intimidating as any of his species were—perhaps even more so. His lean frame and narrow muzzle—which seemed to show off all of his teeth—gave him a predatory air matched only by the hard look in his black eyes. He was also openly armed, his paw on the hilt of his saber as he strode forward on his hind legs. He stood the tallest of the three, a quality only aided by the plume sprouting from his cap. Despite his threatening appearance, though, Fluttershy’s gaze couldn’t help but be drawn to the earth pony mare who walked opposite him.

If a winter gale could be personified, it’d probably look like her. Her coat was the color of fresh snow, her mane as bright as a winter horizon. Everything else about her was imperious, from the way her mane was gathered in a tall tail, to the gleaming gold of the buttons on her black overcoat, to the fact that she was at least a head taller than the average mare. But all of that came second to her most prominent feature:

She was wearing the skin of a tiger on her back. Trailing behind her, fastened at her throat with a polished ebony clasp, was a cloak of black and white stripes that could only have come from a big cat.

And there’s only one way to get a cloak from a cat… Fluttershy gulped.

The mare seemed to sense her gaze. One icy blue eye stared back at her, the other obscured by the long sweep of her bangs. Fluttershy quickly looked away, shuffling a little further behind Rarity.

“Well,” Fancy Pants said, taking a deep breath. “Time to go and make history.”

Almost timidly, he stepped forward into the shadow cast by the griffon. He had to tilt his head back slightly to meet his gaze. The assembled ponies all leaned in, eager to hear what words would be exchanged between the two. Fancy Pants offered his hoof first; the griffon’s talon enveloped it in a firm shake. There was a flash of light as Photo Finish captured the moment.

“Ambassador Whitehill,” said Fancy Pants, “it is an honor and personal privilege to welcome you to my home.” He lowered his hoof, chuckling. “And if I may say, that was quite the… martial performance.”

The ambassador smiled, and in a voice that matched the thunder of his entrance, said, “Diplomacy without arms is like music without instruments. Well met, Mr. Fancy Pants. I speak for myself and all my fellow citizens when I say we are eager to begin the sharing of our cultures.”

Fancy Pants nodded. “And I as well. Perhaps we may begin with introductions?”

“Hmm, yes.” Whitehill gestured to the diamond dog. “This upstanding soldier is First Sergeant Lex, master of arms and head of security.”

The dog snapped to attention, drew his sword, and with a whirling flourish, raised it before his muzzle in salute to Fancy Pants. Light briefly glinted off the blade before he returned it to its scabbard in one swift motion. A ringing note sounded as the hilt clicked back into place. It was the only sound he made.

“I… see,” said Fancy Pants, blinking rapidly. He turned to the mare, looking her up and down. “And this is…?”

“This,” said Gilbert, looking at her with a wide smile, “is Arbiter Gladys Whitehill. My daughter.”

Surprise plastered itself to Fancy Pants’ face for a moment before he shook it off with an uneasy chuckle. “And a lovely daughter she is. With her… lovely cloak.”

She looked back at him in silence, her one visible eye hard and unflinching. Then she dipped her head in a stiff bow. “Mr. Fancy Pants,” she said, “it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Her voice was clipped and calm, enunciating her words with precision.

“And mine as well.” Fancy Pants held out a hoof, offering to take hers.

Her gaze flicked to it, then back to his face. She stood as still as a frozen lake.

“Uh…” Fancy Pants coughed, sweeping his outstretched limb back toward the entranceway. “Well, please, do come inside. I’m sure you all must be eager to partake in the feast we have prepared.”

“Business before pleasure,” said the ambassador. “We have much to prepare, ourselves.” He turned to his diamond dog compatriot. “First Sergeant.”

The dog snapped to attention.

“Secure the manor and begin unloading the artifacts.”

Whipping a paw to the visor of his hat, the sergeant spun on his heel and marched off, leaving Fancy Pants looking rather flustered. He cleared his throat.

“Excuse me, Ambassador,” he said, holding up a hoof, “but what is it you intend to do?”

