//------------------------------// // Liberation In The North // Story: Dark Arts and Kind Hearts // by Boomstick Mick //------------------------------// The first time the queen had laid eyes upon the snowy garden, the area had been enveloped in an impenetrable fog. It was sunset now, and the sun had long since eaten away at the thick morning mists, revealing the numerous stone and metal statues stationed throughout the area. There was no method or order to how they were positioned, those creations of a colt who had gone mad with loneliness and boredom. They were merely scattered here and there, rusted and falling apart like the crumbling sentinels of a forgotten age that they were. A somber mood had swept over the crowd by the time Clash was ready to give the eulogy. A small pyre stood behind him, on top of which laid the heads of the three royal guards. Clash refused to cover them up. The seamstress had offered him three individual sacks of finely woven cloth to put them in, but he had politely declined the offer. To an old fashioned soldier like him, concealing a warrior's remains in a casket or any other kind of container was disrespectful. It was believed that a soldier who had perished on the battlefield deserved to be honored, and their was no better way to do so than putting their war-torn bodies on display for all to admire and behold. Many in the crowd who could not bare the site looked away, or kept their heads down. "Witness them!" Clash demanded. "Look at them. Remember their faces before we send them off. Imprint in your minds the visages of these brave young stallion's so that we may never forget them." Fluttershy was one of the few who refused to look away. She could understand why this old tradition was no longer practiced, but she couldn't deny that it made for a powerful send off. It had a dignity about it that seemed somewhat honorable to her. She wanted to remember the guards' faces. It was the least she could do for them. She could sense the stallions and mares and children in attendance stealing curious glances at her, and, as if to follow in her example, they too complied and forced themselves to gaze upon the remains of the royal guards, macabre as the site was. "We honor them," Clash said as he lit the head of a torch. "We honor them," echoed the queen. She was not rehearsed nor required to do so, but if felt like the right thing to do. Again, all in participation followed her example. "We honor them," everyone repeated. The old soldier held the torch aloft and said, "If anyone would like to speak, friends, family, acquaintances, It doesn't matter, come forth and speak for them." One-by-one ponies rose to share testimonies and fond memories of the guards that had been killed. Only one guard seemed to have a blood relative that had made the trek to the peninsula with them. Others were friends new and old. Most of the stories they shared were funny, heartwarming little snippets that did poorly to break the sense of depression that loomed over the service. The last among them was Ethey, who had not stopped crying since the discovery of the guards' deaths. "He was my first crush," she had revealed to everyone, weeping without restraint. She had been speaking of the lead guard that had openly criticized Clash for his decision to cast his allegiance with Sombra. The heartbreak in the tiny mare's voice was so evident that Fluttershy was no longer able to contain her own emotions as she listened to her. "I'll admit that we didn't always get along," Ethey continued, "but I still admired him. To think I'll never see that cocky smirk of his ever again." The adviser tried to say more, but she had begun to cry so profusely that her dialogue had trailed off into an unintelligible mixture of sobs and stutters. The queen stroked her back with a sympathetic hoof. She had no idea how special the guard was to her. From the way they argued in the hall, who could have guessed? Clash waited patiently to see if anyone else had something to add before he hefted his torch and once again said, "We honor them." The mantra was repeated throughout the crowd, and the old soldier lit the pyre. Fluttershy sighed. A single tear rolled down her cheek as she gazed upward at the waning sunset. The smoke from the pyre blurred the image into a picturesque illustration of a globular conflagration that flooded the Western skyline with vivid hues of pink and red and gold, the surrounding clouds like intricate cathedrals that had been set ablaze by its intensity. The wind fell still, as if nature herself was paying her respects. The little griffon beside her looked curiously at his surroundings. 