4. The Twin Goddesses: Part 6. Venerable Arts
One week to prepare. One week to study maps and routes, procure adequate supplies, stock up on food and drink, and physically and mentally prepare herself for a journey halfway across Equestria. One week to order her affairs, ensure proper management for her financial estate, complete any assignments in schooling, provide for the command of her unit in the Guard, and not to mention mak her bed.
Wintermail certainly had a full agenda in the lead-up to her journey. Luckily, wandering was second nature. Buying what she needed took no time at all, and being literate now she could actually write a list. Wootz was a capable stallion; he already ran the shop by himself most of the time. Lieutenant Stormvane would take the helm of the First Battalion, and drill them to the bone if need be.
Delbedasir’s lessons would be taken in stride; a few hours out of the day having to listen to that crotchety alicorn was tolerable. Honestly much of her learning was done through independent study; the Librarian assigned her a number of texts to read, maybe take a few notes, and then he’d look over them. Bretteur’s sword instruction grew more advanced, but Dame Wintermail was probably one of the most skilled swordfighters in the Princedom; half a century of practice ought to amount to something.
And earlier this morning she had tucked in the sheets on her bed neatly under the mattress.
It was a pleasant spring afternoon, the white knight strolling through a thoroughfare in Canterlot’s merchant district. She had in fact just returned from an enjoyable lunch with King Hillwick of all ponies! The ruler of Poneva had sent a messenger yesterday after the Congress, requesting to speak with Wintermail over a nice meal.
Had she been a little more cynical, Wintermail might have interpreted such a request as an attempt to woo her; the King honestly wanted to simply chat. They had been served boiled vegetables, dressed with a sweet cream sauce and garnished with flowers freshly fragrant from the spring bloom. Afterwards tea and cake were served, and Wintermail left happy and full.
From their talk, Wintermail learned King Hillwick had grown up listening to his father tell stories about alicorns, specifically a white one who had caught his eye by pummeling a Ponevan noble. Wintermail had scrunched her face and thought when she had heard this, trying to remember. The poor mare, beaten to death by that noble; she could recall her dead eyes with chilling accuracy.
That was a long time ago; Wintermail had met Hillwick precisely once before, during one of her trips to Poneva. His father had invited her to see his newborn son. The King would dominate the conversation, unleashing his excitement over meeting a real-life hero; Wintermail had given her fair share of sardonic laughs at this. Yet she admired his enthusiasm, and refrained from any snarky comments that popped into her head. She did divulge that Hillwick’s father had been the first pony to ever call her “Wintermail”. The young King gaped upon hearing that, much to the amusement of the white mare.
Eventually, King Hillwick made the inevitable comment “You don’t look fifty-six.” She kept her composure well enough, but it raised some unwanted sentiments. She looked the same when he was born, and now he was a grown stallion. And Wintermail no doubt would look the same when he was wrinkled and helpless. The mare did not like to think about that much.
All things considered, though, the lunch was a welcome surprise. He was an interesting character, somehow straddling between royal majesty and an awkward colt almost unable to contain his excitement. Hillwick was a stallion clad in jewels and fancy clothing, yet always taking the time to thank his servants and apologize whenever he'd presented even minor inconveniences to them.
She gave him a courtly bow after the meal, but was stopped by the King for one final comment: a wish of good luck on her journey, and a request that if she ever found herself in Poneva, Wintermail was more than welcome to stay at the royal residence.
Wintermail had smiled at the offer and left the castle, now in a very good mood. Currently in the marketplace, the sights and sounds bringing the vibrant sensation of liveliness, the mare perused the stalls for anything that might catch her eye. Expensive clothing and trinkets from lands far away were nice, but frankly also a waste of money. In truth she really wasn’t looking for anything, just eager to enjoy the day and the shops.
She'd already gathered everything needed for her journey; this was simple a stroll. The ponies all recognized her; a bright white alicorn twice as tall as everypony else was hard to miss. Now a famous knight, ponies stopped the Wintermail to thank her for her service or to offer her a fruit from their baskets. Not interested in being rude, she indulged the “fans”, but didn’t allow them to disturb her afternoon.
