//------------------------------//
// Sol - Teydin's Tale 
// Story: The Forging of Harmony 
// by The Sweezlenub 
//------------------------------//

	Though he had no reason to believe they were being monitored, Teydin spoke softly. He was a believer in this sort of theatrical effect, sometimes to a fault. Sol remembered many times when, to her great astonishment, he had appeared suddenly to surprise her, sometimes from behind a corner, sometimes from out of a barrel or bale of hay, but always with the dramatic strum of a minor chord. It made his storytelling an enthralling affair.
“Once,” he said, absently playing a low, steady string on his lute. “There lived a band of brothers. The Brothers Do.”
“They were adventurers, the sort you read about in old ponies’ tales. The sort that venture forth into the unknown in order to map out vast uncharted lands. But these ones were real. They were great thieves, forced into the service of the Queen of Windsreach, back in the old days. The Grey Ages, we call them, back when all the north was united under the one flag of the Windsreach Imperium. Before the rebellion and the founding of the Commonwealth. To win their freedom, these brothers—their names were Dashing, Delving, and Dynamo—had a mission, which they swore an oath to uphold: to chart the uncharted outlands of the high north, to disprove the Mythos of the Undying Winter, and to write their findings in logs which would one day be preserved by the queen.”
“What are the Mythos of the Undying Winter?” Asked Sol, surprised to hear of mythology she had not covered in her scouring of the College library. “I’ve seen mention of them before, but nothing beyond vague reference.”
“A load of old piffle.” Snorted the Professor abstractedly. “The sort of thing we read when we believed the sun was a great ball of superheated gas.” He chortled. “If that were true, all the gas between it and us would simply ignite. Which is stupid. We know now that we are orbited by an interdimensional glowing rock—completely intangible.”
“You don’t know anything.” Sol reminded him. Windfall discarded the comment with the wave of a dismissive hoof.
“Oh, we know some things.” He lied.
“Continue, please.” Said Sol to Teydin. “The Mythos, you were saying.”
“Right. They were written long ago by a stallion by the name H.P. Horsecrap. Mostly they were exercises in cramming as many strange or archaic words as possible into the smallest possible proximity with one another, but, for some reason, unicorns and Earth ponies alike were taking the Mythos to heart. Forming cults, even. These cults began to accumulate enough power to threaten the Queen, so she sent out these daring Brothers Do to mark out the High North, and for once and for all conclusively disprove these falsehoods that had entranced so many of her subjects. They were to make maps and record any other observations in journals, all for the official record of the Windsreach Imperium.”
“Well?” Said Sol. “What did they find?”
“Not quite what the Queen was expecting.” Teydin smirked, and began to pluck out notes more quickly. He played to a rhythmic gallop as he continued. How he managed to compress the strings into chords with only his hooves was a mystery to Sol. “They found great beings the size of mountains, ponies with strange wings, things that scared the Queen. Things that,” he paused, silencing his lute. “She didn’t want them to repeat.”
“What did she do with them?” Sol inquired. “Did they win their freedom?”
“Not exactly.” Smirked Teydin. “She didn’t trust them to keep the secrets they had uncovered, so she cursed them to eternal silence and locked them in the dungeon deep below the city. She locked the books in a great magical vault to be burned, but—”
“—But?” Sol was on the edge of the bunk, rapt by the story. Even the Professor looked mildly interested.
“If you’d let me finish,” Teydin rolled his eyes. “I’d tell you.”
“The vault.” Said Sol.
“Yes.” Teydin said, strumming the lute. “The vault. It was protected by a hundred guards and locked deep within a hull of castle-forged steel five feet thick. The Queen knew the documents contained enough to inspire an uprising, but she wasn’t stupid. She knew that knowledge was power, and would only burn the books once she’d had a chance to read them herself. So the Brothers Do hatched a cunning plot. They were master thieves, you’ll remember, and by working together they were able to dispel the magic seal on their cell. With the luck of finding a few sympathizers to one of the cults in their guard outfit they were out of that dungeon like ghosts. The queen was furious. Just because the brothers could not talk didn’t mean they couldn’t incite an uprising  among the citizens. The pen was mightier than the sword that day. Quite literally, in fact. While the queen and her guards were distracted by the rioting cultists, the Brothers snuck into the place with a flying machine. Once inside they were able to reach the vault with ease. The Queen’s seals couldn’t keep them out, as they’d previously proved, and in a matter of minutes, they had reclaimed their stolen stories.”
“What did they do with them?” Asked Sol.
“That’s the best part.” Replied Teydin. “They fled south to the Free Rivers. We call them the Fjordlands now, but even back then they were sovereign lands. In fact, they had just declared their independence from the crown.”
“The Queen couldn’t have been happy about that.”
“And she wasn’t. Especially since they’d just lost a war to the Rivers. She couldn’t extradite the brothers, nor could she follow them with soldiers. The Rivers were in turmoil, but they would fight to the last if they were invaded. Those journals were gone.” 
“Where are they now?” Sol queried.
“Nopony knows.” Said Teydin, giving a final strum. “But I figure my best bet is the Fjordlands. The Rivers. I figure if I keep importing ancient scripts, I’ll have them eventually, parts of them at least.”
“Are they willing to part with such pieces of history as those journals?” Sol brushed the red-violet hair out of her eyes.
“Apparently!” He laughed. “Not big readers down there, I suppose.”
“Strange.” Said Sol. She had never spoken to one of the River Ponies, and wondered what exactly such unlettered ponies might be like.