'Why is everyone crying?' his inquisitive eyes seemed to say. It wasn't unreasonable to surmise that the child was simply too young to understand. He lifted a talon to intercept the tear running down the queen's cheek. The child shook his head, then smiled and pointed at his beak, as if to say, 'No, don't be sad. Smile, like this.' Fluttershy did not resist the urge to pick him up and hug him. How can something so sweet come from such a horrible place? The griffon, welcoming the warmth of her embrace, made a sound that was half a pur and half a chirp. "I, Clash Steelsong," the old soldier intoned, "first of my name, former Master Sergeant of Celestia's Royal Infantry, former Chief Petty Officer of Princess Cadence's Royal Guard, and current master-at-arms under his royal highness King Sombra, relieve you of your worldly duties. May your souls rest easy, may your cups in the hereafter be ever-flowing, and may your ride to The Elysian Fields be swift." The soldier then thrust the tip of his torch into the snow, snuffing it out with a loud, angry hiss. Every eye was now closed and every head was bowed. The sun proceeded to descend behind the snow-capped mountains as the pyre burned on. It was not until the fire had begun to fade into smoldering ashes and glowing cinders, and the first stars began to twinkle in the darkening indigo sky when Clash was finally ready to excuse everyone. "I thank you all for coming," he said. "We must all remember that life is precious. Life is one of those things that can not be purchased or sold. Life should never... Be... Spent..." His speech trailed off when he turned his head and began to squint at something in the distance. Fluttershy and all in attendance focused a collective gaze toward the direction in which the soldier was now looking. From a snowy hill visible between the tall iron bars surrounding the garden, Sombra could be seen marching toward them. Murmurs and nervous hushed voices broke out in the crowd as they observed his advance. He survived the siege, was Fluttershy's first thought. She hadn't realized how ridiculous she was for worrying about him until she saw him. Of course, he survived. He's Sombra, after all. Her worries, however, were immediately replaced with anxiety. Now that he was back, would he still be angry with her? Would he make another attempt on the griffon child's life? Fluttershy had a lot of time to reflect on the words she had used against her husband that morning, and she deeply regretted them. There had to have been a million different things she could have said to give her husband cause to relent from his assault. Her husband had confided in her the night before. He had shared his history in its entirety with her. Then she turned around and weaponized it against him. The fear that had gripped Fluttershy when she bared witness to her husband's rage was bad, but the guilt she felt afterwards was worse. She could feel the young griffon now, his claws digging into her hind leg as he made an attempt to hide behind her. She urgently picked him up and held him tightly to her bosom. "There there," she said, gently rocking him. "I promised you I'd keep you safe from him, and I mean to keep that promise." The child was trembling again. Her attempts to soothe him had gone unheard. When the king drew closer, the anxious murmurings of the crowd turned to those of curiosity, as there appeared to be others traveling with him. Stallions, mares, colts, fillies, griffons as well as a few zebras accompanied him. Some of them pulled wagons and carts filled with indeterminable amounts of cargo. Sombra himself was hauling a litter filled with passengers as gaggles of Laughing, whooping children ran along side him. "They're not brigands, are they?" Fluttershy could hear someone asking nervously. "Doubt it," another said. "You've seen what the king does to bandits. And just look at them. Not a single one of them are armed." The curious onlookers could only continue to bare witness to the odd site as their king approached the gate. Sombra's horn glowed, and the massive bars parted for all within his company to enter. "I appear to be late," he said, releasing the harness for his wagon, then observing the smoldering pyre. "It was not my intent to miss the funeral. Respect for the dead is a tradition that even king's aren't above honoring." Everyone just gawked silently at the king and his company. "Slaves, all of them," the king announced, before anyone could put the question to him. "But no longer." Fluttershy espied the litter that the king had been pulling. The passengers on board were all grotesquely emaciated - some so badly they could be mistaken for decaying corpses upon a glance. The king was about to add something, but a shrill, desperate voice suddenly called out, "Zuzu! Where are you, baby!" The little griffon's head popped up from Fluttershy's chest like a jack in the box. A female griffon came forth from the throng of freed slaves. "Zuzu, where are you!" she cried out hysterically. "Come to mama, baby!" The child