//------------------------------//
// Gerbil - An Unexpected Fellowship 
// Story: The Forging of Harmony 
// by The Sweezlenub 
//------------------------------//

	Banks of snow rose against the ramparts of the mountain city, which stood snobbishly against them. Those walls were unforgiving. “Get lost, snow,” They seemed to say, as one turning up their iron cast noses. “We don’t like your kind.” The snow would then slink sadly down the walls, distraught by their disapproval. More snow would come, but the walls would never submit to the snow’s desperate embrace. Because they had principles.
Gerbil smiled approvingly at the walls. He quite liked walls, he realized. Had a strict code, they did. Kept to themselves and did their work. And wouldn’t consort with all that snow. He wished that he had a nice firm wall for a companion instead of—
“Flask!” He yelled at his tarrying companion. “I’ve had enough of these cretins. Let’s get out of here.”
Flask nodded. He looked at Gerbil. “What are we going to do now?”
“I . . .” Gerbil looked down. “I don’t know.”
Flask looked back. “If we’d just had more time to talk to the Grandmaster—”
“We tried talking to that blockhead for over an hour,” the small, brownish-purple pony muttered. “And by the end he was trying to use an abacus to disprove our existence.”
“He thought it was the only way to slow down our lizard-minds,” Flask broke in. “I tried to tell him we didn’t want to eat him.”
“I know.” Gerbil concurred. “You tried. We tried.”
“Sorry.”
He raised an eyebrow in appreciation. “I forgive you.” He said earnestly. “I already forgave myself, naturally.”
Flask narrowed his eyes but said nothing.
Gerbil gazed out into the dunes of snow. He held his bowler hat in his hooves. “I don’t know,” he said again. “The south has come to us,” he murmured. “And we’re doing nothing to stop it. What this is all coming to, I don’t know. But it can’t be good.”
He furrowed his brow. “Do you see smoke?” He shielded his eyes from the setting sun. “I think there’s a fire over there.”
Flask murmured his consent. “I hear voices,” he said softly.
Gerbil strained his ears.
“North?” Said one voice over the far bank. “Are you mad? We’ll freeze!”
“We’ve got nothing left here.” Said a higher, distinctly female one. “I want answers.”
“Our clothes are warm enough.” Said yet another. “The cold won’t stop us.”
“They’re warm enough to last us here. The High North is, well, different.”
Gerbil glanced over at his fellow. “What do you suppose they’re blabbering about?”
“We could ask them,” said Flask. “Can’t hurt to ask.”
Gerbil pondered this for a moment. “Hm, yes. You’re right.” He hated it when Flask was right.
Approaching the camp, he composed himself, grimacing awkwardly and replacing his bowler hat upon his head. There were three ponies gathered around the fire, two of whom had their backs turned on the two River Ponies. The one that did not was made visible by the firelight, though since it was growing dark it seemed unlikely that he could see them. He looked distraught and anxious, wrapped tight in a thick woolen blanket. The fire’s glow illuminated his dark-yellow complexion. He sat staring into the fire.
“Ahoy, vagabonds,” Gerbil ventured. “We come in peace.”
The mustard pony screamed and toppled backwards off of his seat.
The other two turned to face the newcomers. “We’re not vagabonds.” Said the brown one with the unkempt turquoise mane. His coat had several holes through which stuffing was leaking out.
“Fine, brigands, then.” Gerbil said dismissively. “Or ruffians. Or whatever you prefer. Anyway, we couldn’t help but overhear your conversation, and we—”
“Who are you?” Said the white female with the red-violet mane. “And we’re neither of those things. We’re exiles.”
“Oh,” stated Gerbil. “How rude of me. We are ambassadors to your fair city, or, rather, the city which has disowned you.” He smirked. “Lovely bunch, truly.”
“Aren’t they?” Said the Professor, forgetting himself as he climbed up from behind the stone over which he had fallen. “I mean, they most certainly are not!” He glared artificially. “I would not return if I had the chance,” he trailed off wistfully. “Who are you?”
“I am Gerbil. Senior Ambassador.”
“I’m Flask. Do you like snow?”
“It’s alright, I suppose.”
“You were listening to our conversation?” The white pony interrupted.
“Yes. You are heading north, are you not? To what end?”
“Pegasi. The wardens of snow. Keepers of the High North”
“What, you mean those made-up flying things? Like in stories?” Interjected Gerbil.
“We have reason to believe they’re more than myth. We’re headed north to find the truth.”
“What makes you think they’re real?”
“A map.” She motioned hesitantly to the parchment before her. “I’m Sol, by the way.”
“Teydin.” Said the brown unicorn stallion.
“Professor Windfall.” Said the bespectacled, mustard unicorn. “But, please, call me Sir Turvis-Elroy.”
“You don’t have to call him that,” Said Sol. The Professor scowled at her, plainly offended.
“I’ve been trying to get that to catch on for years.” He sulked. “You’re not helping.”
“It’s going to happen,” said Teydin quietly. “The world’s not ready.”
Sol cleared her throat. “We’re proceeding north to the Derelict Strand,” she said, indicating a far border in the High North, above which was inscribed the diagram of what she did not know to be an alicorn. “Beyond that are the lands of the pegasi, or so this says, anyway.”
“Do they still live? The pegasi, I mean,” asked Gerbil curiously.
“Perhaps,” replied Sol. “At the very least, we can discover more about their solar magic.”
Flask looked up from deep thought. “If they’re still alive, they could help us.”
Gerbil nodded his head slowly. “Yes. That’s true.”
“Help you? With what?”
“Something has come across the sea. It’s taken South Verdim. We came here to seek help, but, well, you probably know how that went.” Gerbil glowered.
“I expect I do.” Sol rolled her eyes.
“So, I suppose we would ask if we could, erm, accompany you,” said Gerbil, indicating himself and Flask. “If that would be alright.”
The three exchanged glances. They nodded to one another.
“Very well,” spoke Sol. “We shall be a fellowship to proceed into the High North. We shall seek the pegasi of old so that we may learn of their magic.”
“We are in agreement, then.” Spoke the Professor. “At daybreak we proceed.”
“At daybreak.” The other four murmured their consent.


* * *




It was nightfall, and it had become quite difficult to see in the ensuing pitch-blackness. Gerbil loathed darkness, but he wasn’t sure whether or not he hated it as much as excessive brightness. At least darkness wasn’t as intrusive. He pondered which of the two was the worse as he wrapped himself tightly in his sleeping bag. Snow had begun to fall once more, and the party had relocated under a group of nearby evergreen trees. Gerbil could still see the city from where he lay. He could see the great burning torches over the walls, anyways. The snow below glinted orange in the torchlight.
He gazed at his sleeping companions. He did not trust them. He never trusted brigands, no matter how friendly they seemed. But he would go along with this quest, unexpected as it was. This was an opportunity to win the favor of the Fjordlands. This was an opportunity, perhaps, to save the Commonwealth from an impending threat, whatever the destroyer of South Verdim actually was. But most importantly, this was an opportunity to show those meddling unicorns that the Fjordlanders were stallions of action. Thinking peacefully of the looks on their faces upon the fellowship’s return, he drifted off to sleep.