Stall after stall, shop after shop she continued, seeing nothing really “captivating”. Many salesponies spun their pitches, but to no avail. However, a smirk of pride crossed her lips when she passed a weapons stall, spotting some very distinctive items on the racks. And now that her mind was on it, Wintermail figured with a week free from duties in the Guard, she could put it to use going back to the forge for a while after her lessons with Delbedasir.
Yes…that certainly sounded nice. Red-hot iron, flaring coals, the din of metal and the earthen grit of soot. That wasn't even mentioning weapons made personally by the Wintermail could command a handsome price.
From her present location, her shop was just a few city blocks away; Wintermail could already see the smoke trails from the artisan district’s furnaces. Picking up her pace the alicorn cleaved a pathway through the throngs of ponies, merchants peddling potions, exotics pets, and elaborate textiles. With giant’s strides Wintermail sped through, but off to the side was perhaps the only item that could distract her from her mission.
Several stalls down was a book seller, and upon one of the front-most racks was a book that didn’t invite her attention so much as reached out and snatched it. The cover was dark brown, elegant designs lacing the margins in shining silver. It was engraved with the outline of a smith’s hammer, and the title spelled quite clearly in the same argent writing.
And fantastically it was written in alicorn calligraphy. Wintermail’s yellow aura flashed and took hold of the codex. A Smith’s Guide was the title, almost as though it were meant to wind up in her possession. Cracking it open she caught a glimpse of the table of contents, one item causing her heart to drop. Shutting the book quickly, she scanned her eyes for sight of the merchant.
Wintermail located the seller immediately. She was an elderly unicorn, coat a very light purple. Her mane was grey with age, with the curious exception of a bold violet streak through the middle. Wintermail approached and slammed the book down, staring down the mare.
“Where did you find this?”
“Hmmm?” the book seller chimed, igniting her magic to inspect the book. Squinting her aging eyes, the unicorn licked her lips, “Ah yes! A traveler sold it to me; said he found it far up north, beyond the mountains.”
Wintermail looked down at the cover, thinking for a time, “How much?”
The elder mare grinned, “I’ve been having trouble selling it; nopony can read it—pretty though. But it seems you know exactly what it is.” The unicorn tapped her chin, “I suppose I can part with it for…three-hundred.”
A low groan escaped Wintermail’s mouth; she had broken an important rule in shopping: never show interest. What an amateur mistake! Her eyes shining with resolve, the knight readied her haggling skills, “We’ll call it two.”
“Mmmm…I’m not sure…once word gets around of its value, three-hundred might seem like a steal.”
Opening the book, Wintermail pretended to read a few sentences, “You know what? I think I was mistaken; this isn’t anything special.” The alicorn turned around and began leaving, “Have a nice day, Miss.”
A moment only passed before the old unicorn reach out her hoof, “Wait!” A sly grin graced Wintermail’s face. “Two-fifty”
The white pony turned back to the counter, “Two-twenty-five.”
The old pony grumbled, “Two-thirty.”
Wintermail twisted her face in thought, tapping her hoof on the cobblestone ground, “Deal.” She then levitated out a purse of coins from her bag and pulled out several large-denomination ones before placing them on the counter. Snatching up the book, Wintermail secured her prize in the safety of a saddlebag.
Before leaving, she looked at the vendor and gave a friendly smile, “And your name was?”
“Paige Turner, Ma’am,” the pony in question replied with a slight confusion.
Nice to meet you, Paige Turner. Now if you should ever find yourself with another book like this, send a message to the castle; ask for ‘Dame Wintermail’.”
Paige Turner’s eyes bulged, and she bowed her neck, “Yes, Dame! Forgive my rudeness!”
“No apologies necessary; it was just business. Good day.” And immediately Wintermail set off for her shop. The journey was short, and she found herself too occupied with her thoughts to notice much beyond her person. A couple shouting merchants and yelling fillies and colts were really all she picked up on.
When she finally arrived at the shop, Wintermail greeted her employees, took down some figures in her ledger, and retired to the shop's loft above to read in peace. The rough sounds of metalworking might have been intrusive to most, but it provided the perfect atmosphere for Wintermail to read a book about smithing.
