4. The Twin Goddesses: Part 4. The Downfallen
It was sunny; clear and bright. Spring was coming soon, if the slush and wet cobblestone streets were any indication. An alabaster alicorn carried a leisurely pace down a street of Canterlot, remarking the lack of wind and cloud cover; it was a perfect day outside. The Prince had truly outdone himself, raising the sun just right and ordering the pegasi to ensure a lovely sky. A foreboding and stubborn snowstorm had blown in from the north, but the Canterlot Weather Patrol drew the line, and allowed nothing to ruin the pleasant afternoon on the day the banners of Canterlot returned to the white citadel.
Nothing more than a slight breeze graced the residents of the city, one gust in particular causing a mare’s pink mane to trail behind her just a bit. Dame Wintermail had retired the effects of battle, now clad in nothing but her old dark cloak and the precious heirloom sword that never left her side. However low a profile she wanted to keep, the muted murmurs of ponies along the streets illustrated that she’d never return to anonymity again.
Thanks to her role in the Battle of Windhock Vale, not to mention her little “display”, the entirety of Canterlot city knew who the Wintermail was, divorcing the legend of the wanderer from the reality of the knight.
To her left was another alicorn, a dark blue pony who as of late rarely left her sister alone. Taberanyn too wore a cloak, her battle-axe resting against her hip just in case. She could still hardly believe her experience a few days ago. It was thrilling…intoxicating even to be in the thick of it, slaying enemies like an epic’s heroine. In the time she’d learned to read, a few such poems had been kept by her bedside, and…yes, she could understand how an alicorn wielding a magic sword resonated with ponies.
Perhaps it wasn’t as evocative as a fiery pony-goddess, but it impressed a good number of ponies. Dame Wintermail found this out when she heard amidst her own admirers others mention a name she’d learned after the battle.
“’Stellara Nightwrath’, you have some fans,” the elder mare snickered, eyes transfixed on a destination a few hundred feet further down the road.
“Oh they can look, but they cannot touch,” Taby replied with a sing-song voice, patting her periwinkle mane with a hoof.”
“You’re damn right about that…” quietly groaned a stallion trailing behind the sisters. Henarion accompanied his charges, deciding that if he wasn’t tending to the needs of his wife and son, he’d be useful protecting the royal alicorns. If he ever distilled satisfaction from the duty, his always-grimaced face never showed.
“Do you have something to say, Uncle?” Taberanyn looked back and shot, raising an eyebrow.
“I don’t want no stallion coming along and—“
“Ahem,” Wintermail interrupted, trying to mask the heat in her face with a stare, “That will do.”
Henarion rolled his good eye, “As you wish, your Majesty.”
The tallest alicorn opted to ignore him, and continued down her way. Every week or so she checked up on a number of investments she’d made with the booty she’d collected over several decades as an effective mercenary—the Prince looked past the sellsword part as it meant more gold was infused into the city’s economy.
Just a short walk later and the three came across the double doors to a large building here in the artisan district. From outside the sounds of pounding metal and flash-boiling water could be heard, along with the faint shouts of ponies working inside. Lightning up her yellow aura, Wintermail opened the doorway and bade her associates to enter first.
Within was a large smithy, two stories tall. Tried and traditional stations of ironworking stood within, fires bellowing inside stone furnaces. Carts and baskets filled with iron ingots and charcoal rested in front of some open doors on the far left end, a soot-covered pony using heavy tongs to heat the metal in the hearth.
Another earth pony stallion raised a large sledge and pounded away slag, the first pony then returning the iron back to its fire. If this process were done enough, and in the right way, the finished product would be a shining bar of steel.
The glowing heats where quenched and placed on stone racks for use at a later time. When orders had come through, the blademaster, an aged and experienced stallion with a dull red coat, forged the steel bars into the blades the shop produced, his apprentice finishing off the pieces with hilts and adornments.
It was hot in the shop, a welcome state during the winter months at least. Taberanyn and Henarion wiped their brows when they came too close to the furnace, eliciting a giggle from Wintermail, “It grows on you.”
Taberanyn looked around the whole shop, for a time observing the rhythmic pounding of hammers and the roaring fires turning iron red-hot. “And…this is all yours?”
Wintermail approached a rack on the right side where dozens of blades were laid, all sheathed and ready to be distributed to any merchants or special clients. She telekinetically picked one up and pulled it from the scabbard. Her swords and knifes possessed a distinctive leaf-shape, the tips bulging somewhat before curving inward towards the middle of the blade and bowing outwards to the crossguard. This item in particular was single-edged, a longsword designed for elegant and deliberate combat, not sheer force.
The piece met her standards of quality, and she returned it to the rack. “Yes. I use to run a shop near my old house, but my needs outgrew that venue,” she replied to her sister at last.
Henarion studied the workers, who thoroughly ignored the intruders and focused solely on their craft. “It seems like you turned your little hobby into something productive,” he conceded. It seemed like only yesterday that little white filly was learning how to forge a simple knife with the guide of her father.
Nikóleva responded to his compliment with a smile. He couldn’t help but crack one in kind. She then magically reached into her saddlebag and produced a book. Setting it down on a nearby desk, she then pulled out an ink bottle and quill.
“Wootz, would you please fetch our week’s records? And the earnings?” she called out to her blademaster.
He ceased his hammerings and wiped his brow, turning to a box kept on a table. Gracefully sliding it onto his back, the red earth pony placed it on the Knight’s desk. She grabbed a key from her bag and unlocked the box, revealing a number of golden bits and a sheet of paper.
“Good take-in, this week, ma’am. Made a killing with the Count of Maneterry’s great sword—almost makes up for the heap of iron and time we needed to make it,” he said in a gruff voice touched with a hint of friendliness, “Though, one asked for an ‘alicorn’ sword.”
Wintermail, scribbling numbers into columns in the book, looked up a moment and furrowed her brow, “What did you tell them?”
“’Wrong place, ma’am.' She walked off in a huff,” Wootz replied with snicker.
Wintermail smiled through her accounting, counting the number of coins in the box. “It’s a shame, really; imagine how much I could charge for an ‘alicorn’ weapon,” the businessmare mused, dipping her quill anew.
“We were kept plenty busy when the banners were called,” Wootz said, returning to his station by the forge.
“At least war is good for business,” Wintermail responded rather dourly, lightly blowing on the fresh ink on her page. While waiting for her new entries to dry, Wintermail magically reached into the box and pulled out a number of gold bits.
Henarion meanwhile was investigating one of the racks with finished products. He’d been carrying his own sword for quite a long time; maybe it was time for a change. “Your inventory isn’t bad, though I do think the shop’d sell a mite more if its owner used one of them,” Henarion quipped.
Wintermail rolled her eyes, counting out some stacks of bits. “I use to, before it shattered on dragonscale,” the mare snorted.
“Might want to leave that out of your pitch,” Taberanyn piped up.
Wintermail simply gave a sardonic grin and walked to the center of the shop. “Come on, you lot! Payday!” Wootz shouted out to his coworkers before forming the front of a line.
The smithy workers all joined in the line, patiently waiting for their restitution. Wintermail levitated for each a fair wage: one-half more than the standard rate. Wootz was the exception, receiving double and one-half in pay.
“Good work, everypony,” Wintermail graciously said, closing up her now dry accounting ledger. She placed the book and the rest of her coins into her bag, and locked the box.
“Thank you for stopping by, Dame,” Wootz yelled over his resumed-hammering, sparks flying onto his soot-covered apron, “I imagine you’re quite busy as a knight.”
The white alicorn paused her step, “…Yes. I have duties and lessons to occupy my time.” She turned her head back and spotted the mesmerizing glow of the forge, the sound of burning charcoal and iron pounded into shape. The Dame then cleared her throat, “Though tonight, I’ll be taking some much-needed leisure—Greymane is hosting a party at sundown; I don’t want you all working late.”