thrashed free from Fluttershy's arms and ran frantically toward the wailing female griffon. The two made what could only be described as a collision when they threw their arms around each other, and the mother of the griffon named Zuzu collapsed with him in her embrace, crying. "My Zuzu," she sniffed. "My precious little Zuzu!" Fluttershy's bewildered gaze kept shifting from her husband, to the griffons. Sombra gave her an expressionless look that was utterly void of legibility. "You do not have to tell me," he said, an irritable pang of what could almost be interpreted as guilt woven within his tone. "I am a fool." The joy was palpable, and the food and drink was plenty. Tears of happiness were shed, and the wine and ale flowed like an endless river. Tankards and mugs clattered thunderously over the tables after grateful toasts were made to the king's health, and eager vows of eternal loyalty were sworn. Children who were once captive slaves and those who had traveled with their parents from the Crystal Empire chased each other freely up and down the hall, while others happily guzzled down copious amounts of sweets and cider. Troops of bards who were once branded slaves combined their talents to fill Sombra's hall with music. Loots, guitars, bongos, violins, tambourines, maracas, harps, accordions, and an exotic plethora of other instruments Fluttershy had no name for were strummed, thrummed, and drummed. Together they filled the hall with an eastern gypsy theme laced with a modernized variety of Baroque and Victorian and Cabaret overtones. It was such a strangely pleasant mixture. Fluttershy was intoxicated by the atmosphere the music created. The players' communicated well their joy and renewed vigor through their shanties, boleros, ballads and sonnets, as if they were the audible embodiments of mirth themselves. Her king did not take his normal seat at the dais that night. There was simply too much work to do. Nevermore at one point approached him with the concern that, with the sudden population boom, they may be running out of food sooner than scheduled, but Sombra had put her worries to ease when he showed her the wagons of plunder he had brought back with him. Not a single shiny trifle nor one bit of gold was inside of them. Instead, they were packed beyond capacity with tools, building materials, medicine, and hordes upon hordes of spices, grains and produce. If that hadn't been enough to alleviate her of her worries, the king introduced his cook to a former slave who went by the name of Petunia Greenhoof, whom had mastered the art of growing food in even the most barren and inhospitable terrain. "She will pass her skills on to some of the others, and before long we will have thriving fields and orchards," Sombra had declared. "No one will starve, I assure you." While Sombra and a hoof full of volunteers sorted out the plunder and saw to the construction of the freed slaves' temporary lodgings, Fluttershy busied herself with the task of insuring that the needs of every new resident of the manse was met. She enjoyed the task, for it took her mind off the more dower events of the day. Ethey, of course, was with her every step of the way, armed with her trusty clipboard. Fluttershy laughed when she was pulled aside by a group of rowdy stallions who wanted her to drink with them. When she informed them that she was their queen, and the stallion who had single hoovedly killed their captors was her husband, they traded nervous glances before returning to their business. "Those guys were actually hitting on you," Ethey laughed. The adviser was finally able to smile again, though there was still a lingering sadness in her eyes. "They're just in high spirits," Fluttershy replied. "So long as they're not causing any trouble, I don't mind." The two eventually happened upon an entrancingly gorgeous mare sitting cross legged at the edge of one of the tables, whose skirt was just short enough to reveal a sheathed dagger secured by a lacy black garter. With enamoring, almond-shaped eyes like violet starfire and a coat like sable she sawed mellifluously at a violin. "That's very pretty," Fluttershy commented. The mare flicked a thick tumble of dark ashen locks over her shoulder. "Why, thank you," she replied, her musical voice and exotic accent carrying a high note that was crisp and pleasant like the trill of a songbird. "I am quite a spectacle of beauty, am I not?" "I was talking about the song you were playing," Fluttershy said. "Is that so?" the mare replied with a pert, little smirk. "But you're very pretty, too!" Fluttershy added immediately. "I wan't implying that you weren't-- "It was a joke." The mares' laughter was high and bell-like. "You are quite the beauty yourself. You are the one they call queen, yes?" "That's correct," Fluttershy smiled amiably. "Please come to me if