//------------------------------// // Chapter 11: Cold Comfort // Story: To Serve In Hell // by CoffeeMinion //------------------------------// Rainbow Dash stalked away from the infirmary toward the barracks, struggling to keep her breathing even and her temper from boiling over. Porters, guards, and cleaning staff alike gave her a wide berth as she roamed the dark hallways of the castle. A few saluted quickly or looked askance at the unconscious figure of Scootaloo draped across her back, but none said a word, likely sensing from her heavy hoof-steps that she wasn’t in a mood to talk. Dash felt Scootaloo’s body begin to slide. She stopped, turned her head, and used her wings to push the filly back into a secure position. As she did, Scootaloo’s soft, tiny, feathered wings brushed against her leathery bat-wings, and for a moment Dash was reminded of the sensation of thermals caressing the underside of her feathers as she flew through sunlit skies… Nearby hoof-steps intruded on her reverie, and Dash glowered at a pair of scullery maids who were passing by. Once they’d fled, Dash took a long breath, savoring the pause. Her pulse began to slow as she focused on the distant echoing of hooves on stone, and the faint clinking of her own armor as she breathed. Dash looked back at Scootaloo again, then grunted and adjusted the filly’s weight. “I don’t know if I wanna know what they fed you down there, but I swear you’re heavier than the last time I gave you a ride.” She remembered the feeling of late-spring air streaming through her mane, and the sound of her favorite passenger whooping and hollering right by her ear. She recalled the exhilaration of throwing herself into a dive toward a stream, pulling up at the last moment, and kicking-up a fine mist of water as she’d launched into a backward roll. Sunlight had hit the arc of mist that trailed behind her, creating a stunning rainbow… But many things had been different then. Dash glanced at her wings again before resuming her walk. Dash maintained a steady pace until she came into view of the now-unguarded entrance to the barracks proper. “This’ll be alright for now,” she said quietly, looking back at Scootaloo. “Most ponies should be out with the expeditionary force—” “Sergeant Dash,” said a deep, familiar voice, that conjured recent memories of Zecora’s death. “I wasn't sure if you were going to bother reporting for duty before I had to ship out.” Dash paused and leveled a glare at the finely-armored, cerulean-coated thestral emerging from the barracks. He’d removed his helmet at some point since aiding the Mistress’ damnation of Zecora, giving Dash a clear view of his yellow eyes and close-cropped mane of graying brown. Despite the battle he was losing with middle age, she couldn’t deny there was a certain attractiveness in his confident stride that bordered on a swagger. “Wind Rider,” she said flatly. “I thought you’d be gone by now.” “I had to debrief a couple of scouts who got back from a recon flight to the northwest. Sounds like they ran into some civilians who saw this Alicorn and dragon that the Mistress wants us to find, heading even further northwest. I don’t know, though; maybe it’s nothing, but something about all this feels… a little too convenient.” He craned his neck, eyeing Scootaloo. “Wait a minute. That's her, isn't it?” Dash took a step backward. “What do you mean?” Wind Rider pointed at Scootaloo. “Your little quill-whore there. She’s the one the Guardian sent back from Tartarus.” Quill-whore. Dash winced at the vulgarity it represented. “I know it’s an ugly thing to think about,” he said, scrunching his muzzle. “Especially for a foal. But be realistic; there aren’t many better fates in store for her if she won’t accept conversion.” Dash swallowed, trying—failing—to think about anything other than her own transformation. The discomfort of her feathers spontaneously falling out, and of her wings’ soft skin drying into bat-leather. The awful, agonizing feeling of her wing bones being wrenched apart and re-partitioned. The unthinkable uneasiness she felt when the Mistress’ eyes were upon her… She shook her head. “Look, she just came out of Tartarus, all right? What she needs right now is rest. So how ’bout I let you be on your way, and you let me be on mine.” Wind Rider shrugged. “Suit yourself. Just don’t get too cozy; you know how long ponies who keep pegasi last these days. Especially once the Mistress knows where to find them.” Dash shook with the barely-suppressed desire to strike him. “Are you saying that you’d take me down just because I’m trying to help a kid who wouldn’t make it otherwise? Since when did they make that a crime?!” His expression softened into a faint but sad smile. “The heart’s a liability, Dash. I hope you have fun