The barking sound of orders being given rang out from the drive. The mass of soldiers heaved and flowed, breaking into smaller crowds and swarming around the carriages and toward the manor. Whitehill glanced back at them before looking at Fancy Pants curiously.

“Why, to begin the festivities, of course.” His long brows knitted together in a frown. “Is this not acceptable?”

Fancy Pants looked around at the griffons taking to wing above his home, and the ground-bound soldiers surging up to the front doors. When he turned back to the ambassador, he wore an over-wide grin. “Of course! Why wouldn’t it be?”

The griffon’s beak parted in a grand smile. “Excellent. Now come, I am eager to see your home.”

Fancy Pants shook himself, a genuine grin asserting itself over his features. “Yes, and I am eager to showcase it.” He motioned to the front doors. “Please, come—” he cut off as the Snowbound mare, Gladys, swept past him, her tiger fur cloak shimmering as she walked. “…inside.” He had to take a step back as Gilbert followed suit, his wide steps carrying him quickly through the doors. A second later, Fancy Pants was all but lost in a sea of black uniforms as the crowd of soldiers marched past, filing into the manor with a practiced efficiency.

Fluttershy drew herself back as they passed, her ears flat against her head. She could hear the clomp of their feet, the rattle of their weapons. The last time she’d heard such a sound, Canterlot had been attacked by Changelings. A shiver worked its way up her back, despite the warm evening.

“Talk about a home invasion,” said Rarity, failing to hide her surprise. Her expression was shared by most of the surrounding aristocrats, who watched the train of soldiers with eyes wide and jaws agape. A few turned and began whispering with each other while others looked positively incensed.

Fancy Pants wore a similar expression, revealed as the last of the Snowbounders disappeared inside. His trademark monocle hung by his side, having come loose during the tumult. Without any motion save the flicker of his horn, he reseated it over his eye. He shook himself out of his shock a moment later, hurrying after them as fast as he could.

The guests looked around confusedly, until Fleur stepped out of the crowd. Her expression full of worry, she galloped after Fancy Pants, passing through the open doors with her dress flying behind her. The remaining ponies followed after her more cautiously, as though they were entering a cave they knew to contain a slumbering bear.

“I suppose that’s our cue, Fluttershy,” said Rarity. “Let’s not leave Fancy Pants to face these… visitors alone.”

Fluttershy gulped. I don’t think I’d want to face them even with an army of my own. “Are you sure, Rarity?”

“Well, we can’t just stand here. After all—” she drew herself up, fluffing her mane with one hoof “—this is what we spent all day preparing for. Now we just need to seize the day! Come along, now!”

With a determined spring in her step, Rarity joined the crowd pushing its way through the doors. Fluttershy took a deep breath, and followed along, now quite certain that she was stepping into a bear’s den.

“Well, they’re certainly nothing like I’d imagined. So much marching and sword-rattling!”

“What kind of diplomatic mission brings so many soldiers?”

“Did you see those canine brutes? One of them looked at me like I was dinner!”

“I can’t believe that mare. Who wears the skin of another animal so casually like that?”

“I just hope they have something more to offer than fancy uniforms and weapons. Isn’t their country supposed to be rich in gems or something?”

Snippets of conversation flitted through Fluttershy’s ears like birds among tree boughs as she and Rarity made their way through the crowd of guests. She couldn’t help but notice that a lot of what they were saying mirrored her own thoughts.

They brushed past a pair of Snowbound soldiers—one diamond dog, one pony. They both looked at her with intensity, their hard eyes leering out from beneath the brims of their shakos. She shrank back on reflex, hurrying forward to catch up with Rarity.

There were even more soldiers in the middle of the foyer. They swarmed around the steps, under the balustrades, and down the hallways in groups of four or five, all moving to the direction of the canine first sergeant. In the center of the maelstrom was Fancy Pants, who was speaking rather frantically with Gilbert Whitehill. Both he and his daughter cast their gazes around the room. The former seemed to be eyeing the decorations with approval; the latter’s expression was unreadable.