Wootz gave a friendly nod, more focused on his craft. Wintermail resumed her path, knocking her head to signal for her two other alicorn companions, “I’ve finished all my business here for today.”
“Where to now?” Taberanyn asked, magically closing the doors behind the trio.
“To talk to an old friend,” Wintermail replied, scanning her eyes for the proper direction through the streets.
Taberanyn got distracted by the shuffle of ponies around the street, conversing with one another and exchanging goods. When she looked back, Nikóleva was already a good thirty feet ahead.
The midnight mare trotted forwards to link back up with her sister, her spirit taking a small hit when she spotted Nikól’s face. It was sullen, as though she’d seen something disconcerting. Taby had a feeling of what it might have been.
“You don’t get to forge much anymore, do you?” the younger sister asked, trying harder to keep up with Nikóleva’s giant strides.
The white alicorn needed a moment to process the question, “Hmmm? Oh…no, I’m busy—you know what it’s like; lessons, drills, court appearances…forging takes a while and a knight has more prompt concerns.” Nikóleva saw Taberanyn’s face match hers, twisting into a mess of nostalgia. At that moment the alabaster alicorn dropped her dour expression and wrapped her foreleg around her sister’s neck. “But tonight we can forget about all that…just for a night, right?”
Taby’s face immediately blossomed into a bright smile, “I hope you brought your best; I’ve been looking forward to seeing that contest between you and Henarion.”
“I wouldn’t call it much of a contest,” Henarion chortled from behind, keeping a respectful yet healthy distance from the sisters.
Nikól nudged Taby’s shoulder, “He talks like he’s still eighty-years old!”
“Filly, you wouldn’t have been able to even come close back in my prime.”
Nikóleva just responded with a condescending hum, waving her hoof at the orange stallion. The rest of the journey progressed in silence, everypony returning to their own thoughts and observations.
Despite having lived in the city for a whole season, Taberanyn was still captivated by the magnificent architecture and grand scale of Canterlot. White buildings and walls were so beautiful, and cities were so full of life! Elder ponies sat on house stoops playing board games and enjoying an afternoon pipe, while little fillies and colts tossed balls back and forth and ran after one another in little cute games.
Growing up in the cold and wet northern wilds, there really wasn’t anypony else for her to interact with besides her uncle and sister. In the rarest of circumstances, an odd traveler might happen upon their small homestead and stay for a hot drink, but never any foals her age. Nikóleva was her only friend growing up, the only pony she could play with; when she left it was like a knife twisting deep into her heart.
But Nikóleva had since returned to the blue alicorn’s life, and now they were rekindling their sisterly bond. Why, tonight the two were to spend together drinking and making merry; nothing could make Taberanyn happier.
Five feet behind the midnight mare, Henarion never let his gaze wander far from the two. It was bad enough he had to be away from Primrose and Eldowas; though he was sure they didn’t miss him too terribly. Young, excitable things so filled with a lust for life—they were probably befriending every damn servant in the castle. But he did love that about his wife and son…everything was wonderful and exciting…and new.
Two-hundred years and things had stopped impressing him, but not Primrose. Henarion missed them both so much, and he resolved that after tonight he’d begin the journey back to his homestead; it wasn’t far as the pegasus flew. Nikóleva and Taberanyn didn’t…need him anymore—they’d both found places here in Canterlot, surrounded by younger ponies who could do his job much better, and high-class swords training as well.
He flashed a frustrated sneer and groaned, wincing at his right eye socket. He brushed a fetlock against the eyepatch; it always gave him trouble this time of day. And now that Henarion’s mind was on it, his joints were acting up again—pushed himself a little too hard at Windhock Vale. He tilted his head to the clear sky and sighed.
Maiëlindir was the lucky one: he didn’t have to get old. Henarion sighed again, letting his gaze fall right down to the wet cobblestone. Oh how he missed his dear friend.
Leading the three further down the narrow streets of Canterlot, Dame Wintermail occupied her mind with various little checklists of matters she needed to tend to. She collected her revenue, had Veroche oil her armor, practiced her sword fighting, attended court…that was about it. Though her visit to her forge…it was bittersweet. She missed the work, the roaring fires, the dark cold nights by her forge, crafting her blades with passion and skill she’d built over decades.
In truth, the Wintermail had been quite content to remain a bladesmith the rest of her days, building her reputation and skill. Her business did very well, but she often felt as though she weren’t a part of it. Trekking down the Canterlot ways, she imagined what life would have been like taking a different path…keeping the hammer and dirt of a smith over taking up the sword and armor of a knight.
Though she supposed it wasn’t all bad; had she not come into the castle she would’ve never learned of her heritage, or basic literacy, or how to preform advanced magic. And all that education might have one benefit; if Wintermail could find adequate time, just take a week or so for herself, and indulge in her retired craft…maybe—just maybe she could experiment.
Wintermail giggled to herself, actually thinking she could unlock the secret to Alicorn Steel, effectively ignoring the fact it had been lost for the past thousand years.
Her foalish delusions were broken by the sight of a large mansion dominating the city block. Wintermail studied the tall white stone edifice, the wooden railings on either side of the stoop topped with a wet layer of slush. As she came towards the front door, Taberanyn and Henarion stayed behind, stranding their white “leader” to confront the occupant alone.
A small face popped into the side window, and immediately the curtains were drawn. Moments later, Wintermail’s hoof inches away from the wooden door, a short bluish grey unicorn opened the portal and revealed himself.
“Wintermail!” he exclaimed with the warm kindness of a longtime friend. He wrapped his stubby forelegs around the towering alicorn, wearing a grin wider than the valley she’d fought at days before.
He broke off when it seemed appropriate and turned his attention to the two alicorns standing in the damp street, “And who are these ponies?”
“Oh where are my manners?” Wintermail scrambled, swooping up behind her family and scooting them forward; neither of them much enjoyed that. “This is my Uncle…Stronghoof,” Wintermail introduced, eliciting a confused scowl from the alicorn stallion, “And my younger sister, Stellara.”
“What a pleasure to meet you both!” the unicorn exclaimed, beaming as he effectively pulled their forehooves up and bumped them.
“Yes..Sir, the pleasures all…mine,” Henarion…or Stronghoof now, muttered, a bit on edge over this energetic old pony.
“And it’s nice to meet you too…uh…,” Stellara stammered, glancing to her sister.
Wintermail stood beside the unicorn, smiling in kind with him, “This is Greymane, my old landlord. Back before I moved into the castle, he rented me a loft here in the city—the one where I ran my shop.”
“Quite right; she was one of my favorite tenants. She always paid on time and kept a very clean home. Which reminds me,” Greymane craned his neck upwards to meet the tall mare’s face, “Your old home is just as pristine as you left it!”
Despite living in the Castle Apartments, Dame Wintermail still paid to rent her old loft, in the event that it should be needed. It was nice to have a little intimate place to retreat to once in a while.
“But enough talk! You lot must be cold and damp out here in the streets; come inside!” Greymane swung his hooves towards the front door, letting the three alicorns in before himself, closing and latching the oaken door behind them.
The inside of Greymane’s mansion was immediately warmer, the comforting crackle of a fire popping in the background. Light still shone through the windowpanes, but a number of chandeliers and candelabras had been lit for the sunset to come soon enough. The three guests wiped off their hooves on the luxurious yet robust rug before the door.
“You never told me you had family, Wintermail,” Greymane said, drying his own hooves of melted snow.
Wintermail thought a moment, stealing a couple glances at her family, “I suppose it never came up.”
Greymane’s smile relaxed a bit, his eyes transfixed on the mare. He could see a twinge of hurt and regret in her face. He said nothing about it, but simply stomped a hoof, “Well they are more than welcome to enjoy themselves tonight! Drinks and sweets all around! I only ask that you not cause too much collateral damage; remember that wardrobe closet I had, Wintermail?”
