Chapter 12: In Which a Garden Grows
It was a dull morning in Canterlot. The sun was high above the white city, its light pale and weak. It seemed to meander more than journey across the sky, as if it were tired or distracted. It did not help that the city's weather team had determined today the perfect day for cloud cover. The city was cast in a dull, almost gray pallor. Thin clouds drifted through the streets higher up the mountainside, creating a thick fog. Ponies all across the city mulled about their tasks, as listless as the sky itself.
Canterlot Palace stood in stark contrast to the rest of the city. The very air around seemed alive; ponies within all bustled about, consulting one another on their tasks and looking for something to do. There seemed to be a vaguely disorganized air about it, but nopony gave the slightest hint of urgency or concern. They moved briskly about their tasks, existing in a subtle state of panic.
Celestia had not been seen in almost two days. Those ponies who dealt with her prayed that she would return in timelier fashion than her sister, who had not been seen in nearly a month. The Palace could operate on its own for a time, but issues were piling up and they needed the goddess.
Princess Amethyst trotted briskly through the hallways, a scroll sealed with the insignia of Aloa clutched between the teeth of her bodyguard Oak. The two ignored the servants, trying their best to look as if they had somewhere to go. In truth Amethyst had no more idea what should be done than the rest of the staff; she simply needed to put on the face of importance and competence for her ponies.
The pair found themselves in the royal family's wing, and they turned into Amethyst's bedchambers. The princess flopped onto her bed, and sighed.
“Oh, gods,” Amethyst moaned. Oak sat respectfully away, silent as Amethyst continued her moaning. “First Auntie Luna, and now her?” she complained. “Where on earth has she gone, Oak?” Oak placed the scroll on the floor.
“I don't know, your highness,” he said. Amethyst looked back at him, and sighed sadly.
“Would you even tell me if you did, Oak?” she asked. Oak looked down, ashamed, and Amethyst sat up. “I didn't mean it, Oak,” she said. “I'm just tired. I'm sorry. Do you know what the staff thinks?”
“Most of them don't ever see Her Majesty,” Oak said. “They wouldn't know the difference. But everypony knows something is happening – they can feel it in the air.”
“Do they know what is happening?” Amethyst asked. Oak shook his head. She sighed, and flopped back onto her bed again. “Well that's a relief,” she said. “At least I'm not the only one in the dark this time.”
“I'm sorry, Your Highness,” Oak said.
“Don't be, Oak,” Amethyst said, shaking her hoof weakly. “I know why you did it. I know why Auntie wanted you to do it. I'd have done the same.” She rubbed her eyes, and sat up. “Besides, it's not important anymore.”
“Princess?” Oak asked. Amethyst gestured to the scroll in front of Oak.
“My duty is to rule when my auntie cannot,” she said. “Unless she decides to show up right now, we need to seriously consider what might be inside that scroll.”
“Then perhaps it is best I decided to cut my trip short,” a voice said. It was soft, and warm, but there was an edge to it. Amethyst and Oak both turned in its direction.
Celestia landed on Amethyst's balcony, and entered the room. The purple unicorn gawked at her for a moment, before leaping off her bed and running into the goddess's embrace.
“Auntie!” Amethyst exclaimed. “You're back! Oh, thank goodness.” Celestia pressed her neck against the unicorn's, sighing.
“I'm afraid I may as well be gone for the next few minutes,” she said. “Come with me to my chamber, Amethyst. You can tell me what's wrong after I have some tea.”
“Of course, Auntie,” Amethyst said, nodding. Celestia strode out of the bedchamber, Amethyst and Oak following as closely behind her as they could. The goddess's long legs propelled her across the marble floors, forcing the two mortal ponies to trot to keep up with her. The three ponies made their way through the hallways in silence, heading up the tall, thin spire to Celestia's room. The alicorn threw open the door, flopping gracelessly onto her enormous pillow even as her teapot came alive and set itself to boil.
“Auntie!” Amethyst cried, running to her. “What's the matter?” Celestia smiled weakly at her.
“Politics, dear. Politics are the matter.” With Celestia's encouragement the tea brewed itself within moments, and she poured three cups. She passed one to Amethyst and Oak each, taking hers and drinking from it gratefully. Amethyst and Oak were silent, watching her as she drank. When she was finished she set her cup down and sighed.
“That,” she said, “is much better.” She looked up, and smiled at her niece. “Now, what's this letter you're so concerned about?” Amethyst nodded to Oak, who produced the scroll. Celestia took it, levitating it in front of her face. She turned it around, fixing her eyes on the seal. She sighed again, and her neck drooped.
“Of course,” she said.“He would reply as soon as leave. When did this come in?”
“Just yesterday, Auntie,” Amethyst said. “What's the matter?” Celestia shook her head, breaking the seal.
“We'll see,” she said. “Perhaps it will actually be news, and not just a retread of our conversation.” The scroll unfurled, and Celestia began to read.
To Her Highness Majesty Celestia of Canterlot, Queen and Goddess of the sun in the sky...
Celestia sighed, skipping over her paragraph-long official title and on to the body of the letter.
Your Majesty, I wish to take this opportunity to extend my sincerest condolences for your troubles at this time. I understand that a death, or even a loss in the family can be devastating, even for one such as yourself. If my own daughter Princess Golden Dreams had gone missing I know that I would certainly be distraught as well.