you need anything, okay?" "You are too sweet. I am looking forward to getting to know you," said the bard. "I am called Violet Viola." She then cast her gaze down upon Ethey. "And you, little one... You are not so little, are you? Your eyes, they tell me you have much experience. They look older than the rest of you." Ethey screwed up her face in bemusement. "How can you know that?" "I too am more than meets the eye, little one," Replied Violet. "If either of you ever want your fortunes told, come to me. The first one will be free, I promise." "I'll be sure to do that," Ethey said dismissively. "Uhm, I don't want to be rude, but..." "Speak as you will," encouraged Violet as she busied herself with the adjustment of a string on her violin. "Well," began Ethey, "You're a slave, aren't you?" "Ethey!" The queen admonished. "It is quite alright," allowed Violet. "I believe what you mean to say is was. And yes, I was a slave." "Was," the adviser corrected herself. "Yeah, sorry about that." "Again, yes, I was." The bard plucked at the threading of her instrument. The corners of her lips turned up in a satisfied grin, as if she was pleased with the string's report. "Why do you ask?" "Again, I'm risking the chance of sounding rude, but, you don't look like the others. You're pretty... Too pretty. Not to mention well fed. The others are all gaunt and calloused and haggard-looking... And your dress?" the adviser added, referring to the mare's silky skirt and formfitting bodice. "It's really nice. Looks expensive. If slaves wore any clothing at all, I'd assume they'd be rags." "You're quite observant, little one." The mare pretended to study her violin, but it was obvious the adviser's inquiry had evoked an unpleasant thought. "Once upon a time, I was a traveling gypsy. I played my violin and I read fortunes for a living. One day my caravan was sacked when we got turned around in a blizzard, after we had left the Crystal Empire. That was the day my family was slaughtered before my eyes, and I was taken to be sold. My husband purchased me from a slave auction shortly after." "Your husband?" Ethey and Fluttershy echoed in unison. The queen did not want to pry into the mare's personal affairs, but now she couldn't help but be curious. "My husband," Violet confirmed. "My husband purchased me to make me his wife, but do not think that means he gave me my freedom. He might have been my husband, but he was still my master. He was not gentle, nor was he kind. He made me feel more like his personal whore more than anything else." "Well," Ethey said, "at least you can look back on that situation and be glad the king gave him what he deserved." "The king did not kill my husband." The bard turned her head slightly, and with a proud, impish smile she said, "It was I who had that privilege." The queen and the adviser exchanged a look. "It was only a few days ago, in fact," Violet continued, strumming on her violin. "My husband was not a kind stallion, to say the least. It took two years, but I finally worked up the courage to tell my horrible husband how I truly felt about him. I told him that he was a bastard, and that I wished for him to die. He flew into a rage and struck me. That was when a realization came over me: I could live out the rest of my life as my husband and master's complacent little whore, or I could die with some dignity. I chose the latter." "And then what did you do?" Fluttershy heard herself ask. "I grabbed the nearest thing I could get my hooves on." The mare's smile was almost seductive as she lifted her skirt to better reveal the dagger sheathed at her garter. "I sliced him. I sliced him in a place where no stallion would like to be sliced. As I watched him bleed out, I knew I would be punished, but I did not care. I relished every second of watching the life fade from his eyes. He used the last breath he had on this earth to call me an ungrateful slut. 'Ungrateful for what?' I should have asked. Ungrateful for all the times he forced himself on me? For all the beatings and countless public humiliations? "After that, it was to the starving stables for me. I was spending my third day in there when your husband came along and smashed open the doors." "The starving stables?" Fluttershy echoed curiously. Violet gestured toward the group of ponies Sombra had been transporting in the wagon. One of them was so skinny the area around their midsection was practically infused with his spine. He had but a few teeth left in his mouth, his eyes were sunken into his skull, and the flesh between his ribs were like concave trenches. They drank only water, and their digestive systems were so weakened from disuse all they could stomach was onion broth. Though, with the weak and weary smiles on their faces, one would think they were eating just as well as anyone else in the hall that night. "It is