4. The Twin Goddesses: Part 13. Inspiration
“Again!” commanded an old voice before the sounds of exhaustion. A blue mare stood nearby, heaving and dripping sweat. Her teal eyes trained up at her teacher, locked in a combination between scowling and pleading. He stared back, face stern and pitiless, “Again!”
Against the burning in her forehead, against the aching in her mind, she surged more magic through her long blue horn. Envisioning her spell, Stellara produced a pale blue orb of light that slowly became bigger and encompassed her body. Then with a bright flash, her entire form dissipated and reappeared five feet away, feeling like it had finished a day’s march by this point.
“How much…longer do we have today?” she squeaked out in between pants.
The Librarian narrowed his eyes, “When I have deemed your performance acceptable. Time grows short, and you two shall have need of advanced spells I fear.”
A labored grunt and dull wincing came from another pony in the library. Her magenta eyes were shut tight as she tried to concentrate and ignore the throbbing ache. From the point where Wintermail’s eyelids met a trail of purple shroud emanated, while the same covered her horn. Every few seconds a faint yelp left her throat; tiny cries for relief from the ancient and hidden powers of her kind.
At first, Stellara could not move an inch with teleportation without fumbling hard onto the ground. Her reach had become better, and soon maybe she would be able to go through walls. Wintermail too had improved; when she first learned to summon cosmic magic, a mere second she could stand it before the pain was too great. Her tolerance now was impressive.
“It hurts…it bores into my skull, like it wants to burst out,” she muttered, holding the magic with all her might.
“Because it does. Keep in down; hold it back. Don’t let it get away from you,” Delbedasir coached, watching her struggle through ambivalent eyes. These exercises were merciless for a reason, but he still felt for their pain. To teleport was in effect to use one’s mind to run a hundred feet in a moment with the same amount of effort. Lady Stellara had through their session today gone the equivalent of several miles.
Wintermail, however, was unfortunately settled with alicorn magic. It was not malicious in itself, but like water flowing through a dyke it constantly forced itself on the user, trying to break through. A great fortitude of will was required to master it—those who could not would be consumed by this pure and virulent power.
The white knight was doing well enough so far, but the pathway had not been kind. Neither sister was particularly happy, and they would continue to be unhappy as their lessons and exercises only became more and more demanding. They alternated day after day between teleportation and alicorn magic, concerning themselves with other spells in addition.
This struggle, these agonies were difficult to watch. Prince Petrafyrm, observing from a desk in the library, winced several times as both sisters screamed and cried out when they’d reached the end of where their bodies were comfortable—but it needed to be done.
The Prince sat in silence and waited for a good while. The last of the hourglass’ sand eventually fell to the bottom. Delbedasir cleared his throat, “Time.”
Wintermail and Stellara needed no more excuses. Their activities were ceased, and both reached for the pitchers of water on a nearby table. Together they downed perhaps a whole gallon in a matter of seconds. The two young alicorns bantering to one another, the Prince turned his attention to his Librarian, “How are they doing?”
“Adequately,” the very elderly beige alicorn replied, shifting his eyes to ensure the sister weren’t in earshot. He leaned in closer to Peter, “Wonderful, your Highness. It is difficult to say how proficient they shall become, but they consistently improve each and every day.”
The Prince smiled, “That’s good to hear.” Canterlot’s sovereign then advanced, standing before the alicorns. His stance told everypony exactly as he wished, and the sisters bowed their necks and stood rigid before their liege.
“Your Highness,” they both said in unison.
Petrafyrm examined the two. Wintermail’s face was worn, her eyes weary. Stellara’s mane was tangled and her coat glistened with sweat. “Mercifully, I think these lessons may be postponed. It is summertime now, and everypony in the realm continues to work hard. Artisans have been quite busy; the armorers and bladesmiths and fletchers and bowyers…the preparations have been coming along nicely.”
“I should hope my contributions are appreciated,” Wintermail grinned.
“Actually, a number of my knights are rather fond of the shape of your smithy’s blades. One actually caught through gossip that the sword you made me is magical. I hear an order was placed.”
“You heard correctly, my Lord. Yet I haven’t had leisure to craft, and its construction remains a trade secret.”
“We’ll have to find you a unicorn that can smith, then.”
“You’ll be searching for a long time.”
The Prince chuckled, “Now! My Librarian has been ruthless in his instruction—now you understand why I keep him around.”
“I’ve actually been holding back, your Highness,” Delbedasir’s groaning voice said.