playing house while you skip out on the expeditionary force; all I’m saying is, be realistic. And speaking of the force, I’d better get moving. Some of us actually serve the Mistress, and we could use another decent Sergeant out there.” As he turned and walked back into the barracks, Dash squeezed her eyes shut, feeling shame that someone who could call Scootaloo… what he had, could still be considered such a loyal Sergeant to his ponies. He’s a lot more loyal than I am, she thought bitterly. Then she muttered: “It’s cold. Wish somepony still took care of the weather.” Scootaloo began to shake as well. Dash steadied the filly with her wings and looked back at her once again. After a few moments, Scootaloo’s shaking subsided, and Dash sighed. “I guess you feel it too, eh? Maybe we can find you someplace safer… or at least warmer. I just hope Rarity won’t mind me barging in.” Dash set off on a lengthy, quiet walk across the castle, eventually arriving at a modest set of double doors in the middle of a better-furnished hallway. She reached a hoof up into her armor and produced the heavy keyring Rarity had given her, then set about the painstaking task of selecting, examining, and trying keys. She muttered any number of curses before she finally found one that turned in the lock. The doors swung open on well-oiled hinges, revealing only hints of the pitch-black and deathly cold room within. “Ugh, how is it even worse in here?” Dash asked nopony. She picked her way toward Rarity’s desk, then fumbled for the steel knife and piece of flint that Rarity kept there. She struck them together in the nearby fireplace, which she was glad to find prepared with kindling and dead wood scavenged from the remains of the Everfree. With the fire lit, deep shadows leapt out, and the finely furnished room came into view. Dash crossed to the opposite end of the room and opened the door to Rarity’s bedchamber. Most of its details were washed-out in semidarkness, but the large bed in the middle of it was all she really needed… Dash approached the bed and pulled the covers aside. She then carefully laid Scootaloo down and pulled them back up over her. After a long spell of simply watching Scootaloo’s chest rise and fall, Dash whispered: “Why did you always want to hang out with me? I was a laughingstock in Cloudsdale. Never even made it as much of a weatherpony, unless you needed a rainbow.” She laughed bitterly and looked back at her flank. “Like making big, cool rainbows was supposed to make me special.” Scootaloo began to shake again. Dash glanced around the room. “Hold on, maybe I can find you some more blankets…” The shaking grew more violent. Dash leaned closer to the bed, refocusing on Scootaloo. “Uh… you okay, kid?” Dash trembled as the filly’s back arched suddenly, and the dim thought surfaced that what she was looking at might be a seizure, rather than Scootaloo merely being cold. It was something she’d learned about in Cloudsdale, as sometimes pegasi would get struck by lightning, and seizures could be among the aftereffects. Her mind raced as she tried to recall anything useful that she’d learned, and her pulse and breathing quickened as she took stock of the situation. Scootaloo was already on her side, and being on the bed, her head wasn’t in any immediate danger of hitting something hard. But there wasn’t anything in Scootaloo’s mouth to keep her from grinding her teeth or biting down on her tongue, and it didn’t seem like she was going to relax enough for Dash to get anything in there. “Okay, kid,” Dash said, her voice and hooves trembling as she tried in vain to hold the filly still. “I’m just… I’m gonna be right here, okay? You just… I’m here. You don’t have to worry. Everything’s gonna be okay.” The words rang hollow to her, and she had no way of knowing if they could even reach Scootaloo. But she stood fast, watching as much as she could bear of the filly’s rigid writhing, and of the pained expressions spasming intermittently across her face. Dash folded her ears down as Scootaloo began a series of hissing, stuttering vocalizations. “I gotta get Redheart back,” Dash said through clenched teeth. After what felt like an eternity, the seizure calmed. Dash let her hooves enclose Scootaloo in a gentle hug, in part to make sure that the filly’s body was still warm. Scootaloo’s breathing came in uneven gasps, but at least it continued. “Okay, here’s what we’re gonna do. We’re gonna let you get some sleep, while I…” She swallowed, dreading the prospect of leaving Scootaloo alone again. “We’re just gonna pray to… to you-know-who that I can drag Redheart back here to look at you again.” She took a deep breath, steeling herself to say what she needed to say. “To Celestia,” she whispered. “We’re gonna pray that to Celestia.”