I also understand that the timing of this unfortunate incident is by no means ideal. With the treaty meetings just beginning at the time of your loss, I understand your frustration from a political standpoint, and I sympathize with your feelings that the incident is foul play. Equestria lost a large amount of sway without the Prince attending the meetings, and I'm certain that his talents with speech and persuasion would no doubt have turned the tide of the proceedings much more in your favor than was the case.
All that said, your accusations against my country were both unfounded and deeply offensive. Neither myself nor anypony in my court had seen your nephew since the night before the incident occurred, and to accuse them of conspiracy goes beyond offensive. It is an insult and an affront to my culture and my country, and thus to myself personally.
I will remind you Princess, that it was you yourself who invited us into you castle. My daughter and ambassadors were polite and humble guests in your home, and had done nothing to invite your scorn. I am acutely aware of the nature of Aloa and Equestria's relations in the past; however I had believed we left the war on equal and friendly terms. If this is not the case, and you have so little trust for us that your first instinct is to blame us for your troubles, then I would advise in the future you do not bother with the facade of friendship.
I will say again that the loss of Prince Blueblood is deeply troubling. If the nature of his disappearance is indeed one of foul play it bodes ill for all of our families, and even if not you still have my deepest sympathies. However, the court and country of Aloa have had no hand in this, and I sincerely hope that this is the end of the issue between our two countries.
Yours,
His Majesty Ocean Gold II, King of Aloa.
Celestia sighed, laying her head against the pillow. “I thought as much,” she said.
“What did the letter say?” Amethyst asked. Celestia shook her head, re-rolling the scroll.
“Nothing I haven't heard before,” she said. I suppose it explains why Ocean was so irate when I visited him, if he thought I had already heard all this.”
“Heard all what?” Amethyst pressed, leaning forward. Celestia shook her hoof.
“It's not important,” she said. “Let me handle it.”
“No!” Amethyst shouted, slamming her hoof down. Celestia stared at her in shock. Oak simply lowered his head.
“I'm sick and tired of this, Auntie!” Amethyst shouted. “You've been keeping me in the dark for weeks – first that my son had gone missing, and then that he was -” she stopped, choking, but continued, “that he was dead, and now this. A letter came to us from Aloa, Auntie. An official letter from the king. What's happening, darn it!?”
“Amethyst,” Celestia said, “I'm sorry. I wish I didn't have to do this, but... I don't want any of this getting out. I haven't told anypony about any of this yet. The incident is bad as it is, we can't have word of this getting out to the populace -”
“Word of what!?” Amethyst interrupted. “What is this about!?” She glared at her aunt fiercely. The goddess was too tired to hold back her emotions, and shame was clear in her eyes. Amethyst's mouth fell open as she slowly came to the realization. “It's about Blueblood, isn't it?” Celestia sighed.
“I'm sorry, Amethyst,” she said slowly. “I should have told you sooner... that stallion we found wasn't Blueblood.” Amethyst's face lit up for just a moment, before screwing into a picture of fury.
“Dammit Auntie!” Amethyst shouted. “Again? He's my Son! I have as much right to know this as anypony else – more right! Why won't you ever tell me what's happening!?” She jumped to her hooves and started to march out before Oak leapt up as well, catching her gently. She looked at him sadly, and he gestured back towards Celestia. The alicorn was holding out the letter for Amethyst.
“Nopony knows yet,” Celestia said. “But you're right. You deserve to know. I won't keep any secrets from you anymore. Here.” Amethyst took the letter slowly, and read it. When she was done she looked up at her aunt, speechless.
“The stallion was a disguised Aloan soldier,” Celestia said. “The body is with the doctor. He's the only one who knows anything, and it isn't much.”
“So it was them?” Amethyst asked. Celestia shook her head.
“I still don't know for sure,” she said. Amethyst brandished the letter.
“What do you mean we don't know for sure?” she asked fiercely. “He's obviously lying!”
“I went to him directly, Amethyst,” she said. “Blueblood wasn't in the palace.”
“Then they must be keeping him somewhere else!” Amethyst said. Celestia poured another cup of tea, and set it in front of her.
“Please Amethyst, try to be calm. I've considered that.”
“How do you expect me to be calm when somepony has my son hostage?” Amethyst barked. Oak put a hoof on her shoulder gently.
“Princess,” he said softly, “please. This isn't helping right now. Please calm down.” Amethyst glared at him, but her expression softened.
“You're right,” she said finally. “You're right. Thank you, Oak.” She drank her tea, and Celestia continued.
“I spoke with the King himself,” Celestia said. “He was... less than pleased with my visit, and made it fairly clear he had no intention of discussing it further with me. It could be fear, but he's never been fond of me at the best of times. I found Prince Tidus as well. He didn't know anything about it, but knowing him he simply might not care.”
“So...” Amethyst said quietly. She had been in this situation once before, almost twenty-five years ago. She was young then. Now she had more experience, and she knew what was coming. The question hung in the air, and everypony in the room knew what it meant. Celestia sighed.
“Now we wait. We sneak, we spy, and we plan.” She smiled weakly. “Now, we are politicians. Very, very careful politicians.”