“Fortunate thing; I don’t wish to make martyrs of my royal heirs. There shall be use for you two soon. My vassals have raised their forces and are on the march northwards to near Hoofington. As the Marshal is occupied in Trottingham, I will require another leader for my host.” The Prince looked directly at his knight, “Dame Wintermail, as one of my most capable warriors, you shall be a great boon to our efforts. I place you in command of Canterlot’s forces. However, you shall act with great advice and coordination from Lady Stellara. I cannot for the life of me beat her in chess, and to my understanding nopony else can either.” The blue alicorn smiled and swelled ever so slightly with pride.
“I myself shall leave with the Canterlot Guard and Captain Gendarmette. If our plans can be executed without much trouble, then we can reverse the advances of this horde. If Marshal Helmraed is able to join us at summer’s end, then God-willing we can break the invaders and scatter them by the first frost.”
“And how large a host can all of Equestria bring to bear?” asked Stellara.
“If memory serves, my Lady, then somewhere around eighty-thousand,” said Delbedasir, “The Free Cities can offer a great amount of money to upkeep our soldiers, but they themselves possess little in the way of armies.”
“Yes. However, they have opted to outfit a number of their merchant vessels for war and set about raiding the southern shores of Zebrica and Minotaurica—perhaps it might cause desertions in some of the enemy’s ranks when they hear their homes are under attack,” the Prince added.
Wintermail thought a moment and then turned to her sister, who gave a similar look of apprehension. Petrafyrm saw their faces clear as day, “Something wrong?”
“Yes, your Highness. We…have discussed this matter a bit, and my sister and I possess reservations over whether even two-hundred thousand soldiers could defeat Discord. I beg your pardon, but he has abilities that defy explanation,” protested a perturbed Stellara.
“A quake…a volcano conjured out of the earth…a storm of molten glass! Our imaginations have really run wild with this. But from what we saw of this terrible awful creature in Mareposa…it would be a hard fight even if his powers aren’t necessary ‘world-changing’.” Wintermail watched her Prince.
“You’ve not been alone with such thoughts. Delbedasir,” the Prince gestured to his Librarian.
“It is difficult to say; if we assess this conservatively, we might surmise that Discord can in fact be overwhelmed with great numbers. I am no soldier, but I believe with superior tactics, discipline, morale, and no small help from ancient weapons,” he made a coy smile at Wintermail, “The horde could be defeated and Discord cast down. But, Equestria would incur no small loss for such action. Whole regions could be ruined; whole populations lost.
“Rather, there is one alternative solution.” The beige alicorn opened his wings and flew up to a high shelf. Retrieving an old dusty book he returned to the floor and slammed the tome on a nearby table. Blowing away the debris of centuries, he opened the book to a specific page. Upon the left leaf was a beautiful illustration of a tree, from whose branches hung five fruits: pink, blue, red, purple, and orange. Within its center was that six-pointed star of Canterlot’s sigil.
All four gazed over the page. “This was actually one of the first books I ever copied,” mused the Librarian, “Ah...does it bring back memories!”
Wintermail stared at the image of the tree’s central symbol, “The Elements of Harmony? You think such a thing would work?”
“Perhaps…,” the Librarian narrowed his eyes, “Alicorn myth speaks of Dyan, whom six heroes destroyed with these talismans. In Equestrian myth the Elements played a part in weakening Discord. I have identified the two as one and the same, but such knowledge lies millennia in the past. Perhaps only Discord knows for sure, and even he might not remember. Discord might even only be a fragment of Dyan, completely divorced from the Primordial Fiend.”
The bearded alicorn cleared his throat, “But now I’m thinking out loud. Finding and using these Elements might prove our best chance at defeating Discord without sacrificing thousands to his wrath. Legends tell of Dyan’s War that lasted a hundred years; I am not sure Equestria’s lords are willing to fight for so long.” He raised an eyebrow and smirked, “You two might live to see the end of that, though.”
“I don’t think we’d want to,” replied Wintermail, “If we find them, and use them—however that might be done, we can defeat Discord?”
“Well what are we waiting for? I say it’s worth a shot!” cried Stellara, “Now…where to begin?”
Wintermail recalled something, “Wait…” Soon she found Ailéránen rested against the wall where her sister had placed it. Magically retrieving the blade, she saw the hilt and its crossguard, in the center of which was that same six-pointed star—the amethyst!
Hovering it over the hard oaken table, she prepared to smash open the ancient heirloom and retrieve the invaluable talisman for the good of free ponies everywhere—for the preservation of all that was decent in this world!