And did it have its secrets. The first portion concerned mainly basic techniques and practices; nothing too new. But the second half delved into ancient skills invented and honed over millennia. It was an alicorn book, written in the old language about the old craft. Who knew how long it had sat on that rack, or in the possession of some traveler, or in a dilapidated ruin…simply collecting dust, while it held its secrets within?
It seemed too unreal, unbelievable even, that she had found this book. She’d have to share it with the world; translate it into Equestrian so these forgotten techniques could be restored. Before she turned into bed that night, right on the straw heap in that loft, she read the book cover to cover. Wintermail even wrote out notes, detailing the instruction within.
The next day, rising with such enthusiasm, she immediately lit the fires of her shop and began preparing for the fun part. Fetching several iron bars, she started the preliminary work of forging new blades. But these were special.
For contained within that book were instructions for the making of Alicorn Steel.
It was a difficult process. The book described it being done with equipment that did not exist. The first step was to manufacture the steel from iron, melting down the metal and charcoal. But what made alicorn steel so special was magic. The third category of magical manipulation was infusion, and this was the process by which magic was bonded to the material itself.
The text explained that over the molten steel fired in a large furnace, alicorns would channel powerful streams of magic into the metal. This purportedly took an immense measure of focus and stamina; not to mention the very best batches of this steel were infused with the arcane and dangerous use of cosmic magic, more commonly known as alicorn or dark magic. Done with regular magic, the steel would take millennia to rust or dull; done with the alicorn flavor the steel could never be damaged by conventional means.
Unfortunately, as far as Wintermail knew, there were no furnaces that burned hot enough to melt iron; such a device had been lost, and sorrowfully was not in the book. She then had to content herself with making steel in a crucible, and therefore could not infuse it with magic—though would her channeling ability really have been up to the task?
When the workers came in, they forged like normal, told to go about their business while their boss enjoyed herself. By the time she had to leave for her schooling, dozens of steel bars had been made, resting on a rack.
Upon her return she gleefully resumed the craft, gathering several bars together in a stack. Now alicorn weapons were special for two main reasons: their durability and their magical quality. Forged like a normal weapon, an alicorn steel blade would be fine enough. But unicorns and alicorns could channel their magic into it while simultaneous feeding off the internal stores within the metal; the book instructed exactly how this was done.
Authentic alicorn steel was immensely difficult to work due to its indestructibility. Magical fire was needed to heat the metal; an exhausting thing to keep going through long hours of forging. Wintermail though did not have such adamant material, and could heat her bars with mundane charcoal fire. She placed five bars in the furnace to heat up, levitating them out once red-hot.
The distinctive mottled pattern of alicorn steel was caused by a folding method, and the magical lattice by adding a new layer of magic during every fold. This in mind, she shot a bolt from her horn, channeling enough energy to coat one side of a bar. She then stacked another on top, and repeated the process. The book had described an interesting spell, an enchantment that allowed the magic coating to remain instead of dissipating. When the forging was done, the magic would be locked with in the blade.
Now with a stack of five bars interspaced with magical layers, she held the short steel bars in tongs and began hammering them together. Her first item would be a large weapon, and needed an appropriate amount of material. Once smashed down flat, the book called for the smith to leave a portion hanging off the anvil so that one could begin folding it downwards. Once bent, another layer of magic could be spread, then the bend closed.
This was tiring work, even for a mare as strong as Wintermail—especially coating the metal with magical energy. Whenever one of her workers could spare the time, they would help her in pounding away while she added the magic. This process was repeated over and over and over again. It had to be interrupted so the mare could go eat, or attend class, or meet with her sister. Yet over the course of her preparation week, she continued the tedious but rewarding work of folding this steel.
And it was fantastic. It was wonderful to be back behind the fire, wiping grime for her brow and seeing the sparks fly from the steel. Feeling like a young mare once again, Wintermail enjoyed every moment back in her forge. She actually was bringing back a lost art, if a bit constrained by the limitations of her work space; exciting nonetheless!
And her employees were keen to notice, too. None of them were unicorns, and therefore they could not replicate this process exactly. Yet they still could make folded steel blades, and manufacture weapons of far higher quality than any other workshop.
Better weapons meant better profits, and Dame Wintermail would not let her workers go without feeling appreciated; everypony could get excited about that.