the ultimate punishment," commented Violet. "The masters have all manner of execution methods for slaves to deter them from rebelling or revolting: crucifixion, beheading, hanging, but for those who really piss them off..." The bard, in a very unladylike fashion, turned her head and spat on the ground. Then, in a voice that was both a purr and a growl she said, "I hope the Cerberus is using them for a chew toy right now. I wish for them to come back to life just to watch your husband kill them all over again." The mare then drew her bow and continued to play her violin. "The song you have been hearing me play, it is a work in progress. It is called 'The winds of change.' I wish to play it for your wonderful husband when it is finished, for he has become my muse to write music once again." "I'm sure he would love that," Fluttershy said with a graceful dip of her head. "I'm sorry me and my friend here made you recall so many bad memories." "Not at all, my love," Replied the bard. "I hold no secrets from the Queen and King who were so kind as to rescue me." "Not to bombard you with more questions," Fluttershy said, "but you said something about being in those - what did you call them - Starving stables - for a few days. Have you eaten anything since you got here?" "Oh yes, my belly is quite full," Violet answered happily. "Your husband has done such a great thing. Part of me wonders if this is all merely a delusion brought on from the starvation." "I can assure you, this all very real," Ethey reported. "This is good to know," Violet giggled. "Give my love to your husband, won't you?" "I will," promised the queen. "Again, just let me know if you need anything. It was very nice meeting you." "You as well, my love." And the bard continued to play, closing her eyes as she smiled blissfully. "Goodbye for now," she sang in that beautiful voice of hers. Fluttershy and her adviser continued with their rounds to make sure every freed slave was content and comfortable. She eyed her husband a few times walking around here and there, lugging materials around for the new occupants' accommodations. There were a few rooms left in the servants' quarters for some of them, but the rest would have to camp in the mansion's main lobby until extensions to the house could be made. Sombra could be heard speaking off and on with his construction crew of building upon the manse until it could eventually be classified as a castle. The task, Fluttershy knew, would take time, materials, and willing laborers. They would need to procure more resources, but all of that would come in due time, once Sombra's campaign to free the North kicked into full gear; an ambition for which would require an army. Clash moved from table to table, winning over any who he could with a passionate speech about doing their part to serve their new king's cause. Many with a desire for retribution and an eagerness to serve burning in their eyes agreed to the terms of enlistment. There were many who approached him as well, once they realized who Clash was and what it was he was doing. 'A chance to kill slavers?' was how one of the shorter conversations went. 'Where do I sign up?' Before the night was over, Clash would have an entourage of thirty starry eyed, able-bodied stallions and mares in his company. He brought them before Sombra so they could bow to him and swear unyielding fealty. They were to reconvene with their Master-At-Arms in the garden at zero five hundred hours to begin their regiment under his tutelage. Six canvas tents were erected in the courtyard to serve as a temporary barracks. It would be cold, and it would be cramped, but it was no worse than what the former slaves were used to, and Clash had explicitly warned them before they bent their knees to the king that a soldier's life, though honorable and enriching, was not meant to be lavish or comfortable. The liberated slaves who opted out of a life of hard military service in pursuit of other occupations made available to them would camp out in a large pavilion that Sombra erected in the main lobby. It may have lacked for the comforts of what Fluttershy would consider home, but it was warm and spacious inside, and it was preferable to being locked in a cold stall with nothing but a thin burlap blanket and a flat pile of straw to sleep on, to which the slaves had been accustomed, The Queen had learned. The night drew on, and she had personally introduced herself to almost every new face in the manse. The exhausted Ethey eventually relieved herself of her company to grab a plate of food, but not before advising Fluttershy to get some rest, as her day had been a strenuous one. The Queen was exhausted, but she had one last order of business to attend to before she would allow herself to retire. She had found the griffon mother and her child eating in the company of a