“Oh,” said Rarity, “do you think they like the decorations?”

Is that really what we should be focusing on here, Rarity? “Um, maybe?”

“Let’s see if we can’t find out. It looks like Fancy Pants could use some help, anyway.”

Rarity made a beeline for the trio, stepping out from the crowd. Almost immediately, a pair of armored soldiers stepped in to block her way.

“Wha—excuse me!” she said, stamping a hoof. “I am trying to see my friend there.”

One of the guards, a diamond dog, looked down at her. He growled.

Catching the edge of the exchange, Gilbert turned around. He waved a claw at the guard. “Stand down. Let them through.”

The guards parted way for them; Rarity frowned at them as she passed, tossing her mane back with a “Hmph!” Fluttershy followed with her head lowered and her ears laid back.

As they came close, Gilbert spoke again. “These are the two you spoke of?”

Fancy Pants nodded. “Indeed they are. Ambassador, these two ladies are Rarity and Fluttershy. They’ve been assisting me with the preparations for this event.”

“Truly?” He bowed his head to the two of them. “Then you ladies have my thanks as well as my greetings.”

“The pleasure is mine, Ambassador,” said Rarity.

Fluttershy swallowed the lump in her throat. Up close, he certainly looked the type to fight windigoes. “Um… pleased to meet you, Ambassador.”

“Now, which of you is responsible for these decorations?” He cast a talon around the room. “It gladdens the heart to see our nation’s colors displayed so proudly.”

“Ah, for that, you can thank Ms. Rarity.” Fancy Pants motioned to her. “She is the one who designed the interior for this evening.”

Gilbert dipped his head to her again. “You have my thanks once more, Miss. Your commitment speaks highly of you and your nation.”

Rarity covered her mouth with a hoof. “Oh please, Ambassador. It was nothing. I’m always eager to partake of new styles. If I may say, your fashion trends are a delightful challenge to emulate.”

“Hmm…” He looked her up and down. “Indeed. You would be the envy of any lady in the Republic with that dress.”

“Oh, stop!” Rarity giggled. “Ambassador, you’re too kind.”

He nodded, and rounded on Fancy Pants again. “Now, Mr. Fancy Pants, shall we continue?”

Fancy Pants shook himself. “O-oh yes, of course! Right this way, Ambassador. I’ll show you to the gallery, the garden, the—”

“Where is your hearth?” said Gilbert, his voice stern.

Fluttershy thought Fancy Pants’ expression couldn’t get any more surprised; she was wrong. “I-I beg your pardon?”

The griffon gave a sagely nod. “A home’s character is best measured by where its master keeps his hearth. Where do you keep yours?”

“Uh… I suppose that would be the main dining hall, but—”

“Excellent! Then we may begin the feast, as well.”

“But,” Fancy Pants held out a hoof, “surely you wish to inspect the grounds for your displays?”

“I will supervise that effort.”

Fancy Pants turned, as did Fluttershy and Rarity, to the source of the voice. Gladys Whitehill looked at all of them, her lone eye somehow seeming to stare at each of them at once. And to freeze any response in its tracks.

“Thank you, Gladys,” said Gilbert, nodding appreciatively. “Now come, Mr. Fancy Pants. There is much to discuss, and it is best to discuss it with a full stomach and a roaring fire.”

Fancy Pants blinked; his monocle looked ready to fall from his face again. “Very well.” Clearing his throat, he announced to the room at large, “Ladies and gents, if you would follow us to the dining hall, we will begin the feast.”

The assembled aristocrats glanced among each other, a few muttered with one another. They continued exchanging words even as the crowd began shifting toward the hallway. A few gave worried glances at the soldiers hovering over their every step. Fluttershy and Rarity fell in behind Fancy Pants and Gilbert as they led the way.

“This is all very unorthodox,” whispered Rarity, casting a glance to the griffon.

Fluttershy matched her low volume easily. “Well, he is from a different country. Maybe this is perfectly normal for them?”