Finally, after days of exhaustive labor, precisely three blades had been forged out of a steel not quite as reputable as that of the alicorns, but not quite ordinary either. Shining a lustrous silver, the blades possessed that iconic mottled pattern, tangs ready to be inserted into the hilts Wintermail had ordered from a jeweler down the road.
Lightly hammering the hilts onto their blades and securing them with metal pins, Wintermail then set about refining their edges at the grindstone. Once sharpened and polished, she hung the three weapons on a rack, smiling at her workers on the job they all helped make happen.
A battle axe, a longsword, and a great sword, the last two in the distinctive leaf-shape of Wintermail’s workshop. The axe’s haft was covered in silver, studded with small sapphires, and inlaid with an onyx crescent moon on the pommel. The longsword was of adequate size to be wielded by a Tulicë, the hilt gilded and graced with a medallion in imitation of Canterlot’s coat-of-arms, the six-pointed star replicated with an amethyst just like Ailéránen. And finally the great sword was a monster-sized weapon, usable only by a full-grow alicorn. This weapon’s hilt though was covered in a thin layer of dull orange copper. A bright aquamarine sat in the middle of the crossguard, which was sculpted to be reminiscent of alicorn feathers. And on the blade a simple message was engraved in alicorn: Elna in-Ner(Thank you).
Wintermail had spent a lot of time and money on these. It was little burden, though, so long as their intended recipients liked them. The wealthy mare was more than willing to spare a few bits—or a thousand— if it meant she could see bright faces of surprise and joy. Taking a final look at the three, she grinned and spoke aloud to nopony in particular, “Oh yes, they’ll love them!”
And already, her workers were busy forging their first folded steel sword for sale; Wintermail would earn back those bits spent on her three gifts soon enough.
*――――――――――S――――――――――*
“And what is this lovely, star-shaped one?” Stellara asked, craning her neck down to inspect a small flower.
“That is a petunia,” Cardúnón replied, leaning his head to the mare’s, her dark coat complimenting perfectly the bright blue flower. He plucked it from its bush. The two raised their necks, and he brought the bloom to her face, “They were my mother’s favorite.” His voice echoed with a dim sadness.
Stellara did not need to ask what his tone meant, “How long ago?”
Cardúnón thought for a bit, his silver eyes flashing with a latent pain, “Forty years, I believe. Long enough that my sister and I had enough time with them.” He gave a crooked smile.
“I envy that…,” Stellara trailed off, wandering her eye off to other spectacles in the Canterlot Gardens to distract herself, “I was very young.”
“I am truly sorry. Unfortunately it is an all-to-common fate for our kind.” Cardúnón’s comment didn’t make the other pony feel much better. He came closer and levitated the sapphire petunia, “Though, before she died, my mother told me should I find a flower so beautiful, I should keep it.”
Stellara raised her eyebrow, sparing a coy smile, “Oh really? For what?”
The green stallion didn’t say anything, but set the flower’s stem in Stellara’s periwinkle mane, placing it just so that it lit up her face. A soft blush crossed her cheeks, and she turned her gaze away.
“Oh you’re such a charmer, aren’t you?”
“I'm a romantic, what can I say? Rhílë likes to jest that if I ever were to receive a cutie mark, it’d be a heart. Isn’t that ridiculous?”
Stellara giggled, stepping along the stone pathway past bright verdant hedges and topiaries, “Completely! Now, if such a heart had tally marks, well…”
Cardúnón matched with his own deep chuckle, “Oh you say that as though you haven’t earned some of your own.”
“Don’t you know it’s considered rude to insinuate such things about a lady?”
“Next time I see one, I shall keep that in mind.” This comment awarded Cardúnón with a light tap on the shoulder.
The two continued to walk quietly in the garden, content to admire the scent and scenery of flowers and statues dwelling in the shadow of the mighty marble citadel of Canterlot. The birds chirping and bees buzzing were lovely ambiances, a calm springtime breeze rustling the leaves just so. Ancient statues of warriors and kings and poets silently watched the two alicorns courting, as it were.
But Cardúnón knew at some point he’d have to interrupt the tranquil stroll. He turned to Stellara, swallowing the lump in his throat. She caught his change of countenance, and tended to him with her teal eyes. He cleared his throat, and spoke with his deep voice, “It has been a wonderful week, Taberanyn, hasn’t it?”
