Snowy Mount Guicelos was a wonder to behold under the night sky. Huddled up with its brother mountains in the Gerrated Range, it stood out as the eldest of them all, its peak higher than any that could be seen in the clear sky.
Yet, the thunderclouds brewed ahead, the coast ways below shrouded in dark fog as lightning sparked forth—creeping closer.
Into the freezing cold and the windy bellowing gale as snowflakes hit as hard as pebbles, off the beaten path bent around huge boulders on precarious footing and looming cliffs whose drops were as far as could be seen, a wooden cottage lasted through the chilly whirlwind. Though the lights were on inside, only a haze of them could be discerned even from a medium distance, owing much to the severe conditions.
Closer to the little house, one could make out a chariot's outline glimmering under a lightbulb, leaning on the exterior wall. Two lone pegasus guards braced the elements, their stoic faces persisting with not a sign of a shiver as they protected the chariot assailed by snow but never stolen.
Inside the sturdy structure, what would strike a newcomer first was the unexpected presence of paintings. Lots of them. Hanging on the walls, they depicted various moments of Griffonstone's rich history: the dark ages portrayed by a black night and griffons robbing each other of their gold hoards, the turning point where a griffon king held up a golden statue before a throng of his subjects, the bright ages illustrated by proud (and prideful) griffons turning their heads upward while they talked with each other on the clean roads populated by respectable houses, the sharp decline where another griffon king lost that golden statue to some one-eyed monster, and the long night.
Which was depicted by a copy of the first painting.
An empty bookshelf stood at the wall. A few lanterns were strewn about, scattered and littered like garbage.
In the living room, a small table where two chairs held two leaders: Princess Celestia and President Gestal himself, a stout brown griffon who had glasses perched on his large yellow beak; he also wore a coat and tie.
On the table, a few papers.
"Gestal," Celestia spoke in a sober tone, "if you want to see the survival of Griffonstone, if you want to save as many griffon lives as possible, then you have to let our forces help yours. It's wisdom—is it not?—that dictates, 'Two heads are better than one'. It doesn't matter what our differences may be—now, we have to unite to make sure you and your citizens are safe."
Gestal sighed, holding his two claws together on the surface. A small glare reflected on his glasses. "That would serve to bring upon me and the council the label...of a hypocrite. There is not much to salvage from that kind of reputation when one has sunk that low."
"It's not being a hypocrite," Celestia replied, raising her voice by a notch though keeping that mellow kindness. "If you were dying and the only one who could help you was a pony who did their best to embody what Equestria stands for, would you refuse his honest offer to assist you?"
"Probably so," Gestal simply answered, adjusting his glasses.
A downcast look on her face. "Is that really your firm belief, Gestal? A belief that will not fail nor falter?"
"I believe it as firmly as I believe that the sky is above us."
Silence. Her mane flittered about, his glasses remained still. Both shimmered under the lights.
"Even if many griffons die?"
He opened his mouth, raising a claw to make a point.
Nothing.
Celestia closed her eyes. "That is why I posed the question, why I asked if what you believed about us would continue in your mind no matter what would happen. If you were to follow your conviction and lead it through its logical course, you would end up in a horrible situation where so many lives could have been saved—and we were willing—yet, you said 'No' out of what I want to prove as a faulty idea. I know you griffons value pride and honor, but I know, too, that there is a limit...that life goes beyond them."
Gestal coughed, covering his beak. He ruffled his feathers as he gathered the papers to his side and read one line before looking up. "If you help us, then we have no choice but to be indebted to you. Who's to say that you will not request of us unreasonable demands, carrying our gratitude as your reason to get us in line with your agenda?"
"There is no agenda," Celestia said, "not with this war going on. Whatever interest Equestria may have had before the war, they are irrelevant and moot compared to the urgency of this conflict."
He said nothing.
Stared at the Princess for a good while.
Took off his glasses. Put them on the table, reflecting the lights.
"It does come back to something that tugs at the heart, doesn't it?" Gestal spoke. "Griffon lives. The lives of an entire kingdom at stake." A pause. "I do see where you are getting at. I and the council do care for them—that is why we have pursued these careers in the first place. However...it is better, in the end, to leave the kingdom in ashes and in good name than to let it suffer a prolonged state of besmirched agony dragged through the mud."
She clasped her own forehooves on the table, covered in metal hoofguards. "Your kingdom is not living out another set of glory days," Celestia said. "Its image in the eyes of the world is that of shame and disrepair, a kingdom in name only where its inhabitants do not live but only exist to grab and to hold. That would not be enough to defend your home if and when the Crystal ponies make it to the capital. As we speak, there are approaching regiments on sea and air, about to land on the beaches below. There is a reason I've foregone normal formalities and protocol by letting my own regiments enter your borders: there is no other way to help you."
Gestal looked down at the table, a poignant and thoughtful expression on his face.
Put his glasses on.
"What if I don't want your help, Princess Celestia?"
A shocked look. Then, a sigh. "There is little else I could do. I cannot call them back, for my heart, my conscience, beckons me to extend all I could give to the griffons."
Thunder blast.
The two stood up from their chairs.
"We don't have much time," Celestia said, levitating a lock and key. "They'll be in the airspace any second now."
Gestal nodded, stuffed the papers into his coat pocket, and flew out of the cottage.
The open door re-introduced that gale's howl and its harsh onslaught of snow. The fog had reached the mountains, harder to see through the gray mist.
Bits of snow fell to the floor.
The Princess looked out the door, not seeing much.
Gestal flew in the dark and starry sky, above dry and desolate lands of rock formations strutting out from the ground. There, he could see the dilapidated train station in shambles, a mere shadow of itself.
He looked ahead.
A dull outline of Griffonstone. An enormous, vast gray tree where dozens of nested houses dwelled, overhanging the great distance between the branches and the ground. At the base, on the plateau, more sticks and hay filled the surface beside more houses.
On a carved out portion of the tree, a pointed castle rose above its peers.
Gestal landed in front of a cracked archway, what used to be a grandiose entrance to a great and majestic kingdom.
Before him were shattered homes, cluttered streets, and hobbling griffons.