She knew Greymane was only half-joking, but she shrunk with an acute embarrassment, “Somepony wanted to wrestle.”
The unicorn chuckled and started his way to another part of the house, “Well, Knight, not everything is a battle to the death.”
Greymane was gone before Wintermail could retort, his presence replaced by a servant offering to take the alicorns’ items. All three declined the offer, preferring their effects remain as close to them as possible. The servant affirmed with a “very well” and adjourned to tend to another guest.
Other ponies stood around, holding or levitating cups full of wine or something light to start off with. Greymane, in his infinite generosity and mirth, decided to throw yet another party, so soon after his trademark Hearth’s Warming one, to celebrate Canterlot’s victory.
Wintermail led her company into an adjacent room, the soft glow of candles and the fading sunlight revealing several tables lining the wall. Besides tall bottles of sweet wines and liquors, large kegs of lager and ale, and bowls of luscious, tantalizing fruits, Wintermail spotted something of far greater value.
Elegant silver trays, some stacked on top of one another by means of poles, sat absolutely stuffed with desserts. The white alicorn stopped dead in her tracks, mouth hanging open, a trail of saliva dripping to the floor. Completely lost to the sugary decadence laid before her, Wintermail’s eyes beheld buttercream-frosted cake, soft pink-colored marzipan, cute brown caramel sweets, salted toffee, fluffy white fudge, and cookies lightly dusted with sugar.
Henarion and Taberanyn walked on either side of the taller alicorn, looking at her dumbfounded face, then at the spread of sweets before sharing a sarcastic glance at one another.
“I think…I think I’ll start with some cake…” Wintermail muttered, flaring up her horn in a bright yellow glow. A second later a wooden plate came careening from a stack across the room, stopping instantly before it made contact with the alicorn. She then placed two pieces of cake on it, dabbing some marzipan on top for good measure.
Wintermail next captured a tin cup and filled it to the brim with frothy ale, not caring that she spilled a bit on the way to a table. After planting herself firmly in place, she glowered at her two companions with a look that said “Don’t keep me waiting.”
Naturally, Taberanyn spent as much time as possible discriminately selecting her victuals, comparing individual slices of cake and testing the consistency of each bowl of marzipan. The younger sister giggled slightly, knowing full well what she was doing. Wintermail’s eyes bored into the back of Taberanyn’s head; the white mare was too polite to begin eating without her family, but she would make her sister atone for dragging out the wait so long.
Having had her fun, Taberanyn trotted to the table and set down her plate and cup, filled with a smooth white wine. Henarion followed behind, having patiently hung back and watched the antics of his two nieces. He had collected a few cookies and caramels, along with malt beer.
And then for one final jest, Taberanyn stopped her sister from taking that first bite by reminding everypony of the need to say grace. Wintermail’s eyes then flashed with the very same fire she’d summoned at the battle, but died down when the mare realized her sister was correct.
A short prayer later and the three began to eat and drink. Wintermail easily enjoyed it the most; it had been too long since she’d tasted a decent cake—and Lord above this particular cake was delectable. The texture, the flavor…perfectly moist and fluffy, with the right amount of sweet and savor. The mare possessed one of the strongest sweet tooths in Canterlot, and tonight it would be satiated. The contents of her plate did not last long, and once nothing but crumbs and a few dabs of frosting remained, she grabbed her cup and gulped down the ale; deep and dark, her favorite. Letting out a most uncouth belch, the mare wiped her mouth and gathered her foodware for a second helping.
Taberanyn’s eating was dainty compared to her sister’s, only taking neat bites and sips at a leisurely pace. Her first slice of cake was only about a third of the way finished when Wintermail returned with another plate of pastries and sweets. The alabaster alicorn then slammed down three small glasses and a bottle of what appeared to be some sort of yellow-orange beverage.
Magically Wintermail distributed out the glasses and poured a small measure of the drink for each of the alicorns. “What is this?” Taby asked, bringing the glass up to her nose and taking a whiff.
Her sister set down the bottle and took up her glass with an aura, “Zebrican Honey Wine. A distillery in the city made a batch just for me.” She let in the aroma of the drink, heart aflutter with the sweet twinge of mead, “They lowered the amount of kick; said they didn’t want anypony getting poisoned from it. A bunch of light-weights I say.”
Wintermail raised her glass, Taby and Henarion responding in kind, the three clanking their shots together before bringing it up to their lips. The elder sister didn’t hesitate one bit, and neither did Henarion. But Taberanyn paused, trying to figure out if downing this hard drink was a good idea. After a couple moments of contemplation, the blue alicorn decided that no, it was not. She brought the glass to her lips and gulped the beverage, pounding a hoof on the table as it burned her throat.
The other two gasped in kind, gritting their teeth in a sick masochistic pleasure. Henarion then took a bite of a cookie and a sip of beer to calm down his throat. “So you really want to bring this on yourself, do ya filly?” he spoke to Wintermail, eyebrow raised, “You think ya can beat me?”
“I don’t ‘think’ anything about it,” she retorted, staring her uncle right in the good eye as she glugged her second cup of ale.
Henarion chuckled, feeling loosened up and now a little more willing to enjoy himself. He finished a cookie and wiped the crumbs away, “So…’Stronghoof’, eh? Are you gonna call me that from now on?”
Wintermail chomped another slice of cake, having enough decency to make sure her mouth was empty before speaking, “What? You don’t like it?” She delighted in the frustrated expression he made, one that could almost be his resting face, “Alicorn names can be difficult for Tulicëai; I thought it’d be easier for Greymane to remember it if you had an Equestrian one. Also, shouldn’t alicorns keep a low profile?”
The dull orange stallion crossed his forehooves, “Maybe once, but now I think the secret’s out. Everypony knows the Wintermail’s an alicorn; wouldn’t take a scholar to guess the tall ponies traveling with her were as well.” Leaning to the side, Henarion spotted a couple ponies in the corner looking at them, whispering amongst themselves. He scowled, “You two’ve gotten too popular to remain hidden, anyways. Can’t tell you how much I’ve been hearing about Wintermail Flamecaster and Stellara Nightwrath. Sort of hard to forget displays like that, eh?”
“I’m not sure how I feel about all that attention, to be honest; all those eyes…” Taby thought out loud, nervously drinking her wine while watching those sneaking glances.
“Hopefully this’ll keep your mind off it!” Wintermail interjected, pouring three more shots of honey wine. Taby shrugged and raised her glass for cheers, and downed it along with her family. “How are you feeling?” Wintermail asked Henarion.
But Taberanyn answered instead, reeling from the ravaging of her esophagus the drink caused, “Like somepony shot me in the stomach with an arrow. I think…I’m not going to have any more of that honey wine for a bit…”
“She taps out; it’s just us two now, old stallion!” Wintermail exclaimed, grinning mischievously at her uncle.
He curled up his hooves, beckoning the mare to approach, “Bring it on, filly!”
The night devolved into an immature contest of endurance, Henarion and Wintermail pounding shots like they each had a death wish. The two went a couple rounds before pacing themselves with “kinder” drinks like ale and lager. Through the jokes, conversation, and boasts the three shared, Wintermail and her uncle kept up their intense stares, encouraging each other to make more and more bad decisions.
Taberanyn sat quietly much of the time, snacking on pastries and sipping her measures when the need arose. She knew, for better or worse, Henarion’s own “talent” for consuming alcohol; he could put them back. But her sister’s tolerance was staggering…perhaps those rumors she’d heard around Canterlot weren’t entirely unfounded after all.
