//------------------------------// // Chapter 5 // Story: A Dark Knight Over Trottingham // by iowaforever //------------------------------// Chapter 5 Four Years Later... “Equestrian!” Blueblood pulled himself up to his hooves, grabbing the nearest dirty tin that he could as he made his way to the front of the food line. Dozens of other prisoners watched him as he walked, his legs stiff and sore from years of hard labor and poor sleeping conditions. Even after four years they still called him “Equestrian”. Like there weren’t other Equestrians in the hole he had been tossed in. Blueblood stopped at the front of the line. The cook, a one-eyed griffon several inches shorter than him, regarded Blueblood for a moment before scooping out a ladleful of watery mush. Blueblood inspected the “meal”, noting several small chunks floating in the soup. “Got the meat mixed in again, huh?” he muttered, much to the displeasure of the cook. “Oh, high and mighty prince again, huh?” he snapped. “Keep complaining and you won’t get any more, your majesty. Get out of here!” Blueblood shot a glare at the griffon, but said nothing as he moved further into the prison. The entire complex was made from an abandoned strip mine. Griffons watched the opening, and anypony inside had a number of restraints to keep them from attempting an escape: wing restraints for Pegasi and griffons, crude magic dampeners for unicorns. The dampeners probably did more to damage a unicorn’s magic than anything, and Blueblood found what few spells he knew to be even weaker than before. Basic necessities such as shelter were sparse, one prisoner or another squabbling over what they could to survive another day. The walls were lined with caves, most used for mining but several were fenced off for Solitary Confinement, positioned so they would be fully bombarded by Celestia’s sun throughout the majority of the day. Blueblood had frequented solitary confinement far more than he would have cared for, but at least it provided some reminder of home. Home... where evil ponies were dragging his name through the mud, where Pennyworth would probably be inconsolable to learn that his charge was gone, possibly dead, and Blueblood could do nothing. He found a somewhat comfortable rock, sitting down and regarding the gruel before him. With a heavy sigh he began eating, choking back as much of it as he could. It had been worst when he had first arrived, his body demanding more than he could provide, but four years meant he could now survive on starvation levels of food... for a given value of the term “survive”. Blueblood finished with the last of the gruel, just in time for the tin to get smacked out of his hands. Wearily he looked up, eyeing the two griffons and pony that loomed over him. “Morning, gentlecolts...” he said. “Enough with the crap, Equestrian,” said the leader, a surprisingly brawny griffon for having been in jail longer than Blueblood. “Where were you when Quarry 3 collapsed?” “In Quarry 1, where I was supposed to be.” Blueblood countered. “I know it’s confusing sometimes, but counting isn’t too hard for most.” this earned a punch to his chin. “Keep talking and I’ll take your your tongue, Equestrian,” the griffon hissed. “My good friend Josef was in that cave- you were supposed to take his place, that was our agreement.” “I hardly consider a rock to the head an agreement.” Blueblood earned another punch. “I should have just put you in the grave when I first met you, Equestrian trash.” the griffon readied himself for another strike. “Guess I’m gonna have to remedy that mistake.” Before the griffon could strike, however, Blueblood reached down with a hoof and slung the food tin upward, beaning the griffon on the beak before he delivered a punch of his own. The two goons moved forward to intercept Blueblood, but he kicked out and knocked one away before they could get a good grip on him. “You have any idea who you’re dealing with!?” the griffon shrieked, circling as he looked for an opening as Blueblood pummeled the second goon. “I’m the one who calls the shots around here! I’m the king of this pit, and you’re just a waste of flesh!” “If you’re the king of anything, it’s probably halitosis,” Blueblood tossed the second goon into the griffon. It was a weak toss, the two only stumbling back slightly, but it gave Blueblood enough time to arm himself with the biggest loose rock he could find. Not that he got the chance, for two guards swooped in on both parties, battering them with clubs. Words were exchanged, inmates dispersed, and Blueblood was on his way back to Solitary. Again. “Keep this up and you’ll be dead by the end of the week,” one guard said as he shoved Blueblood inside the cage. “Though with how often you get into fights, I wouldn’t be surprised if you take one or two down with you... heh, should be fun.” Blueblood said nothing, moving to the back of the cave to find some kind of shelter from the sun. “Enjoy your three days, Equestrian. Maybe the sun might bake some sense into your brain.” the griffon laughed at his “joke” while Blueblood merely huddled in the back, turning