***
Many miles away, the sun was of little concern to the citizens of Aloa. The sky was overcast; a thick, flat gray sheet hanging high above their heads. Light filtered through weakly, casting the peninsula in a dark gray pallor. The clouds were empty, at least, and the air was dry. It would not rain today. Many farmers were taking this opportunity to plough and plant their seeds before the dry season came upon them. The heat would be nothing to sneeze at, then, and the farmers all wanted the hard work to be through.
Brook and Blueblood sat on the balcony of Brook's home, looking out over river. They had returned home the previous night, several months worth of food and a beautifully forged plough in tow. The sun had been low in the west sky when they had returned, and Blueblood had been exhausted from the trip back. Even as the pair ate their breakfast in the open air, Blueblood still yawned widely.
“Tired?” Brook asked. Blueblood shook his head.
“No master,” he said. “I'm just... still waking up. I'll be fine.”
“If you're still tired from yesterday, you don't have to work.” Brook said again.
“I'm fine, master,” Blueblood said. “Really. I'll be able to work easily. The new plough looks like it could cut through anything.” Brook nodded.
“We should eat up, then,” he said. “We'll need our strength.”
“We?” Blueblood asked. Brook nodded, but did not elaborate. The two ate their meal in silence, staring out over the forest.
Blueblood had missed the view. The city had been nice, but it had felt claustrophobic compared to this. He sighed happily as a breeze whipped up, rustling the leaves in the distance. When Blueblood and Brook had finished their breakfast they returned into the house, depositing their dishes in the kitchen. Then they made their way out to the shed, bringing out their freshly-repaid plough.
Blueblood had not exaggerated. The plough was exquisitely forged, a keen edge running down its middle. The metal gleamed almost in spite of the dim light, as if it were proud of its own polish. Brook lifted the plough magically, and brought it out to the field. Blueblood slipped on the yoke, and followed after him.
The old pony set the plough on the ground, and Blueblood stood in front of it. He felt his master hitch him to the plough, but the old pony spoke before Blueblood could begin walking.
“Do you remember where you were ploughing before?” he asked. Blueblood nodded slowly.
“You said from here to the stump, up to the back of the house.” He turned back to look at his master, and asked, “Right?” Brook nodded.
“That's right. Take it easy, this time. We'll make it in plenty of time.” Blueblood smiled at his master, and nodded.
“Alright,” he said. He began to walk, settling easily into the hard resistance of the plough. There was soft rumbling noise from behind him as the earth was shoved aside, falling into small hill on either side of the trench Blueblood had created. He found a steady pace, and soon enough the weight of the plough seemed to disappear.
He almost found himself laughing at how easy it was. Compared to taking the cart all the way home filled to the brim with supplies, and to pulling a pony-sized stump out of the ground, this was as easy as carrying a foal on his back. A wide grin spread across his face, and he picked up his pace slightly.
“Don't go too fast,” Brook said from behind him. “Keep it steady. We want the trench to be as even as possible.”
“Right,” Blueblood said, slowing down again. “Sorry, master.”
“It's alright,” Brook said. “You're doing well.” Blueblood smiled wider.
The pair reached the far end of their new field in hardly any time at all, and Blueblood slowed to a stop. He turned around to look at his master, and saw the old pony's horn fading. Blueblood blinked at him.
“Yes?” Brook asked, catching Blueblood look.
“Were you just using magic?” Blueblood asked. Brook nodded.
“I was pushing the plough,” he said. “Helping you along, to make it easier.” Blueblood lowered his head. So it wasn't that the ploughing had been easy, he thought to himself, but that he had had help.
“You... didn't have to do that, master,” he said. “I can pull the plough just fine on my own.” Brook smiled, and put his bad hoof gently on Blueblood's shoulder.
“I know you could,” he said. “But you won't be saying that when we're done here.” His horn lit up again, and the plough lifted into the air. Blueblood trotted beside the line he had just ploughed, and Brook placed the heavy plough down behind him.
“Ready?” the old pony asked. Blueblood nodded, his head still low. The pair set off again, cutting another line into the earth.
The task remained easy, for a while. After a few hours though, Blueblood's shoulders began to feel stiff, and sore. He ignored it, pulling on. They cut line after line into the earth, criss-crossing back and forth across the field behind Brook's home. Line by line they made their way closer and closer to the old house, and closer and closer to being ready to plant. Blueblood pushed on. He knew that it was important that they finish as soon as possible, so he never complained or asked for a break, even when his master offered them. He didn't need them, at least as first. But line after line the ache in his shoulders grew steadily worse, becoming a dull, hollow burning.
The sun was low before Blueblood knew it. He had no idea just how many lines had been cut into the earth, but they were only a few yards away from the house, now.
“How are you feeling?” Brook asked. Blueblood had sat down, and was panting faintly. He looked back at his master and smiled.
“I'm fine, master,” he said weakly. Brook nodded, but did not seem completely convinced.
“Do you think you can managed a few more lines?” he asked. Blueblood nodded, getting back to his hooves.
“Of course,” he said. Blueblood set the plough behind him, and they were off again. His shoulders ached fiercely, his sides and flanks joining in now. He throbbed with every step, but it wasn't a bad pain. It wasn't sharp, and he didn't feel as though he was being hurt, simply that he was working hard. He let the burning drive him forward, as if it were and engine deep inside him.