Late into the night the mansion was full of ponies engaging in the same reckless behavior that the alicorns were. One noticed the white alicorn, called out to his friends, and amidst their intense focus on drinking, a crowd had gathered around. Shouting and cheering and exchanging bets the ponies clamored with a deafening gusto each time a shot was emptied and that contestant remained conscious.
The blue mare wasn’t used to such attention and crowding, and truthfully it wasn’t particularly pleasant. But watching Nikól and Henarion make fools of themselves was a fair trade.
“You…ain’t…but…getcha…” Henarion slurred, babbling incoherently. He’d become too drunk to focus his magic long enough to take a drink, so his shaky hooves wobbled the glass, spilling more than half before he tried to slam it down. Henarion missed entirely, splashing honey wine all over his orange coat. “I’ll…tired…nap little,” he grumbled out, unable to keep his eye open any longer. With a loud “thunk” his head crashed onto the table; he was down and out.
Wintermail took her final shot, gulping the liquor and letting out a primal roar of victory. One mare to her right raised up her foreleg and roused a cheer from the crowd. “Wintermail!” they shouted, almost as though she were on a battlefield.
Taberanyn, though not effectively poisoned, was still drunk herself, and burst into a fit of laughter, “You are sooo amazing! How…how do you do that?”
Nikóleva leaned in, shifting her eyes for no reason in particular. The ponies surrounding their table started leaving, the spectacle concluded. After a moment of serious staring at her sister, the white mare replied in like slurring, “Some…ponies just g…got it! And…I’m one of them who got it. You!” she punctuated by jabbing a hoof into Taby’s chest, “Can get it too!” Despite the efforts they’d made in their time in Canterlot to affect the dignified speech of the south, the sisters regressed back into their native northern accents so inebriated.
And then, from across the room, Nikóleva spotted a couple stallions, handsome enough through the haze of drunkenness, stealing glances at the sisters. A teasing smile touched her lips, and she elbowed Taby, “L…look! I think thems over there…m’fancy’ing you.”
A bright red flash crossed the younger alicorn’s cheeks, and she replied with a forceful shove, “Shut it!”
Nikóleva just giggled, turning her cup upside down to catch any last drops on her tongue. She grew frustrated when none came and released her magical hold on it, letting the container fall onto the table. The drunken white pony’s ear flicked when her sister’s voice rose again.
“Beside…they…probably eyeing you…,” Taby squeaked out, laying her head down over crossed forelegs, “You’re tall…str…strong…gorgeous! A knight…a hero… ever…ev…every stallion wants…to win your favor.” Taby sniffled a few times, wiping her teal eyes.
Nikól slammed down her hoof, “Hey! Listen…listen…listen, it ain’t like that, Taby.” She reached out and placed a jittering hoof on her sister’s back, “I intim…inti…scare ponies, right? I’m taller than any pony I’ve ever met… I’m sure they afraid I’ll crush ‘em.” Her hoof began tracing patterns along Taby’s back, and the midnight mare’s head rose again, “But you, yea? You got that cute…friendly…ponies think you is approa…approach… easy to talk to.”
Taby gave a slight smile, “You…really think so?”
Nikól then narrowed her gaze at a couple ponies across the room, “But they ain’t gonna…’cause you my baby sister…and I have to protect you!” The elder mare grabbed her sister and brought her uncomfortably close into her chest, stroking her periwinkle mane, “You…you’s the most important thing in my life!”
The blue alicorn pushed back, and after a few more moments Nikól let her go. The two sat in silence for a bit, both swaying slightly in their drunken state. Taby studied a young pegasus filly standing twenty feet away, talking with another pony while taking swigs from her mug. Taberanyn’s mood then went dark, and she raised a sullen voice, “I let her die…”
“Huh?” Nikóleva groaned, raising an eyebrow at the dour face her sister was making.
“That little filly…Orchard Blossom…” Taberanyn then placed her hooves onto Nikóleva’s chest and looked up with remorseful eyes, “She’s dead because of me!” Tears were trailing from her eyes, shut and angled down in shame. “I…I couldn’t save…her.”
Nikóleva resumed her coddling, “It…wasn’t your fault. Poor girl…but she’s in a better place now…you know with mother and father! You can’t…it’s not…” she stammered before letting out a deep sigh, “It gets easier.”
The younger sister continued sobbing, “I…watched her die…I saw the life leave her eyes…” Taberanyn’s trembled within Nikól’s embrace, tears dripping onto her white fur, “The face…the face… Her eyes begged for help…she thought I could help her…”
Nikóleva was at a loss for comforting words, feeling them trying to escape, but falling back just before they were uttered. Gently massaging her sister’s back, the white alicorn simply let Taby mourn.
Taberanyn felt this awful twisted mess of emotions, a horrid mix of sorrow, anger, and regret. Her inhibitions gone with the magic of alcohol, she made no attempt to contain her inner torment. Time passed in a slow quiet, but eventually Taberanyn’s tears ceased and she felt so much better. Taby then lifted her head and rubbed her eyes, “I’m…tired…”
The older alicorn exhaled a powerful yawn, “Y’know what? Me too! We...we need to be respons…responsbile, or I’ll be hearing the Prince say ‘this is not how a queen is supposed to act!’” she jested, performing a truly awful impression of Canterlot’s sovereign.
The two sisters stumbled out of their seats and oriented themselves towards the door. “Wait!” Taby interjected, gesturing to the sleeping stallion still at their table, “We have to…bring him too…can you carry him?”
The Wintermail was more than capable of carrying a stallion as large as Henarion on her back for a time—sober. But right now…it was probably not the best idea. A servant passed by, and a little too forcefully the white alicorn patted him with a hoof.
“Excuse me…could you…make sure that sod over there gets sent back to the castle?”
The servant rolled his eyes, internally cursing the orders Greymane had given to accommodate the Wintermail in any way she required during her stay. “Certainly, Dame.”
“Good…good…I think I got something in here…” she slurred, reaching into her bag and giving the amber unicorn a couple bits. Admittedly his irritation evaporated an appreciable margin at the gesture.
The two alicorns then hobbled out of the mansion, making slow and deliberate steps so as to not fall down the icy steps, all the water having frozen in the nighttime chill. Stumbling out into the middle of the street, Wintermail turned around a few times to find her bearings.
“Are you sure you know the way?” Taby asked incredulously.
“Of course! I know these streets like…because… shut up; follow me.”
By some divine miracle the two managed their way to the old loft Wintermail had rented when she first entered Canterlot. A sturdy two-story building, the living space resting primarily on some heavy wooden pillars, the open space beneath no longer possessed the forge and workshed it had less than a year before. Wintermail approached the door and levitated out her key, trying no less than three times to insert it into the lock before she finally got it right.
“Hurry up! It’s bloody freezing out here!” Taberanyn exclaimed, shivering quite theatrically.
The door creaked open, the hinges no doubt in need of a good oiling. Nikóleva allowed her sister in first, and soon the blue mare crept over to the neatly-made bed. Falling down, she relinquished her remaining willpower to fight off exhaustion. Moments later she was snoring and curling up on the sheets, instinctively draping her wings over her body to keep warm.
Nikóleva smiled at the sight, reminded of the days when Taby was just a baby napping in her crib. Lórian above that was ages ago—now she was a full-grown mare. Tonight was fun; tomorrow they’d have to return to their usual routines and lessons. It would be a long while before Wintermail would get a chance to carouse like this again; she figured the opportunity did not go wasted.
Petting her sister and giving her a kiss, she then unloaded her bags from her back and knelt down on the floor; she’d slept on worse before. Curling her neck around and covering herself in her giant white wings, the mare was too tired to even drunkenly stumble to the couch in the other room, and fell asleep right there.
Completely clueless about what tomorrow would bring.