“Somehow I doubt a regular Snowbound social event is so… impersonal. I mean really, is it too much to ask for a little small talk?” She shrugged. “Oh well. Hopefully, there will be plenty of time for mingling at the dinner table.”

Mingling… Fluttershy took a deep breath to steel herself. Here we go again…

A roaring fire added its crackling noise to the room as ponies began taking their seats. One of Fancy Pant’s maidservants prodded the logs with a fire poker, sending sparks billowing up the chimney like a flurry of disturbed fireflies. Another was busy lighting the sconces along the walls and the candelabras on the table. Matched with the red color of the walls, the lighting gave the dining hall a fiery hue quite at odds with the decorations in the foyer.

Fortunately, Gilbert didn’t seem to mind. “Ah, here is a hall fit for a feast!” He gave a deep laugh from his stomach, thumping a talon against the table. The mare lighting the candles jumped, looking at him with wide eyes before quietly going back to her work. Gilbert looked across the room and said, “I can see why you would want a large hearth here, Mr. Fancy Pants.”

“Y-yes.” Fancy Pants coughed. “Indeed. Well, by all means, ambassador, please enjoy it sitting down.” He motioned to the chair immediately to the right of the head of the table, near the hearth. A placard in front of it bore the ambassador’s name.

Gilbert nodded. “By your leave, Mr. Fancy Pants.” His claws clicking on the hardwood floor, he made his way to his seat.

“Ladies, to your stations, please,” Fancy Pants whispered to Rarity and Fluttershy before moving to take his own seat at the head of the table.

“Quickly, Fluttershy,” Rarity said, “it looks like he’s going to need our help.”

These aren’t ‘battle stations’ we’re going to, are they? She swallowed hard. “Okay.”

Their “stations” were near the head of the table—the same two chairs they had sat at earlier that morning, in fact—helpfully marked with placards bearing their names. Fluttershy checked the names next to hers; Rarity was on her left, and to her right…

“Um, Rarity, I think we’re missing somepony.” She pointed to the name: “Bright Stone.”

Rarity held a hoof to her mouth. “Oh, that’s right! The Chancellor is absent this evening. Well, we’ll just have to make do. Stand to your post, Fluttershy.” Tossing her dress about, she settled into her chair.

Battle stations… Fluttershy sighed, and took her own seat. Just across the table, Gilbert Whitehill was settling into his own position with a creak of protest from the chair. He sat to Fancy Pants’s immediate right.

“Hmm…” His thoughtful tone rumbled across the table. “I see many familiar faces.”

“Oh, yes,” said Fancy Pants. “The seating arrangements were chosen specifically to encourage conversation. I thought dinner would be better served in the company of friends.”

“Three good meals a day is a bad living.” A white glow shone across the table as Avant Garde pulled a chair out for Silk Stocking. “Unless, of course, they are spent with friends. Mr. Whitehill, it is good to see you.”

“The feeling is mutual, my friend.” Gilbert offered his talon in greeting. “It has been a long road.”

Avant Garde gave him a hearty hoof-shake. “And yet Fortune has borne you here safely. Indeed, we have all come far. Oh, but where are my manners? Mr. Whitehill, may I introduce the Lady Silk Stocking.”

He bowed his head respectfully. “And a lovely lady she is. How do you do, Miss?”

Silk Stocking looked over at him. Her sweet smile gave way to a grimace as she coughed into her hoof. “Pardonnez-moi,” she said, “I am a little, how do you say, ‘under the weather.’”

Now that she was looking, Fluttershy could see Silk was indeed looking ill. Her eyes were downcast, devoid of the energy she had possessed earlier. The tips of her ears drooped, and her breath was slow and shallow.

I’ll have to keep an eye on her, thought Fluttershy. It certainly seemed like Avant Garde was preoccupied, settling into his chair without a glance in her direction.

“Ah, here we are!” Posh Panache sidled up to his appointed seat, twirled his bicorn hat into the air, and sat down. His hat settled onto the back of the chair a moment behind him. “Highly convenient, these little things.” He picked up his nameplate, and after a moment’s inspection, set it on top of his hat.