few others who had been rescued that day. "How's the little guy doing?" "He's doing well," replied the griffon. "I don't think I got the chance to introduce myself, by the way. I'm Zoey. And this is-- "Zuzu," The Queen finished for her. She watched as the young griffon inhaled a candy coated apple. It only took about four bites before he started on the core. "Can he speak? I haven't been able to get him to say a word since I met him this morning." Zoey began to scratch at her son's back with a talon. The cub responded by smiling pleasurably and craning his neck. "He used to," she replied sadly. "He actually used to be quite the little talker before... Before the bandits..." "You don't have to talk about it, if you don't want to," Fluttershy said. "I was just curious, is all." "You have been taking care of my baby. You took him in and you fed him, and then your husband rescued me so that we could be reunited. It's only right that you know," Zoey insisted. The surrounding stallions and mares fell quite and exchanged concerned glances. They must have known the story already. "Zuzu," the mother began, a far away expression in her eyes, "he was what the slavers called a 'branded.' The branded were Tauren's personal soldiers. They were selected at a young age to be raised into mindless killing machines. Slave soldiers, if you will. Utterly fearless, ferocious berserkers who will not say no to any task given to them, no matter how cruel or dangerous. "They're raised like beasts," put in a stallion who was sitting across the table. "And beasts they eventually become. When your husband was attacking the master's keep, everyone retreated. The masters, the slaves - but not the branded. They just charged toward him furiously with those horrible, ululating war cries of theirs. That is what they were turning Zuzu into." "The branded?" Fluttershy inspected that circular burn mark on the boy's haunch, where the fur refused to grow back. So, that's what that mark means. "The initiation ritual," Zoey continued, shuttering. "Two children of the same age are thrown into an arena. They are each given a dagger, and are told to kill the other. If they refuse to fight, they are both killed. The winner is made into a branded. And the loser." The mother closed her eyes. A single tear rolled down her cheek. "The mother buries the loser." Fluttershy's heart felt heavy when the dark realization as to where the child's many, many scars must have come from had dawned upon her. She did all she could to block out the horrible vision of two terrified children slicing each other to ribbons before a roaring mob of heartless spectators. "My little boy," Zoey croaked. "He fought. The other boy fought. They didn't want to do it, but they were forced to. It was one of them, or both of them. He hasn't spoken a word since that day." "The mother of the boy who lost, where is she?" Fluttershy, overwhelmed with a desire to do what she could to help, began to look around the feasting hall frantically. She could have sworn she had spoken to just about everyone in the hall. "Is she here?" "She took her own life shorty after," a mare who had been listening in on their conversation informed her. "The grave she was forced to dig for her own son was hers as well. She left a note behind requesting that she be buried with him." The queen felt a lump rising up in the back of her throat. Her vision became watery and distorted. "I... I wish I could have done something." "There was nothing you could have done, sweetie," the mother insisted. Zuzu gave Fluttershy that same look he did when they were at the funeral. He smiled, then pointed to his beak. "I haven't seen him smile since that day," Zoey commented. "Perhaps you've done more than you think you have." "What have I done?" Fluttershy wondered aloud. It was a question meant for herself, but the mother decided to answer anyway. "You saved my boy's life," replied Zoey matter-of-factly. "Your husband told me about the spat between you two this morning. Shortly after he rescued us, as he was leading us away from the burning ruins that was once our masters' keep. I was in a panic. I told the king that I couldn't leave until my Zuzu had returned to me." Fluttershy beheld her in bewilderment. "He told you about that?" "I was horrified at first," admitted the griffon. "He had told me that he tried to kill my little boy, because he thought he was a bandit. Again, I was horrified, but then he informed me that his wife had kept him from doing so. It filled me with joy to know that Tauren was dead, what's more, that my Zuzu was safe. 