*――――――――――S――――――――――*
Brilliant golden rays emanated into the room, the curtains drawn back to reveal the room’s wide window. A sleeping alicorn, sprawled awkwardly on the hard cold wooden floor, stirred back to life. A magenta eye creaked open, overwhelmed by the intense sunlight. She crested a wing over her face, trying to earn a few more precious moments of sleep.
It was no use. She groaned, rubbing her forehooves on her temples to abate the sensation of an axe being driven into her skull. She didn’t remember much of what she’d done the night before, and had to think for a moment where exactly she was.
Extending her stiff legs, Nikóleva contorted herself back upright. But she moved too quickly, and her headache was aggravated, paralyzing her for a second. The hungover mare glanced out the window and recognized the location: her old Canterlot house.
Her realization was interrupted by a rhythmic pounding, the sound of something banging ferociously on wood. She held her head when the sonic hammer bashed her skull. It kept coming, then stopped after about five sequences. In that time Nikóleva realized the sound was not in fact coming from inside her head.
Trudging to the bedroom’s door, each step an ordeal, the alicorn stepped through to reveal the living space of her domicile. A faint sound of sizzling caught her ears, and a delicious smell drifted to her nostrils.
A small stone stove crackled with a fire beneath, a cast-iron pan with a pool of batter in it. Nikóleva however spotted a pitcher of water and immediately seized it in her magic, gulping down the liquid until she couldn’t hold her breath any longer. Letting out a long satisfied gasp, Nikóleva set down the near-empty container as another alicorn crept up from the staircase leading out of the house.
“You’re up,” Taberanyn said, levitating a small letter in her pale blue aura.
“How late is it?” Nikól asked, taking a seat on the nearby couch, cradling her head.
“Just before midday,” Taby replied, reaching into a bag and pulling out a branch full of leaves. She plucked one off and offered it to her sister. “This is myrtle; suck on it.”
Nikóleva eyed the gesture with suspicion, but then shrugged and obliged her sister. After a few moments her head did start to feel better. “Where is Henarion?”
“At the castle. I checked on him earlier this morning when I went to the market.” Taberanyn returned to the stove and flipped the pancake onto its other side, “You two had entirely too much last night.”
“I’d protest, but I don’t really remember.”
“No…,” Taberanyn mused, letting the pancake cook fully before levitating it out of the pan and putting it on a small stack. She then took the plate and gave it to her sister, who gave a slightly confused look.
“You didn’t have to…,” Nikóleva trailed off.
Taby smiled brightly, returning to the stove to snuff out the fire and clean up. “When we were fillies you’d make pancakes to cheer me up…I thought I’d return the favor. I’ve already eaten; let me know how you like them.”
Nikóleva grinned, utterly touched. Taking up one of the buttermilk cakes in her magic, she took a bite, her smile slowly fading away. Glancing down at the cake, Nikól noticed the discolored surface and inconsistent texture. The inside was cool and doughy; truthfully a poor excuse for a pancake.
She captured a small piece of cloth and wrapped the pancakes up, “I’ll finish them later” Hastily she rose to her feet, “We have to get to the castle—I can already hear the Prince chastising me now.”
Taberanyn was already ahead of her sister, and donned her saddlebags and cloak on a rack nearby. “That reminds me: a courier was just at the door. Told me to give you this,” the blue mare said levitating the small note and placing it on the table in front of Nikóleva.
The white mare inspected the folded piece of paper, a red wax seal stamped with a curious symbol. Nikóleva’s eyes widened; she recognized the glyph: an alicorn grapheme. Breaking the seal, she opened the letter to find that it was written in elegant calligraphy. But strangely it was written entirely in the alicorn language, perking her interest immensely. She knew of only three ponies who could read and write alicorn effectively: Delbedasir, the Prince, and herself.
Scanning her eyes over the page, her brow scrunched up. It was an invitation, an offer for Nikóleva and her sister to meet with some unknown pony at a site just outside the city’s walls around noon today.
“Well? What’s it say?” Taby asked, anxious to leave the house, already near the door.
Nikóleva rose up, still in her own thoughts. She retrieved her things quickly and paced to the door. She levitated the note to give to Taby, who then studied it with an intense curiosity.
“What does this say? This isn’t Equestrian,” Taberanyn spoke, stepping onto the slushy muddy ground as her sister locked the door behind them.
Trudging with animate purpose, the Wintermail set her sights on the direction of the decided rendezvous point. Once on the main cobblestone street, the mare spoke up, “You’re right; meviln hímolícë.(it’s alicorn.)”
Taberanyn didn’t reply, but instead walked beside her sister, occupied with her thoughts. She resigned herself to following Wintermail, not wanting to prod the visibly-perturbed alicorn with unnecessary questions that would more than likely be answered soon.
The pair progressed through the city, passing by many shops here in the artisan distract. The din of smiths and sawing of carpenters provided stimulating ambiance, enough activity to entertain the blue mare in the absence of conversation. Minutes later they came within sprinting distance of the South Gate, guards patrolling its towers and letting in traveling merchants with drawn carts.
Wintermail didn’t want to bother with the giant double doors, so she spread her wings and lifted off, landing gracefully at the base of the gate’s other side. Any guards that wanted to protest chomped down on their tongues once they noticed the identity of the escapee. Taberanyn then felt confident enough to replicate the trick.
Outside the protective albino ring of Canterlot, small hamlets interspaced with tiny fields and livestock pens rested before the road snaked down the winding trail of the mountain. The traffic on the Canterlot Road was fairly average for the day, every thirty feet a cart coming or going. Pegasi flew overhead bearing messages or simply racing in the leisure of midday.
Wintermail passed by some peasants clearing snow and preparing the first sowing, winter to end within a week or so. The time-honored tradition of Winter Wrap-Up was a fun day, though the specifics varied from region to region and population from population. They sang colorful and cheerful songs while they worked, and Wintermail allowed herself a small grin of anticipation.
Her favorite thing to do was join the pegasi weather patrol and clear the skies and invite pleasant spring breezes. But right now her intended destination reserved her attention: a small rocky outcropping overlooking the valley below. Occupying the site was a small building, an old workshop that now served as a meeting place for the local extramural community.
The letter had been clear about where to meet, so Wintermail strode through the hall’s doors with knightly confidence, Taberanyn in tow. The large internal chamber was speckled with pieces of furniture and a stage at the far end. The light was coming in through clouded windows, illuminating the flecks of dust floating in the surrounding air.
On the stage gazing out an open door at the cliffside vista was a tall figure. Clad in a velvet red cloak, the figure didn’t move or react to the two new entrants. Wintermail produced the letter from her bag. “I received your correspondence,” the Knight announced, holding a visage of poise and determination.
“Kind of you to arrive so promptly,” the figure spoke, its voice sultry and clearly female. She turned around, revealing a thin unicorn, her coat lavender and free of any spots of dirt or grime. The mare approached, a mane very similar to Taby’s in color lightly bouncing with each step. Stopping ten feet from the sisters, her violet eyes examined them with uncomfortable thoroughness.
She easily stood as tall as Taberanyn, legs and neck long and elegant. Wintermail mentally formulated a plan, just in case.
The lavender mare pursed her lips, “Are you Nikóleva Maiëlindirnasí nor-Solárindilbainuir?”
Wintermail frowned, giving the stranger a cold stare, “I don’t often go by that name. Why does it concern you?”
“Whispers abound through the city…that a pony of royal blood lives within it,” the unicorn intoned. As far as she knew, only the Prince and his intimate circle of councilors knew the truth about the Heir of Solárindil—though servants surely overheard and disseminated rumors.
“And if that were true?” the Knight very calmly asked.
The lavender mare smirked and turned around, stepping out through the far door, “Then I am to tell this pony her people are waiting.”
Nikóleva and Taberanyn shared a glance before cautiously following the unicorn, now standing on the edge of the cliff. A cold breeze billowed past, her pale blue mane blowing across her face. She looked back at the two sisters, “There are good winds today in the vale; we can ride them straight to our stronghold.”