“No!” yelled the Prince, “That’s not one of them! It’s just cut in the shape; it’s a simple amethyst!” Gently he took over the magic field around the priceless weapon. Stellara breathed a sigh of relief that her sword was safe; it’d do well, though, to keep an eye on her sister.
“Are you certain?” inquired Wintermail.
“Yes. The Elements are unaccounted for,” the Librarian said, “I’ve had similar suspicions with that sword; its aura is no more powerful than any other gemstone. No…the Elements disappeared and became myth when King Sun Flare hid them away.”
King Solárindil wrote of this—briefly. “The Everfree…,” intoned Wintermail. She found a chair and sat down in thought.
“As his account goes. That tree is somewhere in that forest, guarded by fierce creatures and dangerous terrain,” Delbedasir droned, draining a small cup of water as he thought as well.
“Nopony travels there; it is a unique wood that fights back. Solárindil did well to hide them there.” Petrafyrm sighed, “What shall we do, my Librarian? The Everfree is too large to simply wander about hoping to stumble upon a single tree.”
The beige stallion groaned and stroked his beard, “Read, perhaps. The answer must lie somewhere in this library, written by somepony.”
“Well then,” the Prince knocked his hoof on the ground, “You better start reading! Delbedasir, I’m afraid you have too many responsibilities to while away too much time looking for the answer. Give Dame Wintermail and Lady Stellara a number of recommendations. Four days we have until the Guard marches north; four days we have to set out for those Elements.”
The royal sisters courteously bowed to their liege. “Now, Dame, I shall have your squire Veroche see to all of your preparations. And Lady Stellara, I shall see that you have a squire of your own.”
“Make him handsome,” Stellara said without a single pause. She then giggled.
“And how would Cardúnón feel about that?” Wintermail nudged her sister.
All laughed except for the Librarian, who simply rolled his eyes and took off again to search his shelves. The Prince made his leave, and the sisters would spend the rest of that evening pouring over tome after tome, codex after codex. Thousands of names, accounts, annals, and citations assaulted their weary minds, but nothing came up about where exactly the Elements were. Book upon book upon book told them they were in the Everfree, and that was the most helpful of all their findings—which is to say none of their findings were helpful.
They took their evening meal in the library, and amid the dying light of melted candles they still continued their search. It would be a long four days.
*――――――――――S――――――――――*
It was cool. A breeze so fair and welcoming ran through the air. It left the scent of salt behind, while the waves roared and crashed on the rocks below. Seabirds chirped overhead, drifting with the wind and occasionally traveling to the water for their meal. Wintermail stood on a promontory, the carpet of grass as green as emerald, and as soft as clouds. At her back rested an old and venerable forest, clear of underbrush and thicket; a tidy wood, one a pony should like to takes walks through.
A small cottage sat on the edge of the cliff, overlooking the water. In the distance, further down the shore, seemed to be a settlement; a nearby town. The home, though lacking in size and grandness, did not want for artisanship; its broad roof was held aloft by richly-decorated white pillars, forming a portico all around before the actual house. Along its walls were round windows wrought of iron in fanciful shapes. Beside the doorway were two pillars like the rest, but these were elegantly carved with the stylized likeness of alicorns, rearing and their wings spread.
Wintermail didn’t move for a time under the lightly-overcast sky. She admired the home, and the sea, and the breeze. But something still didn’t seem right. Her ear twitched, a faint rustling in the grass behind her. She turned, eyes keen and stern, only to find a figure traveling up the hill.
He was a stallion, very tall and thin—just like the Wintermail. And just as she, this pony possessed a bright coat of white fur. He was an alicorn, keeping his wings tucked at his side but bearing his long horn proudly as any of their race ought to. Upon his face was a long, full white beard; whatever color it had been in youth was utterly lost.
For he was old. Wrinkles sat on him like deep canyons, and his steps were slow and plodding. Not a hint of grey remained in his beard—even the Librarian wasn’t so advanced that the silver in his mane had faded. But this stallion’s eyes still possessed vitality in them: orange, bright orange, filled with a soft understanding. Suspended in his magic was a wicker basket.
He stopped a few feet in front of Wintermail, cocked his head and smiled, “Well hello there! Are you here for me? I hope I didn’t keep you waiting for too long.”
The mare did not respond. She raised her eyebrow and watched the stallion step forwards to his home. He produced a key and inserted it into the door. Snapping her daze, Wintermail rushed to meet him, “Where are my manners, Sir? Let me help you.”
“Oh no, that won’t be necessary, Dear. Please,” he said, gesturing for her to enter his home.