Taby grinned at that; she always liked the way he said her birth name, “Yes; I think it was very generous of the Prince to grant me leave.”
“Indeed,” Cardúnón nodded, looking down at the ground, “Tomorrow is the day, though. Isn’t it?” Taberanyn nodded. “And…you’re certain I cannot talk you out of it?”
The mare brought her hoof under his chin, “I have to go—protect my sister. It’s more of a matter of not being able to talk her out of it. I’ve seen mountains less stubborn than Nikól.”
The two shared a laugh before Cardúnón returned to his grave expression, “It will be very dangerous. Even with magic, even with your experience, even with an alicorn sword, and the Wintermail. You are going into the nest of creatures that want nothing more than to exterminate us.” Stellara kept staring, but did not reply. Cardúnón grabbed her forehoof, “I… if you don’t…” Every word he tried to articulate was defeated, and he let out heavy sighs, toying with his thoughts, “I’ve said goodbye to enough friends.”
Stellara placed her hoof over his mouth, “Bora uira maiheniléda foneái bhenëai.(We all have our duties.)”
The stallion simply continued his restrained capacity for speech, and smiled.
“I believe Nikóleva has given you tasks,” Stellara said, resuming her step.
“Yes…,” Cardúnón replied, rolling his eyes, “She’s actually telling me what to do; acting like a Queen.”
“Oh don’t flatter her,” Stellara waved a hoof, “She really only does it when she sees us together.” She then leaned in, pretending some clandestine secret were about to be divulged, “In fact, I think she doesn’t like you much.”
“What? No…,” Cardúnón gasped, putting on his best shocked face.
“It’s the truth,” Taberanyn held up one hoof and the other over her heart.
“I suppose I didn’t notice.” The pair then burst into a fit of laughter, traveling down the garden walk.
Once they had calmed down, Taberanyn picked the conversation back up, “Take it in stride; with you at the head of the Downfallen, we alicorns can begin our ‘renewed dominance’.”
“Now don’t say it like that; I don’t want to enslave anypony,” Cardúnón asserted, acting like he had actually been accused of such, “It’s more…nuanced than that.”
Taberanyn simply hummed in response.
“It is. Tulicëai are not so much inferior as they are…less universal.” Taby raised an eye brow. Cardúnón widened his eyes, trying to command respect, “Listen! Listen: we ponies all have a proper place in the grand design of nature. Unicorns manage the heavens, pegasi the weather, and earth ponies the soil. Now alicorns possess all three capabilities; all three places.”
“Alright…” Taberanyn trailed off, still skeptical.
“Yes. Now rather than choose one of the three places, alicorns would be better suited as acting as…coordinators—liaisons between the three other races.” Cardúnón and Stellara then came upon an old statue of their own kind, proud and venerable; a bygone knight by the looks of it. “See here: this effigy of an alicorn, nature has made us taller, stronger, and longer-lived. It is only rational that we are superior, and only logical that we occupy a special place.”
Taberanyn had to pause and study the statue, letting Cardúnón’s words sink in, “It is difficult to refute this; we are all three in one.”
“That’s right!” Cardúnón exclaimed, “But, our dominance is not born of a desire to subjugate and control, but a duty to direct and coordinate. Our place is to ensure that all the races understand one another, and can better perform their duties, ultimately promoting harmony in the world. There is no malice in that.” Cardúnón then waited, proud of his philosophy made into speech.
The blue mare pondered over his words. After a time, once they’d neared the castle gate, she finally spoke again, “What do you call this idea?”
“Myna nor-Dhúragmidailénemë, he smirked, oh so sure of himself.
Taberanyn giggled at it, “Well I like the name, though might not want to mention it around my sister.”
“That was the first thing to cross my mind.” The sound of flapping wings then filled the air around them. Cardúnón looked up and frowned, “In fact, speak of her now…”
Overhead, a giant white alicorn descended, planting herself in between Taberanyn and Cardúnón. She gave a warm and loving smile to her sister, then a cold emotionless face to the stallion. “Cardúnón,” she said curtly.
“Dame Wintermail. You caught me in the midst of escorting Lady Stellara.”