“’Stronghold’?” Taberanyn asked.
The question was ignored. Wintermail instead studied the mare closely, having a sneaking and steadily-growing suspicion. The mare stretched her legs and back, cracking her neck last. Those suspicions were confirmed when the mysterious pony’s cloak swished back, two full and healthy wings fanning outwards, long and slender lavender flight feathers ruffling in the wind.
“Follow me,” the alicorn commanded before diving off the cliff.
The sisters looked at one another again, each giving a face of mild shock. A moment of pause, and the two began their gallop off the cliff, spotting the flying stranger heading right into the lower altitudes of the valley.
Leaping off, Nikóleva and Taberanyn merged gracefully into the air current traveling through the valley, its course curving around the base of Canterlot’s mountain. The third alicorn was flying quickly, past the waterfall and the jagged cliffs. Her direction led the three to a rocky outgrowth of the mountain’s base.
The stranger landed gently, folding her wings and returning them under the warmth and security of her cloak. The sisters weren’t far behind, making contact with the snow-dusted ground to find a cave entrance, the natural stone archways tangled and gnarled with dormant vines.
The alicorn mare beckoned Nikól and Taby inside, leading the way by producing a dim light from her horn. The white and blue alicorns mimicked the action, creeping into the cavern. Each held a part of their mind on their weapons, ready to draw should this stranger prove to be less than friendly.
It was a fair distance into this icy cave, and multiple forks in the path ensured ponies wandering in would become lost. Wintermail grimaced at physical testaments to that fact; the trio came across a few ancient skeletons resting against the rocks.
Finally, the lavender alicorn came to a dead end. She closed her eyes and tapped her long horn against the wall, channeling a bout of magic into it. Moments later bright blue-green trails snaked on the stone, spelling out “Cadabdasilion im-ylo, hai pishúndumebardóliai, osademesaca dheniai. Lé-goltapa bhenëai leäïlímaëra lain.(Come here, oh tempest-tossed, downfallen kin. In our halls you can know safety.)”
A glowing pattern of a door flashed into being, and two stone doors retreated into the wall, revealing an entry point. After the alicorns stepped through, the doors returned back into the cave wall, blending perfectly within. The chamber on the other side was lit by naturally-luminescent gemstones, giving off a soft multi-colored ambiance of reds, oranges, greens, and purples.
The gems were nice, but they weren’t what truly captivated Nikól and Taby’s attention. Dumbstruck, lazily walking forward the sisters beheld the cavern’s occupants. Ponies, in many different coats, all tall…and all alicorns—Triple-kin, those relics of a past age, of times long considered mythical… Nikóleva’s eyes widened, the mare at a loss.
Before today she’d known a grand total of seven alicorns, only two of which weren’t in some way related to her. But in this room easily dozens stood, conversing with one another, seemingly oblivious to the new entrants.
One alicorn had been standing on a carved balcony, overlooking the crowd. Spotting the lavender one, he leapt up and flew down to the ground. A stallion roughly Henarion’s size, though much younger, approached the three new arrivals. Coated a pale green, his mane streak with alternations of dark and light blue, the alicorn stepped with great confidence, meeting Nikóleva’s eyes the entire way.
Stopping rather close to the white pony, he studied her for a time, eyeing especially the gilded hilt of Eónadin poking from under her cloak. “Lís vuir meviln deni, Rhílë?(Is she the one, Rhílë?)” he asked with a slow pace, his voice deep and resonant.
“Vaur, Teceo.(Yes, Brother.)” the lavender alicorn Rhílë replied, stepping back from him and the sisters.
“Calar gardúnaö gandin taë-casubdélbáduln boro,(How kind of the Prince to let us know,)” the sarcastic venom sprayed from his lips, “Candë rhílon midedasédera candic rhal-Dulicë?(Though should I really expect more from a Tulicë?)”
“Excuse me,” Nikóleva spoke up, being assertive yet still respectful, “But…where…what is all this?”
The green alicorn raised an eyebrow before continuing in the ancient tongue, “Céba meviln baison nor-dhenecëai. Roneä bhenë meviln Cardúnón, she bor meviléd eshna nor-Osademesaca.(This is a cadre of your kinsponies. My name is Cardúnón, and I am the leader of the Downfallen.)” The stallion beckoned the other three to follow him as he flared his wings and lifted back up to his balcony.
“Alícëai cidanai shaideniai andatilna lé-móra nor-Galar setociltina cadabdinilnaödë balaca bhenëai, shaimadel tan-maiheniléda fonëai héingh-nghalar; víwë únasduln benëai ‘pantrónilédaödë’,(Any alicorns that wander into the Prince’s domains are invited to join our ranks, where we’ve no obligations of service; he simply has asked us to ‘endure’,)” Cardúnón continued, the foursome landing on the stone balcony. He led his sister and the two newcomers further into a carved arched doorway, “Tyl miton dadirduln maiënísilyrnodë benëai Verenimu héim-vuiras.(But it seems he’s decided to keep our Queen to himself.)”
“Maihenilion,(Wait,)” Nikóleva interjected, switching effortlessly to her native language, “Calar leäduln nor…Alícëai lé-nicot? Semlái nor-dhenecëai…,(The Prince knew about…alicorns in the city? Others of our race…,)” she gestured a hoof between herself and Taberanyn, “She tangh-Nghasubdelpáduln benëy?(And did not tell us?)”
“Darion venë she bor rhílon…tamh-mhantlynaïléda,(His Highness and I don’t exactly…get along,)” Cardúnón replied in his deep baritone. He flashed an aura of silver magic and retrieved a pitcher and four chalices from a small table, “Tyl maihenilúséda nadimh mhandin héim-sima casubemë. Hanotilímódë?(But we’ll have plenty of time for that sort of talk. Thirsty?)”
Cardúnón and Rhílë each took a sip from their wine, and Taberanyn did so to avoid rudeness. Nikóleva however was still feeling a faint throbbing in her head and declined. Cardúnón gave a resonant groan and narrowed is eyes, “Rhibuiriléd bor ledumë din-roneä Wintermail, curbasci nor-Nairverosudë. Maihenilím telnan, lís leäïlím. Tyl shai rhílon roniltím?(I understand you are known by the name Wintermail, a knight of Canterlot. You’ve a reputation, you know. But what are you actually called?)”
“Nikóleva, Nikóleva Maiëlindirnasí nor-Solárindilbainuir,” the alabasater alicorn replied proudly, holding herself to a poise reserved for the royalty she in fact was.
Cardúnón smirked, and then stared at the shorter blue pony standing beside her sister. He didn’t notice it before now, but with his full focus on her, he found the younger alicorn to be magnificently beautiful. Her midnight coat and soft periwinkle mane captivated his interest more than anything had in a long while.
“She der mevilímoc nasí venë,(And you must be her daughter,)” he charmed, flashing his winning smile.
Taby giggled like a little filly, blushing slightly, “Tan; Tecoëy mevilédo. Taberanyn, Palë.(No; we are sisters. I am Taberanyn, Sir.)”
“héim-Nísion, ronilion ‘Cardúnón’,(Please, call me ‘Cardúnón’,)” he paused, studying the gorgeous mare a little further, “‘Taberanyn’…vuir rhílon cordusiln syc-hímo.(’Taberanyn’…it simply rolls right off the tongue.)”
Standing behind her brother, Rhílë felt her eyes turn back into her head—she might need more wine.