Wintermail obliged, coming into a quaint little room decorated with the artifacts of a long life. Small figurines dotted his shelves, made of enamel and gold and jewels. Their make seemed almost otherworldly; she’d never seen such attention to detail and quality. Tasteful artwork made of seashells and other bounties of the ocean sat beside small metal frames adorned with icons of alicorns. But curiously so, the center of such frames held portraits of ponies, likely the stallion himself in younger days with his associates.
“I have never seen an etching so…realistic,” Wintermail muttered, studying one such picture.
“They’re not etchings,” he replied, shutting the door and walking to another room. “Please! Have a seat! You are just in time for afternoon tea!” His voice was cheery; an uninvited guest must not have been so burdened him so. “I was in town earlier to grab a few things: some sharp cheese, good soft bread, a bushel of ruby-red apples, and the sweetest strawberry jam you have ever tasted!”
Wintermail found a chair, expertly crafted of black wood, the seat cushion of white velvet. “I admire your collection, Sir. This wood here doesn’t seem to be local.”
“What an eye you have! It is not,” the stallion said from his kitchen nearby. A metal kettle had been placed over a stove. He shot a small burst of energy from his horn and lit the logs within. He then brought the basket to a small table and lifted off the cloth covering, revealing all the food he had listed. Brandishing a knife, he sliced up the bread, block of cheese, and a few apples. Wintermail’s eyes widened when she saw the mottled pattern on the knife’s blade.
Not long after, the kettle began whistling, and he poured it into a porcelain pot, along with a few crushed leaves. A cup and saucer were given to the mare, and at last the busy stallion took a seat, sighing loudly as he did.
“Now, it should be ready in a moment, but it will still be quite hot.”
“It is very kind of you to invite a stranger for a meal, Master…,”
“Aracílnë, as my friends like to call me. And do not mention it. A nice cup of tea each day eases my aging, I find. And it is always a pleasure to meet somepony new.”
Wintermail smiled and helped herself to the food. She seemed much hungrier than she thought, and the bread and cheese satisfied her more than any other meal had in a while. “Aracílnë, is it? Funny…that was my grandfather’s name.”
“Was it indeed? I wear it simply as a nickname; most everypony around knows me by it. Tea?” She nodded, and Aracílnë poured her a cup. “Jasmine. The merchant from whom I bought it says it has special properties. What those are I cannot say, but it does taste delicious! Sugar?”
Without any further encouragement, Wintermail levitated out the spoon and placed a healthy amount of the precious powder in her drink. It was sweet and aromatic, and the mare found herself taking in too much and burning her tongue.
She yelped, and her elderly host simply laughed, “Yes perhaps I should have warned you about that!”
“I should have known better.”
Aracílnë chuckled, taking a sip, “Don’t learn too much; only the very old have that sort of wisdom. Which is why I make at least three mistakes a day!” The two sat in quiet for a little bit. The stallion eye trained then to the sword his guest wore. Gilded, with rich decoration and the image of a blazing sun. There was no need to wonder about what lay on the other side.
The stallion smirked, “Why…that is an exquisite weapon. It seems to be the sort of thing with great lineage and history. How you did you come by this?”
Wintermail was guarded, “It was not stolen, if that is what you wish to imply.”
Aracílnë simply stared at her with his bright eyes, timeless wells of experience, betraying a commanding and hardened individual within. He took a drink of his tea, “Certainly not, though it seems others have before. A family heirloom, then?” His guest nodded. “I hope it has served you well, er…this is terribly embarrassing but I don’t believe I caught your name.”
“Dame Wintermail, as my friends like to call me.” This caused the old alicorn to laugh.
“Well ‘Wintermail’, in my spring days alicorns would not have suffered the humiliation of taking a ‘native name’. We bore our names proudly!” he beat his chest with a forehoof, far more intensely than a stallion of his age ought to have. “But…in my deep, deep winter days, the story is a little different,” a faint sadness flashed over his face, swept away with another drink. “You carry a fine sword, one anypony should be considered lucky to have. Though something about you tells me you don’t quite understand why it’s so special.”
“Of course I do! It is the Sword of Kings, forged in Elder Days. It is of a make than cannot be replicated, using arts long gone from this world. Our people crafted items of unmatched quality…and heirlooms like this are all that remains.”
“Yes…many great Alicorn Houses possessed one-of-a-kind swords, made of magical steel and folded into hard blades that cannot be broken. Eónadin is unique, however.” Wintermail gave him a look of cautious curiosity. “They say a black shard of the Firmament broke and crashed into the earth. Smiths labored for days crafting a sword with arcane arts from on High, until finally the Shapers of this World carried it up to Heaven. And finally Lórian saw how its children had made such a fine craft, and whispered to it, ‘Be more than a sword.’ And it was.” His voice had become very quiet.