his head away so he would not be too blinded by the sun. There was some truth, though; fights among the inmates were becoming more commonplace, especially those directed at him. Probably some contacts of the Falcon trying to kill him for a lighter sentence. No... Blueblood Mane was not here. Blueblood Mane was back in Canterlot, blissfully selling his family legacy. Blueblood Mane was, for all intents and purposes, dead... only a shell of an Equestrian remained. “A blessing and a curse, is it not?” Blueblood was shaken from his thoughts by a voice. Turning, he saw an elderly griffon sitting outside the bars, wings unbound yet dressed in a grey robe instead of a guard’s uniform. “What do you mean?” Blueblood asked. “The sun,” the old griffon said. “Is it not a blessing and a curse. The sun gives life, nourishment to the green things of the earth and safety to those beneath her, yet it blinds and burns those who are lost, injured.” there was a pause before the griffon shifted his arm in his robe, Blueblood affording a small gasp as a bowl of rice clattered out. “Eat.” Blueblood started forward, but stopped himself. Rice was plain, but even a small bowl would do more than the gruel he had been surviving off... but why would this stranger be so generous? He stood there, looking dumbly at the rice while the griffon glanced at him. “Are you not hungry?” “... Why?” Blueblood asked, looking to the griffon. “Who are you, and why are you helping me?” “My name matters not,” the griffon said, looking back out at the sun. “And you mistake this for helping. I cannot help you in the sense that I would give you relief from your suffering, only that I could lead you to where you might help yourself.” Blueblood raised an eyebrow at this, but slowly approached before pulling the rice towards him. He would have loved to eat quickly, but something told him to keep a slower pace. “So, how does Blueblood Mane end up out here in a hole in the ground?” the griffon asked, Blueblood almost choking on the rice. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Blueblood replied. “Prince Blueblood’s back in Equestria. I’m just an inmate.” “Bah! That fool is merely a pretender to the name. I know well who Blueblood Mane is, and you are him...” the griffon looked to Blueblood. “Or have the years dulled your mind? Have you forgotten who you are?” Blueblood said nothing, merely wiping some errant rice from his chin. “What does it matter anymore?” Blueblood said finally. “I’m locked in here, thousands of miles away from anything resembling normality.” “Locked?” the Griffon gently pressed against the bars, Blueblood watching with surprise as they swung open towards him. “You are not locked here... physically, at least. But perhaps there is something inside you that is locked.” Blueblood said nothing as the griffon finally faced him fully. “A fire, Mr. Mane,” he said. “I see a fire within you that burns brighter than any other among these wretches. It has been smothered by pain, loss, suffering, but it waits for a moment to rise again. And when it does, what remains: the wretch? The Prince?... a legend, Mr. Mane?” Blueblood said nothing, peering around the griffon and out into the prison yard. Thousands of inmates, milling about with no direction or care... what was he to them? Just another member, a victim to be preyed upon? ... no. “What do you want with me?” he asked, looking back to the griffon. “Nothing,” the griffon rose. “A better question would perhaps be what do you want with me? Follow me, and I will show you.” with that he strode out of the cell, pausing to look back at Blueblood. “You’d need not worry; the guards know I am here, and will do nothing if you follow me. But it is your choice whether you follow me, or continue to live as a wretch for the rest of your life.” Blueblood hesitated again, eyeing the rocks for signs of an ambush. The guards loved tormenting the prisoners in new and exciting ways- who was to say that this old griffon was not another one of their tricks? But then... Was he just another wretch, unable to crawl out of the shadow of the past? Blueblood rose, and stepped over the threshold. ///////// Their journey covered many miles, and Blueblood’s true strength had returned. He could move further without tiring, eat real food for the first time in four years, and even managed a smile now and again. The old griffon, though, spoke little and did even less when they did not walk, always eyeing Blueblood as they continued their journey across the Griffon Kingdoms. After an eternity, they boarded a small boat. The captain was a wry pony, short a few teeth but still quite jolly as he conducted Blueblood and the griffon across the ocean. Blueblood did not speak as much now, for he had a good idea as to where they were headed. “Neighpan.” he said as the boat pulled into a small cove. “Yes,” the griffon said, quickly jumping to the dry sand. “I have lived here for many years, as my teachers before me did. Come along now- this step in your journey is almost complete.” Blueblood nodded, following silently behind the griffon as he made his way