Nikóleva too felt irritated, and also a bit protective. She subtly closed the distance between herself and Cardúnón, taking command of the conversation, “Nanúduléd pant uir bhenë bhasdemë éca-mevilyrédacof víwë alícëai darsemëai, she barcedulím bor tam-meviléda. Elna in-ner, Cardúnón.(I’ve spent all my life wondering if my family were the only alicorns left, and you’ve shown me that we are not alone. Thank you, Cardúnón.)” The green stallion walked behind a large wooden desk, a thick book sitting in the center. A flickering candle underneath a tin wax bowl, a bottle of ink and a quill, and a few stacks of letters surrounded the tome.
He opened up the book to the last filled page and dipped his writing implement. “Leäön, Bándowil.(Of course, your Majesty.)” Nikóleva winced; it felt so strange and uncomfortable to hear that appellation.
She approached the desk, looming over the stallion with uncommon height. He did not seem intimidated, and seeing such confidence was refreshing, considering how much she dwarfed most. “Shai candin ylo?(How many are here?)” she asked, eyes with sincere curiosity and concern.
Cardúnón wrote down the sisters’ names in his book, along with a few other words that Nikóleva didn’t catch. “Balovacú she cry. Osademesaca candë baisosac maihenilna shes-Thulicor. Berasalna bhenëai ipacondulna balacuir nor-Alícëai…shai, Rhílë?(Eighty-seven. The Downfallen however have chapters across Equestria. Our estimates have placed the total number of alicorns at...what was it, Rhílë?)”
“shes-Phíbalo, canditon lé-vantas ulinaö,(Around ten-thousand, mostly in the northern wilds,)” his sister replied, refilling her cup rather soon.
“Vaur…tyl ratina vencándumë lé-laina nor-Dulícëai, ayc taë-gadabshesdumëai bhenäi.(Yes…but a simple drop lost in the sea of Tulicëai, even less so dispersed as we are.)” Cardúnón rose from his desk and walked to a map on the wall, dozens of points marked with colored wooden tacks, “Aynai gandinai, cadabshesdumëai gandinai mevilíma. Maiënísilyrímaödë beneäs, coltapilyríma tuln héltái dhranai, baisónái andademëai, dal andadóa balstanai. Mevduln sima héim-daiämai bíonai nís…uir taë-marduniltíma taë-nishloai yncionai bhundenidalionai.(We are so few, so scattered. To preserve our race, we lived as single families, small roving bands, or even lone wanderers. It has been that way for nearly a thousand years…all because we’re hunted down by jealous lesser creatures.)”
He turned back to his guests, “Tyl éca-henái mevilúsédacof semlon, Alícëai tanh-nhadabshesdumëai she taleái. Nówin daiämai tecoë bhenë she bor nusadulédo vasonilédódë she ronereïlédódë benecëai. Osademesaca forgdulna cylon nówin daibaloai vrotata, she cempa óheda alícëai uirai lé-Dulicor…uirai shaideniai tarsilna, cadabdinilúsina she ipaconilúsina mórverë alíceo mucen.(But if we are to be strong once more, the alicorns cannot be scattered and unknown. For years my sister and I have endeavored to find and recruit our people. The Downfallen has grown well in the past few decades, and soon perhaps all alicorns in Equestria…all that remain in this world, shall join together and build a new alicorn realm.)” The heretofore stoic stallion wiped his eyes, ever so slightly misted by a tear.
Taberanyn spotted this fact and placed her hoof over her mouth, cooing to great annoyance from her older sister, “Sima rhílon cadnaniln; cyl gandin meviln máoneme deni subë tyl lyna bhenë nor-vuir, selandemë naduiron ‘sbecemë davilirosta nor-bhenecëai’.(That’s truly inspiring; it’s so nice to hear somepony other than my uncle about it, always lamenting the ‘inevitable fading of our race’.)”
Cardúnón gave the blue pony a suave grin, “Cidan hónacilédcof héim-menecëai. Aiätilédcof héim-vuira.(I would do anything for my people. I’d die for them.)”
Taby admired the stallion like a damn filly fawning over a knight. Nikóleva was starting to dislike this pony.
Regaining his former dignitas, Cardúnón resumed speaking, “Tyl tan-hónacilédaëra dim-morás. Lís nambilím Ansomë nor-Madelmerco? tan-Vrotat lé-dabëai surda tyl daiäm vrotat?(But we cannot do everything ourselves. Do you remember Hearth’s Warming? Not the previous one months ago but last year?)”
Nikóleva chuckled to herself, thinking back to that night, “Leäön. Meviln din-shai Calar vasonilnodë—óheda dran nor-rana yndorasaöai gandita nor-bant penëai.(Of course. It was how the Prince found out about me—probably one of the most fateful nights of my life.)”
“Semlon din-shai bora vasonduléda der. Rhílë bilestaïln shes-Mórcalar midailénemë héinh-‘Nhulicydulina’ cidan. Vasonduln der lé-coldabicua nor-Greymane. Calar frandigduln der surda maihenduléda célen; dadirduléda maiënísilyraödë cyl balstan nówin nadim.(It was also how we discovered you. Rhílë goes around the Princedom searching for any ‘northern unicorns’. She spotted you in Greymane’s mansion. The Prince snatched you up before we had a chance; we decided to leave well enough alone for the time.)” Cardúnón then lit up his horn and removed a piece of Nikóleva’s cloak to reveal her sword’s hilt, “Tyl sima surda rhibuirduléda shaideni der mevilím. She misha nadimh mholsht meviln.(But that was before we understood who you were. And now the time is just right.)”
Nikóleva furrowed her brow, readying herself for anything, just in case. “Nadim héim-shai?(Time for what?)”
The green alicorn smirked, “Ferëai spegdulemëai tam-maihendulna víwë ronebasci nor-‘Ferë nor-Dulicor’, tyl semlon sima nor-Alícëai. Natos rhal-mór dal adana dal oncasdulumëai, Ferenasí nor-Solárindil, nor-Vasílion meviln eshna nor-bhenecëai. Mórverë nor-Dulicor tam-meviln, tyl misha alícëai mevilna.(The bygone kings didn’t simply hold the title of ‘King of Equestria’, but also that of the Alicorns. Untied to land or territory or institutions, the Heir of Solárindil, of Vasílion is the leader of our race. There is no more Kingdom of Equestria, but there are still alicorns.)”
Cardúnón craned down his neck before Nikóleva, dropping his confident and proud persona for a moment of humility, “Únasiléd, Ferenimu bhenë, aludunilímodë matel dhenë. Alícëai maihenilnaöc tarnimu venë, misha candic tyl nada subëai.(I ask, my Queen, that you assume your place. The alicorns need their ruler, now more than ever.)”
But Nikóleva stood, her face distorting in a mix of uncertainty and shock. She lifted up a forehoof, almost looking like she might flee. “Ferenimu tam-meviléd…víwë bentua shaideni din-rani daleä osaduln ucan lé-curbascíon. Der miton mevilím rindilaö gandic gandin héim-eshnemë benecëai.(I am not a Queen… I am just a peasant who somehow fell backwards into knighthood. You seem far more qualified for leading our people.)”
Cardúnón rose up, looking disappointed, but not angry, “Shénë boles tam-maiheniléd; sima arác candin meviln.(I do not have the right blood; that means quite a lot.)”
Nikóleva turned her head, staring at that map on the cave wall for no other reason than to distract herself. “Misha rhacilím casubilímera tuln Calar,(Now you’re starting to sound like the Prince,)” she groaned.
“Lís aludunilédoc sima tuln ol?(Should I take that as an insult?)” Cardúnón chuckled.
“Shaimadel nadimh mholes? Shai veléno nor-ishoÿn ipaconilím?(Why is it the right time, anyway? What sort of scheme are you weaving?)” Nikóleva asked.