“I’m sure I did…,” Wintermail said, narrowing her eyes.
Cardúnón cleared his throat and approached Stellara, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I must adjourn to fulfill my assignments.” He then gently took her hoof and planted a respectful courtly kiss on the fetlock, “Until next time, my Lady.”
Stellara patted her mane, while Wintermail practically lit fires in her eyes. As Cardúnón unfurled his wings and flew off, Stellara looked at her sister and waved a hoof, “Oh stop it; you’re just jealous.”
Wintermail blushed and glowered with no effect on the midnight mare. The older alicorn then recomposed herself, regaining the air of dignity presence at the castle demanded.
But then Stellara tilted her head, noticing the items hanging from her sister’s belt. No less than three weapons; a bit excessive even for Lady Nightwrath and her axe-sword combo. “What do you have there?”
“These?” Wintermail replied, smiling and summoning her magic, “They’re gifts. I learned something new, and I wanted to try it out. Here,” the knight then unhooked the axe she’d made and levitated it over to Stellara.
The yellow aura morphed to pale blue, and Stellara gave a few seconds’ look at the weapon, “It rests nicely in the scabbard.” With great excitement she unclasped the strap over the axe head’s poll. Pulling it from the sheath caused the mare to seize up. The mottled pattern, the faint magical buzz emanating from the steel…it couldn’t be…
“How?” Stellara asked slowly, raising her gaze to meet Wintermail.
“Go ahead, try it!” Wintermail encouraged, grinning warmly.
Focusing her magic, Stellara felt the energy within the blade circuit with her own. Soon the familiar starry haze surrounded the metal, a few slight crackles of lightning jolting around. “Why?”
The white sister kicked a hoof, “I’ve done a lot I’m not proud of, and I know I will add to that tally. But I don’t ever want it to be because of something I’ve done to you…again.” Wintermail then stopped for a time, carefully building her next words, “A smith can only offer her crafts, and that is one of my best pieces. My way of saying ‘you deserve it’.”
Once again sending her eyes to Wintermail, Stellara communicated nothing but pure elation. Licking her lips, Wintermail let off a chuckle, “It’s not alicorn steel; not quite. It has magic, but you will still have to oil and sharpen it from time to time. It will however be stronger than any other blade we’ll encounter.”
Regressed into a filly, Stellara began swerving and chopping in the air, performing elegant dances with her new toy. “I don’t know what to say, Nikól…thank you so much.”
“Just promise me it won’t simply be ornamental,” Wintermail winked. Stellara immediately produced a look of determination. “Also, all the best weapons need a name.”
“Hmmm…Skullcleaver has served me well,” Stellara said, patting her old, common battle-axe, “But, I have the suspicion that Nocadecoë will be even better.”
Wintermail took a deep breath upon hearing the name of the newly-christened axe. It meant “Sister’s Promise” in alicorn, and that alone filled the white knight with a bright feeling of love and appreciation. Yet now was not the time for distracting sentiment.
“We’ve been summoned to court. Come on.” The two alicorn sisters proceeded through the castle gate, and trotted along the shining halls, passing imperious curtains that flooded in the light of early afternoon. At the massive doors to the throne chamber, two guards abided protocol and permitted the mares through.
Along the pathway of the velvet carpet, Dame Wintermail and Lady Stellara emerged to see the wide smile of His Highness, perched atop his chair of rulership. Ministers and other attendants stood quietly, ensuring a properly cleared route to the steps of the iron and gold throne.
They stopped at its base, giving respectful bows before rising to see their sovereign. Prince Petrafyrm narrowed his eyes and spotted that his knight was carrying two swords, one off either hip.
“Are you taking after your sister, Dame?”
Wintermail looked at Stellara, “Oh no, your Highness. I could never pull it off.”
Peter leaned back, “Well you’re right about that,” his face then snapped to a stately grace, “Tomorrow you both shall journey westwards to face perils not seen since elder days.”
“The way everypony keeps talking about it, I feel as though I might be disappointed…,” Wintermail jested.
“I should hope so, Dame. Your one week is almost up. I trust all preparations have been made?”
Stellara spoke this time, “Yes my Lord. Well enough to travel there and back again.”