“How true do you suppose that story is?” Wintermail leaned back and grinned, helping herself to more apple slices.
“Now that is a riddle; I was not there. But I do know Eónadin possesses an uncommon power—and a will of its own. You would do well, Wintermail, to respect that; it serves the Good, and its powers cannot be turned to evil intentions.”
The mare moved her gaze to the weapon girt about her waist and reflected on the strange feelings Eónadin sometimes had given her.
Aracílnë meanwhile poured her more tea. “You seem awfully young for it to have come to you. A beautiful mare; barely fifty, aren’t you?”
“Fifty-six,” Wintermail replied, spooning sugar into her cup.
“Oh to have that youth still! I’m sure you’ve had many adventures already; I spent much of that time serving my Kingdom.”
“Which kingdom?”
“It hardly matters now, doesn’t it? Oh goodness, I look back on those years, thinking I could have spent them differently. I spent over a hundred years alone wandering abroad, trying to find meaning and purpose. Sometimes I envy the Tulicëai; everything they do is so…immediate. They understand their time is short, and they are not content simply waiting about.”
As the old stallion became lost in thought, nodding and laughing to himself, Wintermail scanned her eyes over the small kitchen, finally finding another of those framed images that he seemed to have in abundance. This one however stuck out for a couple reasons. It was gilded steel, arranged in a complex yet elegant lattice with small white stones at junctures of the metal wiring. On the top part of the frame ran a banner that read in delicate alicorn script ‘Siblings’.
The portrait it held was of two alicorns, both remarkably similar in appearance, but one was a stallion and the other a mare. They were smiling widely and each holding a mug of some beverage. And then…Wintermail remembered something. Those two ponies in the picture must have been…twins. And Aracílnë was a name she had heard before, but not about her own grandfather. It was in a book, an old dusty book in Canterlot Library. A smile curled on her face, and she could not believe she had not seen it before.
“Solárindil?”
He paused and matched her grin, placing his cup back on the saucer, “Well…it was about time, wasn’t it? What brings you here, my Child?” he asked with such gravitas, immediately growing into a kingly figure, emanating authority and wisdom.
“I…I am not sure. I am not even sure where I am…”
“Well, if you’ve finished your meal, would it please you to follow me outdoors?” She nodded. They both rose from their seats, and Solárindil led her to a door at the other end of his home. Opening it revealed a small patio, lightly shaded by an awning. The two sat down at the table, while the old alicorn produced a couple smoking pipes and opened a beautiful jar of crushed leaves.
Wintermail rested a moment, admiring the crashing of the waves and the pleasant breeze. A magical trick lit the pipe and she drew in a full measure of the sweet, earthy blend.
“Lovely, isn’t it? This is actually grown right here in the area.”
“It is, your Majesty.” Solárindil simply chuckled and rolled his eyes. “Where is here, anyway?”
“Well, this here is my vacation home. I’ve called it Lyana héinh-nhároc. But perhaps you wish to know where in Equestria you are. Simple fact is, you aren’t.”
The realization crept on her, “You don’t mean… the Isle…”
“As it was long ago; as it shall never be again.” The pain was palpable in his eyes. A time of silence later he knocked a hoof on the ground, “Right! I am not all leisure; what are you here for? I think you know now.”
Wintermail smoked her pipe once more, “That’s right. I am searching for something; something very important. I’m looking…,” she trailed off, staring at the crisp blue sea, the wonderful vista of her people’s home—a home she will never know. “For the Elements of Harmony.”
Solárindil’s face grew dark, and he bored his eyes deep into her soul, “And what would anypony want with those, pray tell?”
The mare looked around, paranoid that somepony might be listening. “Discord has returned. We are fearful,” she murmured in a soft voice, “Fearful of what he might do. He is raging, and if we do not stop him our home will…perhaps end up like this blessed isle. Our efforts have led us to suggest the Elements hold the key to our victory. And we know at least they are in the Everfree.”
The stallion groaned and studied his descendant. He leaned back and held his stern face for what seemed like ages. Every passing second made Wintermail feel more uncomfortable, and she almost felt like stirring from her nerves. “Where I put them, in case they became needed.”
“Excellent!” she beamed, eager as ever a filly was, “Now, could you tell me where exactly?”
“No.” Her face crashed into disappointment.