'What a wonderful mare this wife must be,' I thought." The griffon managed to smile, and she added, "And you know what? I was right. You call yourself a queen, and yet, you deign to speak to us as equals. You saved my baby. Can you honestly look back on your actions and claim that you've done nothing?" Fluttershy, feeling a warmth in her heart, allowed herself a smile. She nodded to Zoey and thanked her. Zoey hugged her son. Her son hugged her back. "If there's ever anything we can do for you." "Not another word of that," Fluttershy stopped her. "I've been hearing that all night. It is I who is at your] service. The former slaves sitting at the table smiled approvingly to one another. One of them lifted their mug to her and said, "Thank you, my queen." The others did the same, nodding, bowing, lowering their heads, lifting their mugs. As The Queen made her way to the exit of the hall, every head she past by, old and new, bowed to her and thanked her. Violet Viola played a quick note on her violin before she extended her bow diagonally and inclined her head as well. The emaciated, deformed and downtrodden smiled gratefully, and words of thanks were murmured all around. Colts and fillies ceased in their playing to bend their knees to her and regard her with sweet, grateful smiles. The children obviously had no idea what the gesture meant, but the adults were doing it, so it seemed like the right thing to do. Fluttershy did not want anyone to bend the knee to her, but their gratitude made her feel warm inside. She placed her hoof upon the large door at the end of the hall. A thought came to her just then. One last parting word of hope. She turned around and noticed that the eyes were still on her. Even her hard working king, who was assisting in the final repairs of the hall's wall watched her closely. "Everyone," she said. "I would like you all to know something. I have said it before, and I will say it again: it is not you who are in the service of my husband and I." She smiled warmly at her king, who beckoned her to proceed with a curt nod. "It is we who are in service to you. There are hard days behind you, and there will most likely be hard days ahead of us, but know this: When the historians write about the liberation of the North, they will say that it began today." The queen smiled and lowered her head thankfully in response to the thunderous applause her words had evoked. She spared her husband one last glance. He looked impressed. Enthralled, even. And so, Fluttershy left those who had once been slaves in the hall to fill their bellies and continue with their celebration. The Queen's ears twitched when they honed in on the sound of the door hinges creaking, but she pretended not to hear it. She sipped at her wine and continued to stare thoughtfully into the fire when she heard the door close. The king lowered his head and planted a light kiss on the tip of her nose to get her attention. "You did not have to wait for me," he said knowingly. "I know how exhausting this day must have been for you." Fluttershy craned her neck and reached up to return the kiss. "Though, part of you was hoping I would still be awake," she finished his thought for him. "You are astute," Sombra observed. She could feel him standing over her, his gaze into the fire joining with hers. "A little bird has informed me of the diligence you've exhibited in my stead today." "A little bird named Ethereal Moon?" Fluttershy inferred with a witting smile. "Again, your powers of deduction are impressive." "No, they aren't." Fluttershy turned to face him. "I just know you, is all." The King placed his hooves affectionately upon his brides' shoulders. "You must also know that that boy would have been dead it weren't for you, and that I would have found myself explaining to that child's mother why her son was no longer among the living." "My king, you don't have to apologize." "I do," he insisted. "A king must admit to his mistakes, or surely he will make the same ones time and time again. It is frustrating that I can not accurately express how foolish I feel." Fluttershy was surprised by the sincerity in her king's eyes, by his willingness to admit that he was wrong. "But you've done a great thing today," she reminded him. "The slaves," Sombra said ponderously. "That too can be attributed to you." Fluttershy was bemused by the declaration. "My king, you've done a great thing today. Don't take the deed you have done away from yourself." "It was not in my original plan to bring those slaves back with me," admitted The King. "What do you mean?" "I was only there to exact a retaliatory attack. When the deed had been done, my intentions were to break the chains of the slaves and leave them to fend for themselves, as I had done many times in the past. I realized, however, in doing so I would have killed them. They would have been freed only to be captured by another raiding party, or they would have perished from starvation or the elements. The brash among them would have banded together to become marauders themselves in their desperation for survival. I've seen it happen