Across the table, Gilbert inclined his head. “Mr. Posh Panache.”

“Mr. Whitehill, you old raptor! How are you?”

“Hale, hearty, and hungry. Yourself?”

“Peppy, purposeful, and positively poised to partake of prized provisions.” He hammered a hoof on the table, setting the silverware rattling. “So, when’s chow, anyway?”

“Not for a while yet, I’m afraid,” said Fancy Pants. “The kitchen staff had not anticipated serving quite this early. It will take a while for Golden Skillet to rally his troops, as it were.”

“Then we have plenty of time.” Rarity planted her elbows on the table, folding her hooves in front of her face. “Mr. Whitehill, could you indulge my curiosity and tell us about your country? I only know what I’ve seen in pictures, but it seems there’s plenty to see.”

“Indeed.” He played his talons on the table. “Where to begin?”

Posh held up a hoof. “How about the time you saved a hapless airship and its incredibly handsome captain from the clutches of a horde of windigoes, all by your lonesome?”

Fluttershy frowned. “Um… I thought you said he was with some other griffons?”

“Details, details.” Posh waved a hoof in dismissal. “A good storyteller doesn’t let those get in the way.”

Gilbert chuckled, the low rumble sweeping across the table and rattling the glasses. “It seems you are already familiar with that tale, so I shall not repeat it.”

Posh’s ears drooped, the corners of his mouth sagging as he pouted. “Aw, but it’s such an arresting anecdote! Surely you could treat us all to one quick telling?”

“I’m sure you’ve told it far better than I ever could, Mr. Posh Panache.” He looked back to Fluttershy. “Let us ask you, then, Miss Fluttershy.”

“M-me?” she squeaked.

“Yes. The rest of these esteemed ponies have given their due.” He gestured around the table. “Now let’s hear your voice. What have you not heard about the Republic? What would you like to know?”

“U-um, well…” She looked around at all the staring faces, wracking her brain.

What did she want to know? Maybe it was best to deal with the elephant in the room. Goodness knows elephants needed to roam free once in a while.

“…I noticed you have a lot of diamond dogs with you. Um, maybe you could tell me about them?”

“Yes,” Rarity chimed in. “Here in Equestria, they’re a rare sight. And, no offense, but they’re usually not a welcome one, either.”

“Hmm…” Gilbert stroked his beak. “This is news to me. But then, you ponies do not have the experience we do. Dogs have always been a part of the Republic, after all.”

Fluttershy tilted her head. “You mean, they’ve always been friendly?”

Gilbert chuckled. “I know a great many dogs who would balk at being called such. ‘Friendly’ is not the correct word, for the Republic has seen its fair share of strife. We were born from it, after all.”

“Much like our own Equestria,” said Avant Garde.

“So I understand. You Equestrians had your three tribes, we had our three species.” He shook his head. “But this is all so long-winded. I won’t impose the story on you until the tour.”

“Oh please,” said Fancy Pants, “don’t let that stop you, my good sir.”

“Very well then.” Clearing his throat, Gilbert leaned in, drawing the ponies around him in closer. “Now, to understand who we are, you must first understand where we come from. Ours is a harsh land. It has always been harsh. Ponies, griffons, dogs… we are all born of the driving snows, and that is what has bound us together.”

He cast his eyes down to the white of the tablecloth. “Understand, our homeland is not bountiful like your Equestria. The soil there is hard and stony. When winter comes, the very earth freezes to its roots.” He held up a talon, showcasing his claws. “But, that is no matter to a dog.”

Fluttershy tilted her head, one eyebrow raised. “So, the dogs are your farmers?” They certainly don’t look like farmers with those weapons and armor…

He nodded. “Many are, yes. They till the soil, break the frost, and sniff out new lands on which to grow. Planting the crops, however, they leave to the ponies. And with griffons bringing rain, we grow more than enough to sustain us.”

Avant Garde smiled. “The good particular people may do separately is small compared with what they may do collectively.”