“Just two more lines,” Brook said as they turned around again.
“Just two more lines,” Blueblood echoed, nodded slowly. He dragged the plough along, feeling his master push harder. Together the pair cut another line into the hard earth, turning around for one final push. Blueblood stared dead ahead, marking the end of the field as a finish line in his mind. He pushed himself on, refusing to give up before they reached the goal. Finally, after an entire days worth of pulling, Blueblood reached the end. He dragged the plough to the end of the field, finishing the job entirely. He dropped to his knees, sighing in relief. The aching in his muscles felt like cheering, as if his body itself was congratulating him for finishing. He breathed deeply, grinning from ear to ear.
“Are you alright?” Brook asked, walking up beside him. Blueblood looked up at the old pony, still beaming.
“I'm fine,” he said. “Just tired... thank you, master.” Brook smiled as well, and sat beside him.
“You did well today, Red. Rest up. I'll cook dinner tonight.” Blueblood laughed weakly, and nodded.
“Thank you master. I don't think I'd make anything good right now anyways.” Brook smiled wider, and helped Blueblood to his hooves. Together the pair slowly made their way inside the house, finally taking a seat at the table in the kitchen. Blueblood practically lay on top of it, his chin and front legs resting on the old wood. He almost fell asleep as Brook worked, the old pony making his way slowly too and fro across the kitchen. Brook made a strange brew, and while it cooked he boiled and ground potatoes into a thick dough, making a heavy bread out of them.
Brook served the meal with little fanfare, and the two stallions dug in. The meal was thick, warm, and hearty. It seemed to fill Blueblood with every bite, the savoury stew blending with the heavy, tasteless bread and sitting heavily in his belly. The tiredness seemed to sink away from his muscles as he ate, and when he was finished Blueblood leaned back, sighing happily. Brook had finished as well, and set his spoon down.
“Did you enjoy it?” he asked. Blueblood nodded.
“Yes,” he said. “It was delicious. Thank you, master.” Brook smiled, and Blueblood thought that he saw the old pony's head lower slightly.
“Would you...” Brook said slowly, “like to learn how to make it?” Blueblood sat up, blinking at his master. “I just thought,” Brook said idly, “there would be less to do once the field has been planted... you'll need something else to do.” Blueblood lowered his head as well.
“I'd love to, master,” he said. Brook smiled at him. Blueblood tried to smiled back, but instead he found himself yawning widely. His entire body ached when he yawned, his stiff muscles begging for rest. He stifled his yawn with a hoof, laughing sheepishly.
“Some other time,” Brook said. “It's been a very long day... why don't we get some sleep, hm? There's still much left to do.”
“Alright,” Blueblood said. “That's sounds nice.” He and Brook shared a faint smile, before climbing the staircase and heading into the bedroom. Brook clambered roughly into his bed, while Blueblood settled onto the old, familiar rug. He nestled into it, pulling the blanket over himself when Brook spoke.
“Red,” he said slowly. Blueblood looked up at him. The old pony was seated upright in his bed, looking down strangely.
“Yes master?” Blueblood asked. Brook's brow furrowed imperceptibly.
“It isn't very comfortable sleeping on the floor, is it?” he asked. Blueblood looked down at the rug, blinking. It had been hard getting used to it at first, but by now sleeping on the hard floor just seemed natural to him.
“It's not so bad,” he said, but Brook shook his head. The old pony got out of his bed, and beckoned for Blueblood to stand up.
“Come with me,” he said. Blueblood stood, not completely sure of what Brook wanted. The green unicorn left the room, Blueblood following along beside him. The two walked slowly down the stairs, and Brook led Blueblood to an old door in a small wing of the house. Blueblood recognized it vaguely as one of the rooms he had cleaned, but he couldn't remember which. Brook pushed it open, standing aside for Blueblood to look in.
The room was nearly empty inside, save for an old bed tucked into a corner beneath a window. Blueblood took a step inside, looking around. There was still an old rug on the floor, but nothing else.
“It used to be a guest bedroom,” Brook said, walking in behind Blueblood. “When I was young... but I don't tend to entertain guests these days.” Blueblood turned to him, and his his master looking somewhat wistfully around the room. He turned his gaze to Blueblood, and smiled. “How would you like for this to be your bedroom from now on?” he asked. Blueblood stared blankly at him.
“My... bedroom?” he asked. Brook nodded.
“That's right,” he said. “I... don't have much furniture for you. But it would be your room... if you want it.” Blueblood stared at him, dumbfounded. He swallowed back a small lump that had begun to rise in his throat, and smiled.
“Of course,” he said. “Of course, master. Thank you.” Brook nodded slowly, his head lowering again.
“Then it's yours,” he said. He smiled faintly. “Now... you should go to sleep. We'll plant seeds tomorrow, if you feel up to it.”
“Of course,” Blueblood said. “Thank you, master.” Brook nodded and left the room, closing the door gently behind him,
“Goodnight, Red,” he said just before he shut the door.
“Goodnight, master,” Blueblood said. The door closed with a click, and Blueblood was left alone in the darkened room. He was too tired from working to think much of it. Instead he simply climbed into his new bed, settling beneath the heavy wool covers. They were warm, and amazingly soft. He sighed happily as he sunk into the thick mattress, and he soon fell into a deep, fast sleep.