“Why not? Discord is marauding across Equestria, and this is the only hope we have! You regarded her as your second home, and remarked that you could not bear so see it fall like Alícor! Please help us, else what sort of King can you call yourself?”
Solárindil simply shook his head, “I did not place them in the most dangerous forest in the land so that just anypony could find them. I have seen what happens when their power is abused, and I would not wish that again ten-thousand years from now. I will not tell you.”
“Not even your own blood?”
“Bloodlines fade; lesser sons of greater sires. If you wish to find those Elements and wield their power, you must earn it. Nothing less than the virtuous worthy may even gaze upon them!”
Wintermail slumped low, sighing, “I cannot search the whole wood.”
“You will not have to. The Everfree is filled with an ancient, undisturbed magic. It is alive, and more so than simply the trees and creatures within. The entire forest is woven into a trial, a test to prove you indeed deserve those talismans.”
“I could simply cut through it all with my sword,” she huffed.
“You could. But that would profit you little. The trials you will encounter cannot be assuaged with feats of strength or power; there is no surer way to wander for the rest your days lost in its tangle. Virtue is what you shall conquer by.”
Frowning, Wintermail finally acquiesced. “If…I managed to ‘prove’ myself, and the Everfree is kind enough to allow me in, will it work?”
Solárindil smiled warmly, like a father intent on consoling his daughter in a way only he could, “We have to hope; hope that God will not abandon us, hope that a new dawn shall rise after each black night. Hope that we can preserve all that we hold dear. But hope can be a frail thing.
“The Elements were created in a different time, and held far more power than they do now. They’ve suffered misuse, and have waned as consequence. Those talismans have been steadily losing their power since the Elder Days, and I fear they shall become inert someday, rendered pretty little trinkets to adorn crowns and be set in vaults. And when that time comes, ponies perhaps will have to look to themselves for salvation.
“Hope, it seems, is all you have.”
A sardonic laugh left Wintermail’s lips, “You’re almost as grim as Henarion…”
The two said nothing, smoking in silence and letting the sounds of nature fill their ears. Through it, Wintermail could not help but see the age and weariness in this ancient king. He was worn and decrepit, his cheery attitude and bright eyes masking a stallion who in many ways had become tired.
She cleared her throat, “You have lived to be…quite old. Five-hundred, if I recall correctly.” He turned to her and smiled. “How…how,” she stammered, “You’ve probably lived to see your friends…well…”
“My Dear, you are too young to worry about such things. Nothing lasts forever, but we don’t have to dread it. Our years, be they a mere fifty or a harrowing five-hundred, are filled with so much. Love, loss, pain, joy…but it all reminds us our time is a gift. The ending of something doesn’t have to be a tragedy; though the world one day will no longer enjoy ponies like me,” he punctuated with a smug pose, “We have left behind ponies like you, it seems. And that cannot be too terrible a thing.”
“There are easier ways to insult me,” Wintermail chuckled.
Solárindil furrowed his brow, ”Though, I confess it wasn’t easy at times. My life has been so long, all those I had journeyed with from our drowned home passed to their graves before my eyes. In fact, I was…settled…with seeing the last alicorn born on the island die. He had a good, long life, filled with love and cheer. He was ready to rest at the end.
“I have thought many times beneath starlight…sometimes I felt I am punished—sentenced to be the last of the Island-Born. It humbles one…” Clearing his throat, he rose from his seat and placed back on his happier persona, “Now! I believe you have work to do, Nikóleva.”
She grinned yet again, and copied his movement. “It was very nice meeting you, Solárindil. I hope…that well you did not waste your time talking to me.”
“’Waste’? No, I should think not; it put me in the perfect frame of mind for my afternoon nap!” Returning inside, the stallion collected the dishes on the table and bid Nikóleva farewell as she left his doorstep and wandered down the hill path.
Nikóleva turned back, though, one last time. Waving, she called out “I hope you and your sister have found bliss here!”
“’Sister’…Ynaundion,” a sharp longing, a deep sadness cracked his mask. A tear formed in his eye, and Nikóleva’s heart sank. “Goodbye!” he finally shouted, “And do not forget; you are not alone. You and Taberanyn both possess my blood—don’t squander that gift! You were very pleasant company, Nikól, and I very much desire to see you again someday.”
He withdrew into his seaside home and shut the door.
*――――――――――S――――――――――*
Dim light through her eyes and a terrible stiffness in her back greeted the tall white alicorn as she limbered up from her sleep. The world faded into view, finally revealing itself as a room full of…books? That’s right; her searching and studying must have gone deep into the late hours of the night. Yawning and stretching out her wings, Wintermail rose up slowly after finding her feet. She glanced around; no sign of Taby.