“Excellent,” he intoned, “Now; the mission I bestow upon you two, daughters of the Most Venerable House of Solárindil, is go west and find the camp of the great horde that threatens our country. Learn who leads them, learn their numbers and strength.” Prince Petrafyrm then leaned in, changing his voice to a dark low, “And discover what exactly these rumors of Discord amount to. Bring back something that can prove all this. The Congress, all ponies, Equestria, and I are depending on you two.”
Looming over the sisters with a grandiose presence, the Prince of Canterlot continued with authority honed over a life of aristocracy, “Have I entrusted the proper ponies?”
Wintermail matched his countenance and tightened her face into stern resolve, “Not a force here on this Earth shall stay us from our mission, your Highness. Nocatiléd céba in-Lórian vadeäm.(I swear this to Lórian above.)”
“Nocademë im-Oséo tam-maiheniltinoc cadoson. Rhibuirilím céba solámiléd,(An oath swore to God is not to be taken lightly. You understand this I hope,)” the Prince replied in perfect alicorn. He then shifted his stare to the younger alicorn, “And you, Lady Stellara?”
Almost by instinct Stellara flared her blue wings and assumed her confident persona, “Where she goes, I go; what she does, I do. Céba nocatiléd im-mor, she inh-nhecoë bhenë Nikóleva.(This I swear to you, and my sister Nikóleva.)”
“Then is there anything more to discuss?” the Prince asked.
Wintermail stepped forward, excited for this part, “Actually, my Lord, there is one thing I’d like to do before I leave.”
Petrafyrm made a welcoming gesture with a hoof, and his knight telekinetically ungirt one of her swords, the one that wasn’t Eónadin. She then brought it in front of her and craned her neck down.
“A gift; an apology for my inability to convince Prince Noblesse Oblige of Trottingham to remain in Canterlot.”
Peter rose an eyebrow and took hold of the blade magically, inspecting the hilt. He admired it, a wonderful thematic representation of his coat-of-arms and the sword currently hanging around Stellara’s waist. Unlike Ailéránen though, this new weapon was of the perfect size for a unicorn stallion. He yanked it from the scabbard, and almost dropped both it and the blade when he saw the steel.
His face told her all she needed to know, and Wintermail spoke up before he could ask the anticipated questions, “It’s the best I was able to do under the circumstances. It is not authentic alicorn steel, but it’s almost as good. Try it, your Highness.”
He gently, slowly placed a hoof on the hilt, feeling the magic within with tingling giddiness. The blade then glowed faintly, just enough to demonstrate its qualities. The Prince looked at Wintermail and grinned like a little colt.
“I think it would be best if Lady Stellara were granted use of Ailéránen for our trip, but that would strand you without your House’s sword. This blade, I think, will prove more useful to his Highness.”
“Yes…Yes! Of course! Ailéránen is lent in perpetuity to Lady Stellara; a gift from House Mountainkeeper to that of the Royal Bloodline. Manycsudë shall be the new heirloom of the Canterlot Princes!” the sovereign yelped, swinging and slashing his new weapon. His whole life he’d loved Ailéránen, but lamented his inability to wield it properly. Manycsudë was a dream come true!
Wintermail walked up the steps of the throne and whispered into her liege’s ear, “Now that you have an appropriate weapon, I think one should pay attention to Bretteur’s lessons.” She recoiled and wryly smirked, earning a hearty laugh from Prince Peter.
“You’ve outdone yourself, Dame Wintermail! Now go! Enjoy the remainder of your day, and rest deeply. Tomorrow your strength and resolve shall be tested.”
The sisters gave their bows and turned around, leaving the chamber. Wintermail heard as she went through the doors the Prince request to see her swordmaster; it felt good to bring such joy.
Wintermail and Stellara would spend the rest of the day with one another, talking and laughing—and adding a race in there. It was a lovely evening regaining a small bit of their lost fillyhoods together. When they’d grown tired, and had their dinners and final activity, the sisters would turn in for bed. In their very restful sleeps they’d find wondrous dreams.
A fortunate thing, for in the morning they’d set out for great danger. And in the forsaken west, leagues beyond their friends and allies, the two Royal Sisters would encounter grave, dark things.
Horrors not having yet infected even their most terrible nightmares.