Lost.
Yes, yes that was the word. Pathfinder had felt lost for so very long. He stared up at the wood ceiling over his bed, as though those old beams would have the answers he so desperately sought. He looked to his left, and the bed was empty, like it had been every morning for so many years. Rolling slowly onto his side, he stared at that empty pillow. Sometimes, if he focused very hard, he could still see her there, that beautiful blue eye looking back at him.
He wished he could still smell her.
Wind fluttered the drape covering the window letting light filter into his room. He lingered there a moment longer, forcing himself to see her silhouette beside him. But, like every morning, it was that memory that forced him out of bed.
The routine was the same it had been for decades. Fifteen minutes of stretches, then sets of wing-ups, push-ups, sit ups, repeat, more stretching, and finally a few minutes to preen his wings. In some ways, the routine had kept him sane, though his joints certainly ached more than they used to.
He opened the drape, let his eyes adjust to the light. A pair of olive trees shaded the back yard of his family home. Under their protective shade he saw four young pegasi playing. The sight of his great-grandchildren made him smile.
He poured himself a cup of water from the old ceramic pitcher on the nightstand and downed it in a single gulp. Wiping his lips with a wing, he moved to the door, took a breath, and pressed his ear to the wood. What he heard made him smile, and he swung the door open, only to be attacked by a pair of young foals that lunged at him like wild beasts.
“Grandpa!”
“Haha, easy boys,” he laughed, catching one in each foreleg. Big kisses were planted on both their heads, before their sides were ruthlessly counter attacked with his tickling feathers. “Your Grandpa’s not as durable as he used to be!”
The giggling colts squirmed and flapped their small wings, trying in vain to escape Finder’s attack. “Grandpa Stoooop!” the giggled in unison.
“Some little Rains you are,” he laughed at their torment, blowing raspberries on their manes before releasing them. “You can’t surprise Grandpa that easy.”
“We’ll get you one of these day, Great-Grandpa!” the twin on the right said, bouncing with his little wings fluttering.
Pathfinder smiled, Whirlwind was so full of energy.
“I keep telling you we gotta try something new!” Updraft said, his wing swatting his brother.
“Now boys,” Pathfinder said, putting a hoof on each of their steel blue manes. Gods how much they looked like her. “Patience is a virtue. Didn’t your Grandfather teach you that?”
Whirlwind huffed. “Grandpa Gray is boooring.”
“Try playing him at chess,” Finder chuckled. “Go on now, boys. Go find your mother. I’m sure she needs help with your cousins.”
“Yes Grandpa,” the twins answered in unison, ears splayed and heads hanging. Pathfinder watched them trot down the hall and fly out the window with a smile, then made his way downstairs.
“Grandfather, you’re looking well this morning,” a periwinkle coated mare said, greeting Finder with a hug.
He chuckled, nuzzled her cheek, then leaned back. “Good Morning, Melody, how are you?”
“I’m well, Grandfather,” she said. “And you?”
“These old bones keep me going,” he chuckled, brushing her pale blue bangs out of her eyes. “You look exhausted, dear, need me to take the kids today?”
Melody laughed and shook her head. “No, grandpa, the little ones would put you in the grave.” She leaned over and flicked his chest with a yellow hoof. “And you’re not getting out that easy.”
Pathfinder huffed. “Bah, none of you are any fun. Is Gray home?”
“He’s downstairs with Shimmer and Whisper.”
“Whisper’s home?” Finder said, a bit of surprise in his voice. “I thought he was still off in Rivendelk.”
Melody shrugged and scooped up the basket of laundry she’d been folding. “He came home last night while you were out. You really shouldn’t fly up to Cloudsdale without telling us, Grandpa. You could’ve gotten hurt.”
“Oh leave me alone, ya brat,” Finder chided her, though his tone lacked any actual disdain.
She kissed his cheek, then hugged him with a wing. “I have to head out to the market later. Do you need anything?”
“Nothing money could buy, love. But thank you.”
Melody nodded, then walked past Finder, humming a tune. She made it two steps past him when he turned to her. “Melody.”
“Grandpa?”
He smiled. “That’s a beautiful tune. When can I hear the full song?”
Melody chuckled. “All I’ve got is a refrain.”
“Well, then you just need a few verses. I know you’ll come up with something beautiful. Your grandmother loved listening to you sing.”
Putting the laundry down, Melody gave Pathfinder another hug with a wing over his back. “I love you, Grandpa.”
For just a moment, Finder smiled, feeling that oft forgotten warmth in his heart. The feeling faded when she pulled away, gone to attend to her chores and children. He lingered in the hall a moment, listening to the sound of children laughing and adults softly chatting. All of the voices were pieces of her; pieces of him. The children, and grandchildren they had seen grow and prosper through war and peace. And now the great grandchildren that she hadn't had the chance to meet.
The pain gripped his heart again. Pathfinder wanted a drink.
Making his way down to the kitchen, he found three ponies gathered around the large dining room table. His eldest daughter, Shimmer, now in her late sixties and unhappily retired, the familiar face of Gray who somehow seemed to always be lingering in Everfree City even when he had armies to lead elsewhere, and Shimmer’s son Whispering Rain.