She must already be busy. Her eyes trained down at the book set before the mare, and like a bolt of lightning the memory hit her again; she had an idea about where those Elements were! She simply had to find the Prince and tell him; a lot of faith put in a dream, but they still had three days to search if wiser counsel won the debate.
Cantering out of the library, Wintermail emerged into the beautifully-polished marble halls of Canterlot Castle. But something was different; a peak out the window revealed it was already mid-morning, yet the usual courtiers and dignitaries weren’t wandering about. Instead, Wintermail heard the faint clopping of hooves and the clanking of iron armor.
Out of a left branch in the hall a small squad of Guardsponies marched briskly. “What are they up to, now?”
A short journey brought the knight in front of the throne room. The guards allowed her through with no issue, and the large oaken double doors revealed the Prince seated in his reigning chair, while a good number of other ponies were listening and speaking and watching.
Prince Petrafyrm immediately noticed the Dame’s entrance. “Just the pony I wanted to see!” Wintermail tread down the red carpet, seeing among others the Prince’s chief ministers: Chancellor Logostus, Captain of the Guard Gendarmette, and of course the Librarian. As well there stood Lady Stellara, dressed in full armor, Henarion with his sword, and Cardúnón giving a slight nod to his Exilarch.
“Your Highness,” Wintermail bowed.
“I did not wish to wake you; I hope your long night has paid off. Ill news has come, Wintermail, and it seems our plans must commence sooner than hoped.” The Prince held his dignity, but his eyes betrayed a painful regret, “We have…received news that Marshal Helmraed has fallen.”
Wintermail gasped and felt her heart sink, “Oh no…how?”
“The circumstances are not entirely known, but Prince Noblesse Oblige of Trottingham has sent us proof. It is a terrible, loathsome gesture, and I shall not repeat what was delivered in polite company. Know though that our beloved Marshal shall be buried with full honors; as that barbarian lordling refused to!” The Prince caught his anger and returned to poise, “We are preparing for a siege. Noblesse’s message was a threat, a threat of attack. He intends to capture this city and reduce it ruin.
“All morning we’ve been letting in the ponies of the valley and hiding them safely in the mountain’s catacombs. Supplies have been pouring in as quickly as they can, and the Guard is drilling as we speak. This means the castle’s forces will not be able to march north as intended. Noblesse is moving with great speed, and unfortunately our main body of troops will not be able to meet them before they lay siege.”
“Somehow, this army had escaped the notice of our scouts and watches,” added Gendarmette of the Guard.
“It would have been thestrals and mustangs; nothing could escape if they decided to hunt them down,” said Stellara.
Mumbles echoed in the hall for a bit before Henarion of all ponies stepped forward, “Well! If this Prince character wishes to do battle here, I say we give the bastard hell!” This earned him a few cheers from the ponies in the chamber.
“I like your spirit, Uncle! What about you, Nikól?”
The white mare grinned slowly, “Somepony fetch me my helm.”
“Not so fast,” the Prince’s grand voice bellowed, “I’m afraid you two sisters shall have another task.”
“My Lord?” Wintermail replied with a cocked eyebrow, “This is our city…you cannot expect us to not answer in her time of need. If Canterlot falls—“
“Two less ponies to crew the battlements will not prove decisive I should think. I need you and Lady Stellara to mount an expedition into the Everfree. I was under the impression that we’d have more time; but soon I fear nopony will be able to leave the castle. Leave as soon as possible.”
“I beg your pardon!” cried both sisters. Stellara first stepped forth, “Your Highness, I cannot in good conscience abandon you, or my Uncle, or…” she spared a glance at Cardúnón, who gave a knowing and sad smile, “Anypony else. I will not!”
“My people, the alicorns, will fight here, won’t they, Cardúnón?” asked the Exilarch.
“Certainly. The Downfallen shall match stroke for stoke, as well as any creature has.”
Wintermail looked at her sovereign, “Prince, I cannot ask my kin to fight a battle I will not!”
Petrafyrm stayed quiet and stood from his throne. “Have you found anything of value in your books? Lady Stellara unfortunately did not.”
“I had…a revelation, I should call it. But that can be postponed until after—“
“No,” the Prince’s voice resonated. His violet eyes captured Wintermail, “We can’t delay. I know not what marches with Noblesse, but it could spell our doom. The time is now, Heirs of Solárindil. If Discord by divine jest is with them, well…”
“An even better reason for us to stay!” Stellara argued, “The Dame’s sword can injure him! Do we even need these elements?”
