“We would have it noted that we continue to regard you as a ghastly blot on the face of Creation,” rasped my rightful sovereign, Princess Platinum of Unicornkind. “In regards to the fact of your existence, we often find it hard to decide which outweighs the other; our abhorrence or our rank contempt. We witness you, and accordingly deduce the existence of a malevolent Creator and its interference in our affairs. But regardless ...” She gritted her teeth, and after a moment, when she made the effort to speak again, spoke as if the words left a bad taste on leaving. “Regardless, for the sake of our people, and on the fervent advice of our closest and most dearly trusted aides, we are willing to extend an offer to … cooperate. For what will amount to your benefit, of course. You utter affront.”
“I do love our conversations, Princess,” replied Commander Hurricane dryly. The pegasus sounded hoarse herself, her own frame shrunken within her barding since I’d seen her last. Past her wither, I briefly met the gaze of Private Pansy, and saw her wince at the exchange. I flashed my most reassuring smile, and meant it.
My princess was approaching good health again. And in an unusually diplomatic mood, I could tell.
The Princess and Commander were seated at either side of a fire, red-gold flames murmuring between them and filling the hastily-erected wooden hall with a warm, smoky mugginess. To Platinum’s left and Hurricane’s right, there sat Chancellor Puddinghead of the earth ponies, with Smart Cookie at her side. Smart Cookie’s own expression was wry, but a deep happiness held sway just past the surface, I knew.
Puddinghead herself flicked her gaze from Platinum to Hurricane, her face cold and composed, her eyes as sharp as a marksmare’s. And then she abruptly beamed, the expression all but running right round her head, and she turned to beam her bright gaze into Smart Cookie. “Cookie, do you know what sort of thing renders fabulous service to cooperation negotiations? And all other sorts of -ations, for that matter?”
“Is it warm possets by any chance, Chancellor?” said Smart Cookie with practised stoicism.
“Exactly so! Inflict cupfuls on any and all, and then take some fresh air. I suspect these particular -ations are going to get fun.”
“Yes, Chancellor.” Smart Cookie stepped away, and Pansy and I moved to join her.
We trotted to a smaller hearth set in the hall’s wall, while at our backs from the central fire, the sound of Platinum and Hurricane expounding on one another’s shortcomings rose, accompanied by Puddinghead’s cheerful interjections. Smart Cookie smoothly pulled down the kettle of steaming milk that rested over the hearth. “I call this progress,” she murmured. Pansy and I presented cups half-full of ale and she topped them up. “So far, nopony’s kicked one another.”
“So far,” said Pansy, sounding strained. “I know the Commander. Clover, I’m not sure the Princess keeping on calling her a blot on Creation’s going to result in anything but a kicking.”
“No disrespect to your Commander,” I replied, as I stirred all three cups with my magic, “but right now, I’m not sure she’s got the strength to kick anything. None of them do.”
“She’s a trier.”
“Best we get ‘em all too warm and content for impetuousness, in any case,” said Smart Cookie, finishing pouring and putting the kettle back. “Come on. I could use a break from this room anyhow. Last one to ply their ruler with a posset’s a rotten egg.”
I couldn’t disagree on the need for a break, and the three of us picked up our respective cups in whatever telekinesis or mouths we had available and made our way back to the central fire. The locus of arguing seemed to have shifted to between Puddinghead and Hurricane, with Platinum huffing and grumpily inspecting the trim of her worn cloak. I set the cup down by her, and her expression softened briefly.
“Most timely, Clover,” she said, and I couldn’t help but be glad of the fullness and health that had returned to her tone in the last short while. “We required something warming. We would have privacy for a moment, as the Chancellor suggested. Many lofty topics lie ahead.”
“As you command, Your Highness,” I replied.
“But do remain ready to come in if we call. On the off-chance we need any heavy thinking done.”
“Of course, Your Highness.” I turned to depart, and Smart Cookie and Private Pansy fell into step beside me. As we left through the front door of the hall and passed into the brisk morning air, I heard a parting shot from Platinum to the effect of, “Now let us — gah! Why are there curds in this?!” And then I heard no more, as we trotted out closed the door at our backs.
The air was chill all about us, but not as chill as it had been, and the bright sun glared down through the clear and frosty morning sky, as if trying to make up for lost time. Before us, down from the slope atop which the hall had been erected, there lay the broad and thawing expanse of Dream Valley.
