Timothy's Side Story

by SilverEyedWolf

Prologue

Timothy shut the book he'd been reading, staring into the sky as he listened to the day birds singing. Tossing the book carelessly into his pack, he stood and stretched his back, cracking the stiffness out of it.

He looked out of the cave, eyes trailing up the impassive stone wall, full of cracks and a single precarious staircase. He looked back over his shoulder, at the slightly withered tree. His instinct told him it was very important to the world, yet its beauty was his only reason for believing so. He turned his back to the crystal leaves, leaning over to gather his pack and check the cinders of last night's fire with the tips of his fingers. Satisfied that they were cold, he wiped his hand on his long cotton coat, staining the already dark brown cloth further.

Reaching into a deep pocket with his other hand, he pulled out the reason he was here, a mysterious letter from one of the Princesses of the kingdom. Luna, Princess of the night. She still wasn't quite sure about ruling alongside Celestia, and she liked to send her own little copies along with Celestia's agents, even ones like the man he was supposed to be keeping an eye on.

While he couldn't outright ignore the orders, he had been told to keep out of sight, and he'd done so by trailing Celestia's marshal with a good two or three leagues between them. Even so, he could feel that the other marshal knew he was being followed.

Reading over the orders again, he re-rolled and tucked the scroll back into a pocket. He tightened the straps around his chest and shoulders, before starting into the sunny day filtering through the forest on the top of the cliffs.

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He'd walked into his bunk room, blank but for the desk, simple bed, and clothes and trash hampers, to find the scroll of orders waiting on his bed. Pulling at the drawer that served as his bookshelf out from below the bed, he'd put away his previously read stories and newly obtained books before pulling out a single older favorite and packing it away.

Timothy,

I realize that you've just returned from a mission, and need some time to cool down. Well, consider this a paid vacation. We've been asked to send an extra agent to safeguard another marshal again, and I feel like you could use the pay. You'll be tailing Graves this time, so I know I don't need to tell you to keep away if anything kicks off. His mission is as follows...

It had been here Timothy started skimming, noting the fact that some of the royal marshals were suspected of corruption, and memorizing the number of rouges.

Crammed in the shelf under his bed, alongside the top to bottom books, were a few clean underclothes he grabbed, throwing the old ones from his pack into the clothes hamper to await whatever unlucky new recruit was drawn for laundry duty.

Picking up the scroll, he'd read it again as he was walking out the door, hoping he was prepared for whatever the ranked staff had assigned him now.

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I should have brought more books, Timothy thought as he trudged along the path to town, skirting a pond and a few prickly black thorn bushes. Passing by a meadow, Timothy stared at a few of the wilder clouds for a second before shaking his head and walking on. While not truly bored (no marshal really could be, patience was drilled into them), he was well down the road to not wanting to be here.

Especially with Graves about. Trouble followed that man like a swarm. Maybe it was Graves, attracted to trouble…

Regardless, he didn't want to be anywhere around the man if he was on the hunt. Even if it was a bunch of soft-bellied idiots, Graves was not the type to go lightly, or give any warning to what were as well as deserters.

The trek took most of the morning, seeing the marshal navigating between trees and over small, rolling hills and large roots. Timothy broke the tree line just after noon, just in time to hear a faint cheering from town. Either Graves had arrived and introduced himself on a large stage, or the other bunch had shown up on a metaphorical cloud with thunder. Timothy was very inclined to believe the second one.

He dropped his hand to his side and patted the coat at his hip, smiling to himself. Looking around, he spotted a stump someone had decided to leave in the ground, and Timothy was inclined to marry his butt to the stump. Even if he wasn't supposed to be involved at all, there was a fight nearby; a barrel-keg of gunpowder waiting for a spark.

And Timothy just happened to know that there was a fire mage leading the so-called royal marshals.

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A flash of lightning slammed his eyes, and he quickly covered his ears for the almost physical wall that was the sound of the thunder. Fantastic, was the only thing that ran through Timothy's head, as the light show repeated. Nine times the light and noise struck, and it seemed to be ended.

Timothy had time enough to get off of the stump he'd chosen as a seat and dust his coat off before the final bolt struck, miles away from the town, barely close enough for the sound to come down from the hills. Pulling a spyglass from a pocket, he gazed in the direction of the last bolt, spying the person he assumed to be the leader of the rouge marshals twitching in the mud. Grinning, he slipped the spyglass back into his pocket and turned to the road he'd been sitting beside, starting down the trail. The rank would want to know of Graves's success, whether they were sure of it or not. Because if there's one thing all good marshals knew, it was this.

Gunmetal Graves never does disappoint.

Author's Note:

I bet none of you guys ever expected this story to continue