***
Days came and went, blending into one another like grains of sand on the beach. The sun rose and set with perpetual rhythm, the steady beat of Blueblood's life. Every day while the sun was in the sky he would work the fields, Brook watching and helping where he could.
The rainy season lasted barely a few weeks, soon turning over to the arid heat of the dry season. Every day Blueblood would have to cart water over from the river to keep the crops from withering and dying. With his help they persisted, surviving in spite of everything. At first Blueblood had been worried: he was terrified that he might not be able to help them enough, and they would perish and die. For weeks he waited for the rough earth to show any signs of life. Soon, though, his patience was rewarded. A sprout emerged from the ground, its brethren following close behind.
Blueblood watched them as they grew, a strange new feeling welling in his chest. He had never felt anything like it when he had lived in Canterlot. It felt warm, as if the sun itself were in his belly, glowing down onto the plants.
In the evenings Brook and Blueblood sat on the balcony, watching the forest in the distance as if shifted and changed. They talked more and more as the weeks went by, but they were comfortable in silence as well. Some days they wouldn't say a word to one another, simply enjoying each other's company.
Blueblood stirred gently in his bed. His mind was slowly coming alive, and with consciousness came a familiar feeling. It was no longer painful, simply peaceful. He let the thoughts, feelings and impulses flow through him.
He felt the soft tickle of the sheets against his fur, the old fabric full of loose hairs that brushed gently against his coat. The morning warmth seeped into his bones, aided by the early sunlight. Even without opening his eyes he could almost see it, shining around the room. Blueblood could feel the wood breathe as it warmed. He could feel the subtle currents in the air, and hear the soft rustling of the leaves outside his window.
Blueblood rolled out of his soft bed, trotting into the kitchen to prepare breakfast. Brook joined him shortly, and when the two were finished eating they went out to tend the field, as they had done every day. Where other days always seemed to have plenty to take care of, however, today there seemed to be little to do. They were finished their tasks well before noon, and they returned inside.
“What would you like me to do now?” Blueblood asked. Brook looked thoughtful for a moment.
“...Nothing,” he said finally. Blueblood stared at him.
“Nothing?” he asked. Brook nodded.
“The fields have been watered, and weeded. The house is clean... there's nothing for you to do.” Blueblood sat down, thinking about this. This was the first time in weeks that he had had nothing to do. There had always been something, some small task to keep him occupied. Tending to the field, cleaning the house, organizing his master's books. He had never had nothing to do, before. He wasn't quite sure what to do with himself.
“There's really nothing you need me to do?” he asked again. Brook shook his head.
“Not for today. I'm sure something will come up soon enough. What's wrong with taking a few days off?”
“Well,” Blueblood said, “nothing... I suppose.” Brook smiled, and put a gentle hoof on his shoulder.”
“You deserve a rest,” he said. “You've worked hard. There's not going to be much to do until we can harvest.” Blueblood nodded, and Brook trotted past him.
The white stallion thought about all the things that he could do with his new-found free time. He thought about sitting out on the balcony, or about reading. He found himself wracking his brain for anything else that he could do, but nothing came to him. Try as he might he simply couldn't bring himself to do much of anything. He sat in the main room of the house for a while, trying to muster up the motivation to start reading something, but nothing came to him.
In the end he began to wander the house. He had a strange compulsion to do something – anything – but he couldn't actually bring himself to do it. Occasionally he would stop to brush a bit of dust away from the wall, but they never really needed it. He was simply trying and failing to occupy himself.
He wandered back into the main room, where he found Brook headed through to the kitchen.
“Red,” Brook said, “you've been quiet. I thought you were reading.” Blueblood shook his head.
“No master,” he said. “I wanted to, but... I don't know.” He shrugged, and hung his head. Brook peered at him strangely.
“Is it really this hard for you to rest?” he asked. Blueblood sighed, and shrugged.
“I don't know,” he said. “I'm sorry master, I just... I just feel like I should be doing something.” Brook tilted his head thoughtfully, and tapped his chin.
“Hm...” he said slowly. His expression turned distant, and contemplative. Blueblood had seen him look like this before, but he had never been able to figure out just what he was thinking about. The old pony never spoke of the conclusions he came to, or even what the question had been.
“I think...” he said finally, “I may have something for you to do.”
“Really?” Blueblood asked. Brook nodded slowly.
“Perhaps. Come with me.”
Blueblood followed after the old pony as he climbed the stairs. To Blueblood's surprise the green unicorn ignored both the balcony and his bedroom, limping down to the door at the end of the hallway. He seemed to slow more and more the more he walked, as if there was something on the other side of the door that pushed him away.
Brook sat in front of the door, staring at it silently. Blueblood couldn't see his expression from behind him, but he could see his shoulders tense gently, and his head dip almost imperceptibly. He reached out with his bad hoof, setting it against the old door, and pushed.
The door swung open with a deep, rusty groan. Dust spilled out of it, swirling into the air. Brook sighed and stepped inside, followed shortly after by Blueblood. The room was still exactly the same as it had been when Blueblood had come in here before. Thick dust still caked everything in sight, from the ancient wooden desk to the yellowed scrolls and books. Soft yellow light filtered weakly through the grimy window, creeping across the desk. Even the two letters, still carefully sealed, sat in their places. Not a thing had moved.