inland. The air was cool, ringing with the sound of birdsong, and Blueblood did his best to keep his eyes forward and not be too distracted by the sights. Another day’s walk, and Blueblood saw a castle rising ahead. It was not a castle in the same sense as Canterlot or the old Everfree Castle: this was a structure of low roofs and walls instead of towering spires, blackened from years of exposure to the elements. Moss clung to the sides of the castle, and birds had carved out nests among the ancient rock. “The Neighpanese say that the gods once resided in this place,” the griffon said. “It is a place of vast spiritual energy, but it is also a dark place few dare to venture through... well, onwards we go.” the griffon continued on, Blueblood hesitating again as he eyed the castle. The griffon was odd enough on his own, but hiding out in an abandoned fortress... You spent so many years hiding out in that mansion, a voice inside Blueblood’s mind said. What’s so different between that and a castle? Blueblood shook his head, hurrying up as the griffon slipped through the large wooden doors guarding the castle. “You have come this far.” the griffon said. “Good. Tomorrow, I shall begin your training.” “Training?” Blueblood asked. “What kind of training?” “As I said before, Mr. Mane, you have a fire within you, but it must be worked until it is strong again.” the griffon stopped, staring up at a mural Blueblood could not decipher. “I have travelled the world for many years, and I have seen that the world is full of dualities: Sun and Moon, Light and Dark, Order and Chaos, Good and Evil. Too often do ponies and griffons believe they understand one or the other, from those in cities like Trottingham, to the islands of the gods’ servants, to far beyond the sight of Celestia and Luna. But to truly understand duality to to understand strength, and to understand strength is to become unconquerable. “I will teach you to understand this duality. You will master body and mind, light and dark, and know good and evil.” the griffon looked back at Blueblood. “Rest, and in the morning we will see if you are ready.” Blueblood said nothing, watching as the griffon vanished into the gloom. He turned back to the mural, tilting his head to try and decipher what exactly the old griffon was looking at. Duality, probably. Blueblood’s ears drooped; it seemed so simple, why go through so much enigma for training? The Falcon and his followers were evil. The Mane Enterprise member who had betrayed his father were evil. He, then, would be the good. ///////// Blueblood stood at the opposite end of a large, circular room, the old griffon standing on the other side. He turned a stick of bamboo around in his telekinesis, feeling for its weight as he eyed his opponent. The old griffon stood off to the side, gazing out at the landscape beyond. “When you are ready,” the griffon said. Blueblood allowed a small smirk, twisting the stick around again before charging, intending to land a strike on his opponent as he stood distracted by the rising sun. One strike, and Blueblood found himself skipping across the room, landing in a heap at the far end. The old griffon tucked his own bamboo stick away before speaking. “He who runs with aggression walks without dignity.” “I thought anger would be useful to a fighter,” Blueblood said. “Duality.” the griffon turned to him. “Anger is a useful tool, for you or the enemy. Master it, and it will be your ally: fail, and your enemy will twist you into something far beyond normal understanding.” Blueblood nodded rolling back to his hooves as he reached out for the bamboo again. The griffon had still not moved from his spot, still looking out at the sky as Blueblood approached. This time, he went for a more careful attack, swinging a weaker strike towards the griffon’s head. He casually blocked the strike with his stick, still unmoving, even as Blueblood twisted the bamboo around to go for another strike. Once more the griffon blocked before sweeping out, catching Blueblood’s legs and sending the unicorn sprawling on the floor. “You can never defeat another if you know not how to defeat yourself,” the griffon said. “Your mind is a mass of contradictions: the wretch and the prince, the son and the leader, anger and calm. How can you expect to be master of all if you cannot even calm the storm that lies within you?” “That’s what we’re here to solve... right?” the griffon finally turned to face Blueblood, a frown set on his face. “I will teach you nothing more today. Meditate, and tomorrow we will try again.” //////// The cavern was dark, foreboding. Blueblood advanced cautiously, bamboo stick at the ready, eyeing every corner and pillar that the old griffon might be hiding behind. His hooves echoed through the darkened hall, even as Blueblood tried his best to keep quiet so as to detect anything in his surroundings. “Fear of the dark is one of the most primal instincts of all living things,” the voice of the griffon echoed through the hall. Blueblood spun, but saw nopony. “Good ponies shun it, evil encroaches on it and use it as a cloak to hide their