The Librarian spoke up next, “If memory serves, according to Henarion’s account, “he gestured to the not-as-old orange alicorn, “The sword must make contact with the creature. What’s to stop him from disarming you, Wintermail? And even then, if the invaders are so numerous, could they not simply overpower you? No, I deem it too high a risk.”
“You all speak like you intend to fail! Do you, my Prince? Do you wish to see your city ablaze?! Your people killed or enslaved?!” the knight shouted, towering over her lord.
“Enough!” the Prince ordered, knocking his scepter and silencing the chamber, “You are not being punished, and I do not send you out lightly. But the hour has come, the hour that shall decide our fate. I command you to enter that forest and find the Elements. We shall hope beyond hope that they can save us in this dire time. In the meanwhile a great many formidable warriors will hold off the evil.
“You said you had a ‘revelation’.” Everypony then turned their eyes to Wintermail.
“Quite right. It came to me…in a dream.” She let the words hang; a few looked at her oddly. “We could not find a map or mention of a location…because there is no location. The forest will show the way…at least, that is how I figure it. If you think, my Lord, that others powers meddle in our affairs, perhaps one might find it appropriate to point us in the right way?”
Cardúnón furrowed his brow, “Is that the best we have?”
“It would seem so,” the Prince replied, “Dame Wintermail, you’re not simply telling me what I want to hear, are you?”
“No. I believe this in my heart…it’s not much to go by, I grant you.”
“Well…,” began the Librarian, “The Cleric in me wishes to believe it. Godspeed, Nikóleva; the world now seems to depend on you and your ‘visions’.”
“And what about my Uncle? Is he to come with us?”
“I’m afraid not, Nikóleva,” Henarion said half-smiling. “I wish to stay behind and look over Primrose and Eldowas. They will be safely inside the mountain, doubly so if I’m here.”
Henarion embraced his nieces, wishing them a fair journey, and much luck and fortune. The Prince knocked his scepter as was habit, “If that concludes our discussion…”
“Actually, Lord, I think somepony should wield Eónadin if I cannot be here,” Wintermail said, beginning to undo the clasp of her sword, “I would trust Henarion first and foremost.”
“I think you should keep it,” Delbedasir voiced, “It has great power, and no doubt Discord has taken note of that. Henarion’s little stunt might even had convinced him to seize it. Keep it far from him, away from his grasp, until the time is right.”
“Aye, girl. It belongs to you, and an alicorn must never be parted from their sword.” Henarion placed his hoof on Wintermail’s shoulder.
She laughed and placed her own hoof on his. “If that is your wish. Well…I suppose my sister and I have some work to do.” The Exilarch then turned to Cardúnón. He’d become less…standoffish, and she could see in his silver eyes that deep down he truly cared for their scant and scattered kindred. “I then leave you with the command of the alicorns. I deeply regret I cannot join you, but I know you’ll lead them as strongly as you have since before I came along.”
“There are few of us, only thirty or so good young fighting alicorns in Canterlot’s chapter,” the green stallion’s deep resonant voice said, “But fight we shall, your Majesty, like a thousand! A Queen must prove herself to her kin, but they too must prove they are fit to be led. We shall not disappoint.”
“Good, because I don’t intend to return and find your corpse,” Stellara quipped, approaching her friend.
“My Lady, it’d take quite a lot more for the world to rid itself of me.” The other ponies in the throne room started to disperse, and Cardúnón knew he ought to as well, “We shall see each other again; that’s a promise.”
Stellara giggled, “I wonder how many mares have heard that.”
“Only the ones as beautiful as you,” he replied with a biting tone.
“Am I foolish enough to fall for it?” she smirked
“I certainly hope so.” No hint of humor, no lack of sincerity colored Cardúnón’s voice. Their moment was however met with a glare from Wintermail. “Now! I must go off to muster the Alícëai!” He opened his wings and lifted off the floor, “Watch after your sister; strange as it might seem I do admire her,” he swallowed, “And…I’m rather fond of you as well.” He nodded and flew off to execute his duty.
Stellara walked off in kind with a proud step. She was anxious for this new quest, but also excited. Bumping into Wintermail she flicked her tail, “Let’s get to it, Nikól! The sooner we find these Elements of Harmony, the sooner we can go show that damn Noblesse what it means to cross the ‘Royal Sisters’!”
Wintermail joined Stellara’s pace. She frowned and muttered under her breath so faintly, “One thing at time…”