As Blueblood mentally took stock of the room, something occurred to him. His heart pounded faster and faster in his chest as he continued to map out the room in his mind. If nothing else had moved, that meant that the armour was still there as well. It was only a few feet away from him. He could feel it in the corner. His legs trembled as he slowly looked over.
He had been right. It was still there, gleaming silver. Blueblood jumped back, bumping into his master.
“Red?” Brook asked, surprised. Blueblood ignored him, stumbling back and falling on his rear. He shook all over, his eyes set dead on the armour. It seemed to emanate dread, as if it were angry with him. When he looked at it, he remembered. His mind skipped back through weeks and months. It was as if they had never passed at all, and he was still right there, laying on that slab of rock at the base of the mountains. He could feel Iron's cruel gaze on him, hear his mocking laughter. It rang in his ears like some hellish choir, vibrating through his entire being. His heart pounded like a drum, keeping time with the hideous laughter. He squeezed his eyes shut, lowering his head.
“Red?” Brook asked again, putting a hoof on his shoulder. “Red? Red! Can you hear me, Red?” Blueblood was shaking violently, but he managed to open an eye.
“Red,” Brook said. “What's the matter?” Blueblood tried to speak, but his teeth clattered together every time he opened his mouth. He could see the armour over Brook's shoulder, still staring evilly at him.
“T-th-th...” Blueblood struggled. He turned away from the armour, closing his eyes again and gesturing limply at it. Brook looked over his shoulder, and understood.
“Red,” he said softly. “Red, you have to listen to me. It's armour. It's empty. It can't hurt you. You're safe.” Blueblood stopped shaking as much, and he managed to open his eyes again. “It's only armour,” Brook repeated. “Nothing but iron. It can't hurt you.” Blueblood winced again, but he breathed deeply.
“It can't hurt me,” he repeated.
“That's right,” Brook said, nodding. He sat with Blueblood, placing his hooves gently on the white stallion's shoulders. The two sat together until, slowly but surely, Blueblood's shaking subsided. His heart slowed, and the fear that gripped him faded. He still felt its cold hand when he looked at the armour, but he could bear it now. He got to his hooves, slowly and shakily.
“I'm sorry Red,” Brook said. “I shouldn't have brought you in here. You don't have to clean it-”
“It's alright,” Blueblood said. “I... I'm sorry master. I'm fine.” Brook looked carefully at him.
“Are you sure?” he asked softly. Blueblood nodded faintly, not completely sure himself. Still, he would do as his master asked him.
“Yes...” he said finally. “But... master, will you... stay with me? While I clean? And... talk to me?” Brook smiled, sighing faintly.
“Of course,” he said. “I'll be right here, Red.” Blueblood nodded and smiled weakly. He set about cleaning the room, starting by opening the small window. A soft breeze blew in, stirring up the dust.
“What did you use this room for, master?” Blueblood asked, trying to fill the frightful silence. He needed noise, now. Something to take his mind off the armour in the corner. Brook looked around the room almost dreamily.
“It was my study,” he said. “I would... study, I suppose.”
“What did you study?” Blueblood asked.
“Magic, mostly.” Brook replied. He limped slowly to one of the bookshelves, taking out one of the thick volumes. “There were other things too. Construction, agriculture... I needed something to fill my time...”
Blueblood looked up from his cleaning. Brook was looking somberly at the tome in his hooves. The old pony sighed, brushing the dust off it gently. Blueblood tilted his head. “To fill your time?” he asked quietly. Brook nodded silently.
“Sometimes... you become accustomed to something. Then it leaves, and you don't know what to do. I had to find something else to do, after I...” He set the tome down, tapping his bad hoof against it gently. “I needed a hobby, they told me. I started learning how to build... this place used to be much smaller. I expanded it as much as I could...”
“How?” Blueblood asked. Brook looked at him strangely, and Blueblood lowered his head. “I mean...” the white pony said quietly, “how could you add to your house, on your own?” Brook smiled humourlessly, brushing his hoof over the book.
“Magic, of course,” he said.
“But... I never see you using magic,” Blueblood said. “It seems like it would take a lot of power...” Brook shrugged limply.
“I don't use it anymore...”
“Why not?” Blueblood asked. Brook was silent for a long time, but eventually sighed.
“You don't use a sword to pick your teeth,” he said. Blueblood stared at him, unable to grasp what the old stallion had meant. Brook didn't give him a chance to consider it, however.
“There's a lot of dust here,” Brook said. “Why don't you go get a rag and some water?” Blueblood nodded slowly, and trotted out of the room. He felt a weight lift off him as he moved away from the armour, but there was still another strange weight there. When he returned Brook had placed the old volume back on its shelf, and seemed to be staring a million miles away. His eyes shifted slowly to Blueblood as the stallion entered, setting immediately to work.
Brook was silent for a long time. Blueblood managed to clean up most of the floor before the old pony spoke again.
“Red...” he said quietly. Blueblood looked up from his work. Brook was staring into the distance again, but this time he looked tired, and old. “What happened to you?” he asked. There was an edge to his voice, like he was in pain. Blueblood blinked.
“What... do you mean?” Blueblood asked. Brook gestured weakly to his armour, gleaming in the corner of the room.