wicked deeds. It is no surprise then that the Moon was driven to jealousy of the Sun, for only the wicked would venture out into her night.” Blueblood advanced, eyes darting back and forth. “But the dark... the dark is your shield. The dark is your ally. For though they abuse it, criminals are superstitious and cowardly, and do not trust the night.” Blueblood stopped, ears flicking back and forth in search of the griffon. One more step, and he had no time to reach before the griffon pounced on him from above, pinning him to the ground. “You have no trust, not yet.” the griffon said. “Embrace the shadows, Mr. Mane, and they will guide you in ways you could never have believed.” ///////// “What do you fear?” Blueblood looked to where the old grifon sat, idly plucking at a piece of fish as the two rested from another round of training. “I’m surprised you don’t know the answer to that already.” Blueblood replied, taking a bite of rice. “What good is knowledge if there is no proof that what you speak is the truth?” The griffon said. “But my question remains unanswered: what do you fear?” Blueblood paused, looking down at his food as he thought it over. The standard fears of ponykind, loss, starvation, Celestia in a bad mood, all seemed so petty to one who had faced all that and more. If that was what the old griffon spoke of, then he was beyond fear. But the question lingered: what do you fear? “I don’t know.” Blueblood said finally “Nothing, really. I’ve been through so much it doesn’t seem like there’s anything that scares me now.” This did not seem to impress the griffon. “You do, you just do not see it.” the griffon said. “Fear is the prime motivator for all that we do. Fear drove ponykind to band together to protect from their enemies. Fear led those that brought you to me to conspire and scheme. Fear is what keeps you here rather than returning back to Trottingham.” “I’m not afraid to go back.” Blueblood said quickly, rising up to his hooves. “I’m not afraid of the Falcon or the Board. I survived them long enough, I can do it again.” “Can you?” the griffon asked, finally looking in his direction. Blueblood felt a chill run down his spine as the old griffon fixed him with a stony gaze. “I see it within you, even if you cannot. It sits like a parasite, gnawing away at your soul while you futilely try to remedy it. I ask again: what do you fear?” Blueblood found himself sputtering, mentally more than physically. Such a simple question, and here he was protesting like a foal who didn’t want to wash up before bed. He had done enough, he was training to fight back, he did not fear what other ponies did. ... didn’t he? Or else why would he have hidden out in this castle, his mansion, watching the world pass him by as he lingered with ghosts? “You see it now, don’t you?” the griffon asked. “... I see them,” he said, settling down again. “I see them dying in the snow, looking to make sure I was okay. I see what worry, what fear they had, draining out with their lives while all I could do was sit there... sit there and weep. I was the one that led them down that path, who wouldn’t listen... one mistake and my entire life was shattered.” he sighed. “That is what I fear. That one mistake, rising up again and again to drive me away... to crush me into nothing.” the griffon said nothing, taking another bite of fish before looking back out at nothing. “Failure was your master, fear its bedmate. They rule you, rather than you ruling them. Break free, and you will be ready.” Blueblood said nothing, looking back to food that no longer seemed appetizing. The memories would fade, as they always did, but they would rise up again to drag him down further... as they always did. But if he broke free, what then? Could he just forget all he had gone through and live a better life? Would he just become numb as before, only now he didn’t care at all about the matters of the past rather than caring far too much? I can’t... I can’t forget. He thought. There was a pause before something clicked in his mind. Duality... I won’t forget, but I will not be ruled. No again. Blueblood took another bite of rice, missing the slight quirk of a smile from the griffon. /////// Blueblood sat in one of the gardens of the castle, his forelegs folded in his lap. His eyes were closed, his breathing controlled as he tried to calm his mind, to reach that duality that the old griffon kept discussing. Inevitably, his mind drifted back to Trottingham. Who knew what sorts of corruption had creeped in since he had been gone... probably no more than what was already there, if he was perfectly honest. Falcon, his cronies, the Board, all of them corrupted. Trottingham was nothing but a festering pool of vice and crime, a dark stain on Equestria’s otherwise shining image. Any sane pony would have nothing to do with the place. Yet... His father saw something within the city. There were good ponies in Trottingham: Pennyworth, Foxtail, that young Apple and his partner, Cross Reference, among others. Were they to get tossed in with the bad, written out as a lost cause? They tried their best to