“Mr. Garde speaks the truth. But it was not always this way. In the beginning, being ‘together’ did not bring good tidings. We know not where our peoples journeyed from, but when they found the land which would become the Republic, they began to quarrel over it.”

“Very much like our own history,” said Avant Garde, nodding.

“It took much time and hardship to learn how to cooperate.” He sat back, grinning. “And it is all thanks to Temeraire.”

Temeraire? Fluttershy frowned. “Who is that?”

“Who Temeraire was is simple.” Gilbert hoisted his head high, his chest filling with pride. “He was the founder of our Republic, the one who first united us. I have spoken of the turmoil our people faced in the beginning. There was once a time when the strife of our three groups reached its peak, and when winter came, it brought the most foul of beasts with it.”

“Windigoes!” Posh Panache pointed across the table with both hooves. “It was windigoes, wasn’t it?”

“If only it were so simple. No, the threat which Temeraire faced was far deadlier.” Gilbert lowered his head, as though he were telling a tale around a roaring campfire. “He faced the great frost wyrm, a monstrous dragon whose breath could freeze the very air. It is said that it clawed its way from beneath the frigid depths of the earth. Its coming was heralded by a lashing blizzard. A single touch to its hide would leave you frostbitten. And it sought to destroy everything in its path, consuming all who stood in its way.”

Fluttershy shivered. Dragons generally weren’t the friendliest creatures—one little purple dragon excepted, of course—but this one sounded downright evil; not a beast she’d like to meet, much less look in the eye.

“The frost wyrm preyed upon all three species. None could oppose it. But then came Temeraire, who battled the beast and took its frigid heart for all to see.”

“The Bleeding Heart,” said Rarity.

Fluttershy looked at her sharply. “You know what he’s talking about, Rarity?”

Rarity blinked, looking around. “O-oh, yes. Did I not mention it? Fancy Pants sent me some photographs of it as part of the preparations for the party. We set aside a special place in the gallery for it.”

“Indeed,” said Fancy Pants. “The Heart is to be the centerpiece for this whole affair.”

We’re going to show off a bloody heart? Fluttershy looked between her two friends confusedly. I think I was better off not knowing.

“Forgive me, Monsieur,” said Silk Stocking, her expression mirroring Fluttershy’s concern, “but do you really mean to present a… dragon’s heart tonight?”

Gilbert laughed. “It seems we have all taken the wrong trail here. The Bleeding Heart is merely the name given to it. What I speak of is a gemstone.”

“And a beautiful one, at that,” said Rarity. “I must say, I was quite taken with it when I saw the pictures.”

“Yes, it is. Whether it truly is the heart of some great beast, even I cannot say, but it is nonetheless a great relic. Our greatest, in fact. It ties us to our beginning, a constant reminder of the struggles we have faced and overcome.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Whitehill,” Rarity held up a hoof. “I do have one question. Who was this ‘Temeraire, exactly? Where did he come from?”

Gilbert folded his talons on the table. “That is a question no one in the Republic knows. Temeraire’s appearance, his origins, and personal life are not known.”

“Well, surely somepony has gotten curious at some point? A historian, perhaps? Please, I mean no disrespect, but I’m very interested.”

Gilbert nodded, pointing at Rarity’s dress. “The silk your dress was made from, it must have come from somewhere, yes?”

“Well, of course,” said Rarity, blinking. “It’s from Saddle Arabia.”

“Yes, but do you know the exact creature which spun it, or the weaver who weaved it? Do you know the route it took traveling to Equestria? Do you know if it rained, or if there were clear skies during its trip?” Gilbert raised his eyebrow.

“I…” Rarity shrugged. “Well, I suppose I don’t.”

Gilbert chuckled. “But does that affect how beautiful it looks on you? What matters is what you did with it, not where it came from. Temeraire is the same. He was neither pony, nor griffon, nor diamond dog, and yet he was all three at once. Temeraire is, more than anything, an ideal to strive towards, and you cannot put a face on an ideal.”

Rarity furrowed her brow, her eyes distant with thought. “So, how do your artists portray him, then? I’d imagine there must be any number of statues in his likeness back in the Republic.”