many times. "I freed them, and I beheld their terrified eyes. They all seemed to say one thing: 'What happens now?' I thought, and, for the first time in my life, I felt pity. I did not know what to do at first. I didn't know how to react to such an emotion. My first instinct was to kill them all quickly and painlessly so they would not have to suffer long in this world." Sombra's thoughts were abruptly interrupted when he eyed a bottle on the mantle of the fireplace. "What kind of wine is that?" "It's a Sangria," replied Fluttershy, eager to hear the rest of the tale. "It's not a vintage, but its still good." He sighed irritably. "You and your sweet wines." "It's better than the sour mashed vinegar you drink," Fluttershy said defensively. Sombra gave her a look. Fluttershy retaliated with one of her own. Then, they both smiled at each other. "I'll have a glass, if you please," the king conceded. Fluttershy filled a glass for her king, and topped off her own. With a sip and a bout of silence, Sombra was ready to resume his story. "It wasn't until I thought of you when I realized how heartless I was being. I began to wonder what it was you would have had me done, instead of simply making such a decision for myself. I doubted that you would have approved of my first solution, logical as it was." "And you were right," interjected Fluttershy. "But I couldn't just leave them there. I couldn't let them suffer, or become the very monsters that had once enslaved them. Killing them would have been preferable to that. I thought and I pondered upon what I should do with them, until I realized I could use them to help cart all the plunder. I would have more skilled laborers and soldiers for my cause. I realized that I had nothing to lose and everything to gain from taking them with me, and so that is what I did." Fluttershy smiled as she sipped at her wine. "You're trying to disguise your intentions." Sombra faced the fire with his cup and said, "Pray, what do you mean?" "You're trying to make it sound like you did what you did simply because you had something to gain from it," Fluttershy said with all the assurance in the world in her voice. "My king, you have a heart. And its as you've said, you felt pity for them. You brought them back here because it was the right thing to do. End of story." Sombra sipped from his cup. Fluttershy knew she was right at that point. He was stalling for time. No doubt he was formulating some sort of quip. "Perhaps I have given your skills of deduction too much praise," Sombra finally said, the corner of his mouth upturning in a sardonic smirk. And there it is, thought The Queen. Sombra cast a critical look down upon her from the side of his face. "You're not half as wise as you think you are." Fluttershy was taken aback by that. A quip was one thing, but that was a bit harsh. Before she could rebuke the harry, her husband spoke again. "You are even more so. You are wise, my love. And you are kind as well." He studied the fire and added, "I would have killed that boy if you hadn't stopped me. His face would have joined the many others I see in my nightmares each night. You possess wisdom that is well beyond one of your years, and it is about time I have taken heed to it." Fluttershy stood frozen with the rim of her glass on her bottom lip. It sounded like he was getting at something - but what? "My dearest queen," declared Sombra, "if you so desire to see your friends again, I shall make it happen. If you trust them, then so shall I." Fluttershy's glass thudded against the floor, the padded rushes drinking eagerly its contents into a blot of sanguine. "You spilled your wine." "Do you mean it?" Fluttershy said, not giving two flying bucks about the wine. "The rush," the king complained. "Do you really mean it? They can come here? I can see them? You'll be here too, right - so I can introduce you to them?" "Yes," Sombra said impatiently. "Now fetch something to clean that up with before it-- Fluttershy pressed her lips against her king's harder than she ever had before, her wings fluttering ecstatically as she held him and pushed him back. Caught completely off guard and thrown off balance, Sombra had to step back to keep his footing, until he found himself tumbling backwards onto the bed. "Stains," he managed to finish as he gazed up at her in astoundment, once his enthusiastic bride finally broke her lips away from his. "Thank you," Fluttershy said. "You really do have a heart. My sweet, sweet king!" Her king said nothing. He was looking up at her in way he never had before. Red lines on his muzzle were beginning to form. "Sorry, I got a little carried away," The Queen blushed. "Sorry about the wine, too. I'll go find a damp rag or something to-- The King took her, pulled her down, and then he kissed her. And he whispered in her ear, "The wine can wait."