make something better of Trottingham, perhaps turn back the tide of corruption that had all but swallowed the city. For what good it had done. Blueblood had seen how deep the corruption ran personally; no one pony could overcome that... could they? In between his talks on duality, the old griffon spoke highly of “the legend”, the pony that mastered knowledge of everything and was thus incorruptible. Perhaps a pony like that could rise up to the challenge, make Trottingham’s underbelly quiver in fear as they rightfully should. Was that why he was still here, to be that pony? Blueblood afforded a short pause as he looked down at himself. He had bulked up a bit, perhaps, and his fighting skills were improving every day. The dreams had stopped, even, the night of his parents’ murder returning only when he allowed it to. But there wasn’t too much about him that could be considered intimidating... Blueblood was disturbed from his meditation by a rustling sound overhead. Looking up, he spotted a dark shape fluttering among the leaves: a bat in search of insects to eat. Blueblood tilted his head to one side, watching as the bat swooped between the branches, his ears barely picking up the high-pitched chattering of the creature as it hunted. It didn’t have any concerns for darkness or shadows, deftly dodging obstacles in its hunt for prey. Something so small, with no fear about it... yet ponies always spoke of their own fear of bats... Blueblood turned his eyes away from the bat, a thought formulating in his mind. Fear was the key: his own and that of the criminals. Eliminate his fears, and he would be unbreakable- enhance their own, and they would run screaming into the light, where all would understand their true nature. Once more, Blueblood allowed himself a slight smile. ////////// The cavern was far less foreboding as Blueblood stepped back inside. Once more, the old griffon had hidden himself inside, waiting for an opportunity to strike. But now, the darkness was not an obstacle to be feared, but a tool to be bent to his will as he walked. Blueblood did not bother with magic, instead gripping his bamboo in his right hoof as he moved slowly along the wall. His eyes darted about, not just checking the corners and gaps that lay before him, but the nooks and outcroppings above where an enemy might be lurking. His breathing was slow, controlled, just enough to keep him from passing out while not revealing himself to the rest of the world. That was the hope, anyway. “What is it that you seek?” the voice of the old griffon echoed through the cavern. Blueblood said nothing, jumping behind a pillar as he scanned the darkness. “Is it revenge, for what those griffons and ponies with evil in their hearts did to the legacy of your family?” Again Blueblood remained silent, moving forward slightly once he was sure that the coast was clear. “Revenge is a slippery slope that only the strongest may save themselves from. Are you strong?” Blueblood did not answer, stopping and listening for any sound as best he could. “Perhaps you are, but there is more to you than just vengeance, is there not? Ask yourself: what is it that you truly seek?” “Vengeance is too limited,” Blueblood said, moving back against the wall again. “Perhaps I was set upon by evil, but there is more than just defeating them and moving on. The plague of Trottingham is old and strong, it must be weakened.” “And how?” Blueblood stopped, his ear flicking towards the left at the slight sound of rocks grinding together. Instead of moving towards it, he jumped right. The old griffon pounced over Blueblood, his bamboo whistling as it missed his head by scant centimeters. Blueblood twisted around and swung, the stick managing a slight strike against the griffon’s hind legs. Blueblood kept moving, drawing back into a defensive position as the griffon landed on the opposite end of the cavern. “Justice,” he said. “Wicked men must be brought out into the light, and they must be robbed of the darkness where they’ve made their shelter. That is how I will save Trottingham from itself.” the old griffon regarded Blueblood for a moment before speaking. “Exposing them...” he said. “Would it not be easier to kill them, and end their troubles once and for all?” “No. Criminals kill, only for their troubles to multiply beyond their control. To stoop to their level is to embrace their own weakness.” Blueblood flashed a grin. “And how can one who seeks dominance over himself embrace such a glaring weakness?” there was a lengthy pause before the griffon stood up straighter, smiling. “I have nothing more to teach you, Mr. Mane,” he said. “Go and return to your lands. Become the legend you were born to be.” Blueblood bowed low, setting his bamboo stick on the ground before turning towards the end of the cave. He could all but feel the shadows twisting around him, even as he stepped out into the light. Blueblood Mane was dead, perhaps. The lazy Blueblood, the inattentive Blueblood who allowed ponies to conspire against him. In his place... well, who was to say? His return to Trottingham, then, would show the truth.