“Even if it were not against our laws to do so, no citizen of the Republic would dare depict Temeraire.” Gilbert’s voice deepened, an edge working its way into his words. “He is sacrosanct. To portray Temeraire is tantamount to defacing our very constitution. And the punishment for such is as severe as the Republic can administer.”

“That’s a bit harsh, isn’t it?” asked Rarity. “What good is art if one can’t freely express oneself as an artist?”

Gilbert shook his head. “Temeraire is above all of that. What he represents is far more important than any painting that could ever be painted, or any drawing that could ever be drawn.”

Rarity raised an eyebrow. “What could be more important than the freedom to express oneself?”

“The Republic,” answered Gilbert evenly.

A quiet descended on the table. Rarity and Gilbert stared at one another, her eyes as hard as his. Fluttershy could see that she was biting back a comment, and had a pretty good idea of what it was. Even with the roar of the nearby hearth, she could feel a chilly atmosphere creeping in.

“Well!” Posh Panache said suddenly. “That’s an interesting way of doing things. A national mystery! It certainly challenges the imagination.”

“Yes,” said Rarity slowly. “I suppose it does leave one free to imagine things.”

“Oh, indeed. Hmm… I’d wager this Temeraire must’ve been a handsome fellow to rally everypony to his cause.” He glanced at the back of his chair. “Or else he had a really big hat.”

Gilbert let out a laugh. “Perhaps. Though, I question whether one’s authority is measured by their hat.”

Posh grinned wide. “Well, sir, allow me tell you the story of one Tam O’Shanter and his majestic pillar of hats…”

Fluttershy let out a sigh through her nose. At least it seemed the chill wind had passed for now. Truth be told, even she wasn’t sure if she agreed with what Gilbert had said, but what was she to do? Maybe this was just how it was when two cultures finally met. There was bound to be some friction.

She glanced at Rarity. Her eyes were downcast, her brow furrowed. Fluttershy knew that look; Rarity was doing her best to bury her feelings. When that happened, it was best to simply let her dig the hole and pack the dirt in around her misgivings. They could always talk about it later. Maybe the rest of the party will improve her mood.

“Pardon me, but is this seat taken?”

Before she even turned around, Fluttershy knew who it was, the hairs on her neck standing on end. The chair next to her glowed with a golden aura, and sure enough, there was Cavalier Cairn, settling in with the most carefree smile she’d ever seen.

“I’ll just help myself, then.” He turned his gaze around the table, his expression like that of a wolf among sheep. “Unless there are any objections?”

Fluttershy swallowed the lump in her throat. Or not…

1,205 views

152

Previous Chapters

Comments ( 15 )

Viewing 1 - 50 of 15
- Newest First
- Oldest First

The Twisted Shadow

The Twisted Shadow #1 · Sep 21st, 2014 · 1 · ·

OBJECTION!

Moongaze14

Moongaze14 #2 · Sep 21st, 2014 · 2 · ·

The story is becoming more interesting by the minute.

Aariadon

Aariadon #3 · Sep 21st, 2014 · 3 · ·

“Oh, indeed. Hmm… I’d wager this Temeraire must’ve been a handsome fellow to rally everypony to his cause.” He glanced at the back of his chair. “Or else he had a really big at.”
Gilbert let out a laugh. “Perhaps. Though, I question whether one’s authority is measured by their hat.”
Posh grinned wide. “Well, sir, allow me tell you the story of one Tam O’Shanter and his majestic pillar of hats…”

I APPROVE OF THIS REFERENCE. Tarnish notte the majesty of my TOWER of HATS.

Interesting bits about Temeraire. Either the bits about even his species are unknown are perpetuated via a state-mandated religion (eg Islam doesn't allow Mohammed to be drawn, similarly), or the story being told here is heavily exaggerated for the benefit of the Equestrians. Possibly the entire story about the wurm is just a story, and the gem has some other origin.

Of course we've figured out the prosecutor, now we have the gem that is going to be stolen.

alexmagnet