“Why... does it frighten you so much? What happened?”
Blueblood looked slowly at the armour. He didn't shake when he saw it, but only just. He looked back at his master, every bit as slowly. The old pony seemed ancient, now. His head hung ever so slightly, his neck sinking between his shoulders. A hard lump raised in Blueblood's throat when he tried to speak. His heart beat hard in his chest. For a moment, he thought about lying. He trembled gently when he even thought about what had happened to him; he didn't think he could bear to say it aloud. But he looked at Brook again, and he couldn't lie.
“I... I'm not from here. Soldiers took me here, and... they hurt me.” He shook, but tried his hardest to fight it down. “They hurt me,” he repeated. “And... I don't know. I just couldn't... be, anymore. They... took...” He was shaking, again. He couldn’t fight it anymore. His heart felt like ice, whenever he thought about it: whenever he remembered that awful, incredible pain. “I’m sorry...” he said weakly. His breath was shallow, and ragged. “I’m sorry master... I can’t, I... I...” Brook Put a hoof on his shoulder, and hung his head.
“Don’t,” Brook said. “I understand. you don’t have to.” Blueblood swallowed, and nodded shakily. Brook sat with him until he had stopped shaking, and when he had Brook spoke.
“I'm sorry,” the green pony said. Blueblood stared at him.
“Why?” he asked. Brook sighed.
“Because I was a soldier, once,” he said. “I must frighten you... I'm sorry.” Blueblood stood slowly, and shook his head.
“No,” he said. “I'm not afraid of you, master. You were a soldier a long time ago, but not anymore... right?” Brook chuckled slowly: a dull, empty laugh.
“Yes...” he said quietly, looking at his desk. “Not for a long time... almost 20 years.” Blueblood put down his rag, and inched closer to the old stallion.
“What happened?” he asked. Brook reached out, taking the two old letters from the desk and peering at them. He was quiet, almost contemplative.
“It's true, isn't it?” he asked to nopony in particular. “Equestria does wear blinders on its borders.” He shook his head. “The same thing happened to me that happens to every soldier some day. 20 years ago there was a war... I was hurt. Too hurt to keep fighting... they gave me enough Silver for the rest of my life, and then some. Then, I came out here. I added to my home... making it what I thought it should be. I thought I would spend the rest of my life studying magic but... in the end, I never did.” He looked around the room, concluding, “I haven't been in this room for almost as long, now. Almost 20 years.” Blueblood swallowed, and took another step closer. Brooks face seemed empty, now. Blueblood hadn't seen him look so empty in a long time, almost as long as he had known him. In fact, he had only ever seen that expression the moment he first met his master. It hurt Blueblood, seeing it again.
“Why not?” he asked. Brook sighed.
“Because...” he said, “because you don't use a sword to pick your teeth.”
“You said that before,” Blueblood said. “What does it mean?” Brook stared at him. He looked around the room, and finally down at his hoof. The old pony closed his eyes, and began to hum to himself.
He hummed softly at first, but he grew louder and louder. It was steady, slowing rising and falling in a beautiful rhythm. As he hummed, Brook's horn began to glow. Like his voice it was soft, but grew brighter and brighter. Slowly but surely, the room began to stir. Dust lifted itself off the ground, particles encased in blue light flying through the air like a hurricane. Spilled scrolls rearranged themselves, and fallen books returned to their shelves. Blueblood watched in awe as Brook took control of everything in the room without even a trace of effort. He simply hummed to himself, calm amidst the chaos. In an instant, the once-filthy room was pristine. Brook opened his eyes, and spoke gently.
“Red... I want to show you something,” he said. “Will you come with me?” Blueblood stared, open-mouthed, and nodded.
“Of course, master,” he said. Brook nodded, and limped out of the room.
Blueblood followed him down the stairs, and into an old wing of the house. Blueblood could clearly see the changing wood. This was the oldest part of the home, only a few rooms big. Blueblood looked over his master's shoulder as they walked. They came to a stop in front of the one room Blueblood had never seen, the one room he had been barred from entering.
Brook was silent. His hoof hovered in the air, trembling slightly in front of the handle. Finally, he reached out, pushing the door gently. It swung open smoothly, and Blueblood could see inside.
Along the far wall of the room was an enormous bed. It looked large enough for a half-dozen ponies to sleep in; it took up nearly half the room. The only other things in the room were a small, old shelf, and a hearth in the corner.
Despite Blueblood never having entered the room, and never having seen Brook go inside, it was spotless. Everything was placed neatly and free of dust, as if it had been preserved in wax. In spite of the cleanliness, the room seemed bleak, and old. Brook stepped inside, looking around wearily. He sat in the centre of the floor, gesturing for Blueblood to follow him in.
“Red?” Brook asked.
“Yes?”
“How many plates are there in the kitchen?” Blueblood blinked.
“F-five,” he said.
“And how many bowls?”
“Five,” Blueblood replied again.
“There are also five cups,” Brook said. “And five forks, and knives, and spoons. But there are only two ponies living here.” He stood, walking to the small shelf. He picked up a picture frame, and returned to Blueblood, holding it out gently. Blueblood took the picture carefully, and looked at it.