“Ferenimu bhenë meviln manyc rhílon,(Our Queen is clever after all,)” he teased, “tan-Sóvilion yeltá nor-randas bhenë, tyl rhílon mevilna cyla ayna din-maiënemë darnimu bhenë. Cempa ulené mevilúsin, she leäïlím halconón shai Calar ishoÿnduln.(Don’t doubt the sincerity of my allegiance, but in fact there are some advantages to possessing our ruler. It shall be spring soon, and you know exactly what the Prince has planned.)”
“Rhibó nor-Dara?(The Congress?)” Taberanyn answered, voice ripe with an eagerness for recognition.
“Halcono,(Precisely,)” Cardúnón replied with an encouraging tone, “Halcono, Tara nor-Dulicor rhibóïlúsina ylo lé-Nairverosudë. Alícëai coltapilna lé-mór céba, she metac tocandulna matel. Tyl Calar tan-ishacilúsin bor.(Equestria’s lords will convene here in Canterlot. The alicorns live in this land, and therefore deserve representation. But the Prince will not listen to me.)” The green stallion then stared straight into Nikóleva’s eyes, “Tyl ishagdarilúsin eshnadumë wico dhenë éca-dhadirilúsíncof nanútilímodë sima. Benecëai maihenilnaöc bor aludunemë she catemë lúarë héim-alícëai. Tulicëai tan-ishacilúsina bora subon.(But he will obey your every command should you choose to exercise that. Your people need you to step up and provide a voice for the alicorns. The Tulicëai will ignore us otherwise.)”
He pressed a hoof gently into her chest, “Cadapilúsímera bora lé-matel bhunosta nówin nada nor-ribó. Céba dhiarcum vadeäm lé-sylef mevilúsin rhani héim-maisonatosion ibacomucendumë bhenë.(You can maneuver us into a favorable position during the congress sessions. This looming threat in the west will be the instrument of our renewed sovereignty.)”
Nikóleva thought for a moment, contemplating the prospective responsibility and duty now placed upon her shoulders. But Cardúnón’s last comment…she started mulling over the implications, “tan-Meviléd tyl vilirilúsédodë mórverë mucen.(I am not here to conquer a new realm.)”
“Leäön tan; tan-únasiléd der sórcatilímodë mórverë rhal-osat nor-Dulicor. Baisodira meviléda, tiremëai bhenecëai palinái she tamaiënemëai. Tyl nadim meviln lé-shai tarilúséda benas semlon.(Of course not; I am not asking you to carve a kingdom from Equestria’s ruin. We are a charity, helping our poor and dispossessed race. But it is time we ruled ourselves once more.)” Cardúnón trotted over to the balcony’s edge, giving him a wide field of vision over the alicorns down below. Nikóleva followed up shortly, still astounded at a room full of her own kind. “Benecëai tocanilna cylc tyl céba: níshacurdumëai taë-dhiadosa she veróla, shénë bhenë taundedumë lé-bhenecëai aync nówin selandiléda tiéon riona venëai,(Our people deserve better than this: exterminated by dogs and dragons, our blood diluted in our lesser kin while we groan beneath their hooves,)” Cardúnón spoke and gave off a sardonic chuckle, “Palina…Tara nor-Aundó tamagdumëai metac rhibóïlédaöc lé-ancutemai balidaöai she helcairaöai shainadim rhibóïlyréda lé-goldapa sindiraöai shai solámilnaëra víwë ipaconilnaödë misha.(It’s a pitiful thing…Masters of the World reduced to meeting in wet, frigid caves where once we convened in gilded halls they could only hope to build now.)”
As Cardúnón let out a wistful sigh, Nikóleva raised her eyebrow, reflecting on his statements. “Neílrunilion; sima unelcin déshanduln osat penë rhacon,(Careful; that sort of attitude brought about our fall in the first place,)” she replied, eyes still fixed on the alicorns below.
Cardúnón simply gave a condescending laugh, “Vaur. Tyl éca-vorgdemë mevilédaëra, she palstanilédaëra borás rhal-‘shauro’ taculymemë nówin sern, mitilion vuira hal sac.(Sure. But if we may be adults, and divorce ourselves from superstitious ‘legends’ for a moment, take a look at them down there.)” Nikóleva obliged, studying the “Downfallen”. At closer inspection, many weren’t in the greatest of states. Many were disheveled, their manes ruffled and coats brushed with dirt. Some held great age in their faces, weary and ready to lie down, but restrained by centuries of aimless existence.
Nikóleva’s heart sank when she spotted one group of mutilated ponies. One poor mare had only one wing, another stallion three legs. And she spotted a filly and colt, perhaps siblings, huddled together on the floor, sharing a tattered blanket. Both were missing most of their horns, jagged stumps the only things remaining. Nikóleva touched a hoof to her own regrown horn and swallowed the lump in her throat.
“Únasiléd, Nikóleva,(Please, Nikóleva,)” Cardúnón began turning to his rightful Queen, “tan-Eshnadumëai, tan-obáca, tan-lutecsdumëai…víwë únasiléd casubilúsímodë héim-mora. tan-Hónacilion héim-mor, dal Calar; héim-vuira.(No decrees, no battles, no judgments…all I ask is that you speak on our behalf. Don’t do it for me, or the Prince; do it for them.)” He swept his hoof out to the crowd, his silver eyes flushed with pleading.
It seemed like an eternity passed. Nikóleva stared at her people—“her people?” It felt so strange thinking that phrase. Cardúnón was correct: these ponies were pitiful. The Wintermail grew as a legend by aiding those in need, no matter the danger. She helped Tulicëai; how by Lórian’s grace could she turn her back on her own kind?
The white alicorn’s face became stern, “Aluduniléd.(I accept.)”
Cardúnón made no attempt to hide his elation. Nikóleva heard him intake a breath to speak, but she raised a hoof to keep him silent, “Lís casubilédera?(Might I issue a statement?)”
“Leäön, Darion nenë,(Certainly, your Highness,)”
“Casubilím candion fadeon,(You talk too much,)” she curtly said, leaping off the balcony and landing on the ground. She kept her wings spread out wide and proud as nearby alicorns found their attention captured.
A second impact signaled Cardúnón’s arrival, and he stepped into the center of the chamber, smiling widely. “Alícëai! Únasiléd, ishacemëai dhenëai: Agducéba barceduln vuiras wisaiönh nhandit. Actuai bhenëai lé-céba madelyet palinion mevilna nísinash!(Triple-kin! Please, your attention: today has proven most fortunate. Our days in this melancholic purgatory are numbered!)” He retreated beside Nikóleva, lightly nudging her forward to be the center of attention, “Barcetiléd Nikóleva Maiëlindirnasí nor-Solárindilbainuir!(I present Nikóleva Maiëlindirnasí nor-Solárindilbainuir!)”
Whispers floated out from the assemblage, some aghast and other simply confused. Satisfied with his pause, Cardúnón continued in his deep and deliberate voice, “Eshnadamagdumë cadabucanduln.(The Exilarch has returned.)”
Many elder alicorns began to weep, younger ponies helping them approach their long-lost leader. Some simply wanted to touch the royal-blooded mare, but almost all said words of hope and joy. Nikóleva put on her best face, matching each greeting with energetic sincerity. It was all a lot to process, and a considerable effort to suppress her nerves.
There was no going back—now they expected Nikóleva to be their leader, and she would not disappoint.
And from atop the balcony, two alicorns watched the spectacle. Rhílë stood quiet and studious, silently jubilant that her and her brother’s effort had finally paid off. Taberanyn too observed her sister with happiness, gladly joining in when the Downfallen began chanting “Nikóleva!” How must it have felt to be in her position? All these alicorns for so long had been hopeless, but now they had their Queen, and with it a semblance of promise for a better future.
It was difficult to not feel pride and joy, seeing so many ponies’ spirits lifted up after being so low. But it was also difficult for Taberanyn to not imagine, if only for a moment—by only a small part of her mind, herself standing in her sister’s place.