And across that expanse, the three pony tribes.
Earth ponies and unicorn encampments hugged the southerly and northerly sides of the valley, respectively, and the air was thick with shouts and axes hammering into wood and the steam of ponies exerting themselves. Hooves mulched the frosted grass underhoof, wagons trundled hither and thither with full loads of firewood. Above, low-hanging clouds hoached with pegasi, flitting this way and that, several of their patrols just visible on this horizon.
I kept watching, and though the three encampments were separated for now, I saw ponies mingling at their edges. I heard laughter, more than I’d heard in many months. Wings flapped and heavy wagon-loads trundled and magic flashed, none of it in anger. And I looked up, up to skies that so recently had been crowded out with snow and dark clouds, that had all but swallowed the world, and the insidious laughter and cantering shapes that lurked behind them…
Until that last, terrifying night, when three ponies had struggled through the last and most ferocious of the snowstorms to the same slope where the hall now stood. And where those three had, against all odds and in circumstances that had blurred past my mind, made an end of things.
“I’m, ah, actually glad they’ve not been fighting too much.” The voice of Pansy broke me from my thoughts. “The Commander’s being nicer to your Chancellor and Princess than she was last time. She’s not being as cold as I know she’d like to be. She’s trying.”
“Hmm.” Smart Cookie smiled. “What’s brought that on, do you reckon?”
Pansy looked at the ground and muttered something inaudible.
“Say again?” pressed Smart Cookie.
“...the night of that last snowstorm, I might have gotten a bit … um, sharp with her before heading out to meet you.”
“Say no more.” Smart Cookie puffed out and turned to regard the valley, her breath steaming in the crisp air. “It’s a time for thawing and finding out what we all had underneath all along. Guess it had to start somewhere. Glad you stood up to her at the finish. We’d all be sorry if you hadn’t.”
“Never liked seeing things suffering,” Pansy murmured. She lifted her gaze. “We all were.”
“I hear that. Old earth pony proverb has it that you all stand together, or you all fall apart. Guess I had to put that to the test at last. Glad Puddinghead’s rising to meet it too.” Smart Cookie glanced my way. “You must have felt the same, Clover.”
I glanced back, but struggled to meet Smart Cookie’s gaze. I flatter myself I’d have done the same, would have gambled all on that one last hope to meet my fellow ponies and uncover some way to drive back the winter at long last.
But I didn’t know that. Because I’d known what would come. Or what might come, at any rate.
And maybe depending on that made me too fearful a pony to associate with heroes like Smart Cookie and Pansy. But at least it had seen ponykind survive that last terrible night. And that had to be worth anything.
“Something of the sort,” I said evasively. My magic opened my saddlebags. “I’ve wanted to thank you both. And a … well, another unicorn gave these to me. And I can’t think of better ponies to receive them than you.”
“Gave what to y— oh my days.” Smart Cookie’s voice trailed off as I levitated the set of boots out of the saddlebag where they’d been awkwardly compressed, and floated them over to her. “These … these are ...”
“Made for sturdiness and warmth, according to the giver,” I said. “The make’ll be peculiar to your eyes, but the weaving and fabric are better than anything else you’ll find. I only wish I could have given them to you some time before the journey here.”
“They’re wonderful,” Smart Cookie said after a moment, her voice thick with joy. She rapped the sole of one with a forehoof. “Darned sturdy. My hooves’ll be glad of these. Thank you dearly, Clover. And thank whoever gave these.”
“I wish I could. And, ah, Pansy,” I said, turning on her. “I don’t know if warflock duties’ll give you much chance to don this, but if they do, or if you can repurpose the fabric into anything you need … then feel free. The giver wouldn’t mind.”
Pansy regarded me, and then regarded the bundle of fabric I pulled out from my other saddlebag, and her eyes widened when I unfolded it in the air. A dress fanned out in the air, the design curious, but the warmth and good weave undeniable. A dress with one peculiar aspect to the design, when coming from a unicorn.
There were openings along the back, to accommodate a pegasus’s wings.
“I, I, oh my, I,” Pansy stammered as the dress was presented to her, and she flapped off the ground to let it spread across her forehooves. She blinked at me, delighted and bewildered. “I don’t know what to — another unicorn gave these to you?”
“Yes,” I said softly, remembrance stealing over me once again. “A very good and generous one indeed. Far away from here.”
And, if we didn’t let her down, still to come.