There were five ponies in the picture, all unicorns. Two of the ponies were older: a deep green mare with a blue mane, and a pure white stallion. Gathered around their hooves were two colts, and a filly. The filly was pure white, like her father. One of the colts was white-coated, with a deep blue mane. The final colt, sitting in the centre of the picture, was a deep green foal with a brilliantly white mane. Blueblood looked up from the picture. Brook was looking down tiredly.
“This is the home my family lived in,” Brook said. My father raised me to be strong, and to love my country.” He unpinned his medallion, and removed his wrappings slowly. He turned to the side, and for the first time Blueblood saw his cutie mark. It was a powerful ocean wave, taking the shape of a shield. “I was a gifted magician... and I wanted to use my magic to protect my country. When we were old enough, my brother and I joined the military. They taught us to use our magic as a weapon. I took to it well... I learned how to use all sorts of spells. Spells for cutting, for crushing, for destroying...” He shook his head, putting the picture frame back. “You don't use a sword to pick your teeth. Somepony could get hurt.”
Blueblood sat in silence. He didn't know what he could say. Brook was silent as well. His face was still and empty, his eyes focused miles away. He slouched just enough for Blueblood to see; just far enough for Blueblood to understand.
“What happened to them?” Blueblood asked quietly. He hadn’t needed to ask; he knew the answer. It almost felt as though it needed to be asked. Brook sighed, as if he too understood what needed to be done.
“My parents were old,” he said. “They passed on peacefully, in their bed. My sister died when we were young... she fell in the river during the rainy season. We saved her, but it was too late. She fell sick, and died. My brother...” Brook shook his head. “My brother died in that war, 20 years ago. He was killed in the last battle I ever fought. Magic... I came back here... I built up our home. And now...”
“And now it's empty?” Blueblood asked. For some reason, he understood. Perhaps it was the nature of growing up in a palace. Hallways upon hallways, filled with nothing and going nowhere. But at least there had been ponies there, if he had cared to talk to any of them. Brook had had none of that. The old pony nodded.
“And now it’s empty,” he said. “An empty home in the middle of nowhere... with an old stallion that nopony cares about anymore.” Blueblood lowered his head, and stepped closer.
“That isn’t true, master,” he said. “There are still ponies who care about you.” Brook looked at him strangely, and huffed.
“Are there?” he asked. “Like the smith? Ponies don't care about White Brook the farmer, Red. They care about White Brook The Raging River. I'm not The Raging River anymore.” Blueblood shook his head.
“No,” he said. He nudged Brook with his nose, and nuzzled him gently. “I care about you, master. I care about White Brook the farmer.”
Brook was still for a long time. Even as his bad hoof slowly inched upwards, wrapping itself around Blueblood's neck he was silent. Finally, he spoke. “Thank you, Red,” he said. The two ponies sat on the floor in silence for a long time. They didn’t need to speak; they didn’t want to. It was peaceful in the silence, and they were happy. Brook's horn lit up, and Blueblood heard a clattering from behind him. When he turned he saw a Casualty set assembling itself. He look back to Brook, who was smiling warmly.
“When I was little,” he said, “my father taught me to play Casualty... it's been a while since we played, hasn't it?” Blueblood smiled.
“It has,” he agreed. “Can we play again?” Brook nodded.
“Yes,” he said. “I hoped you’d want to.” The set drifted between the two ponies, assembling itself and setting down. “Would you like to move first?” Brook asked. Blueblood grinned, and reached out. Before he could make his first move, however, and ear-piercing whistle sounded. It was long, and shrill, like a warning siren. Blueblood dropped to the ground, covering his ears against the deafening noise, but Brook jumped to his hooves, his head snapping to the source of the sound. His entire body tensed, and even after the whistle stopped he stood stock-still, his bad hoof set squarely on the ground.He was still for a moment, but relaxed slightly.
“Who is that?” He asked slowly. Blueblood rubbed his ears.
“That was a pony?” he asked. Brook hummed to himself, and began to limp away. Blueblood jumped up, following after him. the two ponies left the house, trotting towards the riverbank. There was a sea pony in the river, carrying a waxy mailbag with him.
“White Brook?” the sea pony asked respectfully. Brook nodded slowly.
“I am,” he said. “Who are you?” the sea pony shook his head.
“Just a messenger, sir.” he said. “I’m sorry.” He reached inside his bag, retrieving a scroll and handing it to Brook. He nodded respectfully once again as the old stallion took it, and swam west without another word.
Brook stared after him, looking between the rapidly disappearing sea pony and the scroll. He sat on the shore, humming to himself again. Blueblood blinked at him. He thought that there seemed to be an edge to Brook, but he couldn’t put his hoof on it. It made him nervous.
“What's wrong, master?” he asked. Brook turned over the scroll, showing it to Blueblood. It was sealed with red wax, stamped with the insignia of Aloa.
“It's from the King,” Brook said quietly. He unsealed the scroll slowly, and read it. Blueblood waited in silence, holding his breath. He had no idea what the King might want with Brook, but the thought of it frightened him. His heart pounded in his chest as Brook lowered the scroll. The old pony was silent, staring into space. His eyes drifted to Blueblood, and he sighed sadly. Blueblood swallowed, pawing at the ground nervously.
“...It's a summons,” Brook said simply. “I'm being summoned to serve as a general. Equestria has declared war on Aloa.”