“I’ll see what I can find out, Uncle,” Whisper said, closing out whatever conversation he’d been holding with Gray—Pathfinder wasn’t senile enough to pretend his grandson wasn’t a spy, even if Whisper had never admitted it—so it came a bit of a surprise when the young stallion continued. “You’re the one who’s married tobest friends with the Queen, ‘Prince-Consort’. Why don’t you just ask her?” Gray obviously had some retort, but it was wasted when his nephew turned to face Pathfinder in the doorway of the kitchen.
He smiled warmly; Pathfinder had never been sure if that was because he was really loved by his grandson, or because the colt was an outstanding spy. “Good morning, Grandpa. How are you?”
“Whisper,” Finder trotted over and gave the young stallion a hug. “I didn’t know you were back home. How’s that business you were doing in Rivendelk?”
Whisper shrugged. “It’s a profitable investment.” The answer was coy, non- specific, and standard Whisper. Ever since he was a colt, Whisper had been good at secrets. It was a talent that infuriated Rain, particularly when one of the grandfoals played a prank on her, and one Gray had seen instantly as an asset.
“Speak more vaguely and we’ll see if you can get a career in politics,” Finder chuckled.
“Rivendelk is less corrupt,” Shimmer grumbled, sipping her tea and tapping a hoof on the table. “Hard to be shady when the deer will just read your mind. Almost makes me glad I’m retired.”
“Not all problems are solved with the blade,” Gray noted, pouring Pathfinder a cup of tea and a small glass of wine.
“Perhaps more should be.” Shimmer growled, snatching up a roll from a plate on the center of the table. “Back in your day, Dad. Or even Commander Typhoon’s. When you got to fight griffons or buffalo, or something that would face you head on. Not changelings and spiders and…” she ended the short rant with an ambiguous grunt of disgust.
Whisper shook his head. “Mom, please. Sure, we can solve an immediate problem by putting some creature in the ground. But there’s a bigger picture to consider.”
“Now you’re sounding like your uncle again, son,” Shimmer said, glaring at Gray.
Gray merely shrugged. “If Equestria is to prosper, we must plan not for tomorrow, next week, or next year. We must plan for where we will be in a hundred years. A point I have been working to get the Queen to understand.” He turned pointedly to Whisper. “Which is why I am not currently in her good graces enough to bluntly ask her sensitive questions.”
“Alright, that’s enough politics this early,” Pathfinder said, drinking down the wine in a single gulp. It wasn’t much, but it would be enough. Gray knew him too well. “Whisper, are you in town long? You owe this old stallion a fishing trip or two.”
“Eh, I’ll be around enough to take you up on that,” Whisper answered. “But I’m due up the mountain in a few days.”
“Canterlot?” Pathfinder asked. “What on earth do you want at the old haunted castle?”
“I need to talk to the griffons, of course,” Whisper answered. “And only the upper floors are haunted.”
Pathfinder swallowed. “Of course.” As if a castle being full of griffons wasn’t, by itself, enough to constitute being ‘haunted’. Twenty-some years… nearly thirty had passed since the refugees arrived, but they still sent a shiver down his spine.
“I’m worried about what that colt from the Legate’s Lookout said,” Gray Rain announced without prompting, turning to the patriarch of the family and raising his own mug. “As Commander of the Royal Guard, I ought to know if somepony is planning a trip to Dioda. But I haven’t heard a whisper. Not until yesterday.”
“I’m very quiet when I want to be,” said Whisper with a wry grin.
Commander Gray Rain rolled his single remaining eye in a way that reminded Pathfinder very much of Iron. “I want Whisper to go talk to King Artorius, and see if he or his griffons know anything. Perhaps now that his son Grover is growing up, he’s gotten it into his mind to do something foolishly ‘heroic’ like when we were young.”
“So you think King Artorius is leading his knights back after all these years?” Pathfinder asked. “I guess it’s worth asking, but I doubt it. Let me go with you.”
Whisper raised a brow. “Grandfather, forgive me, but I thought you didn’t like being around the griffons.”
Finder sighed. “I don’t. But all this talk about Dioda… I just need to clear my head, kids. But King Artorius led his griffons here to get away from Magnus, same as we did.” He chuckled. “Hell, he’s even got a Cirran name, how much of a griffon can he really be? I still don’t trust the bastard to stand behind me, but we’ve fought enough wars together that I won’t turn him down if he wants to stand in front of me.” When the assembled pegasi looked at Pathfinder with various expressions of distrust and disbelief, he loosely held up his tired old hooves. “Really, no ulterior motives. Nothing. Plus it’ll be good to stretch my wings.”
“If you say so, Dad,” Shimmer muttered. “Just… don’t get yourself hurt. Whatever Whisper says about it, You know tthat place is… weird.”
“You think I’m that fragile?” Pathfinder scoffed. “I was married to your mother for seventy years. I’ve learned one or two things since Dioda.”
“Fair enough, Grandpa.”
“We’ll have to talk over dinner,” Gray announced. “Convene about this Dioda expedition. Should I pretend you’ll make it back here tonight, or just admit that you’ll wind up at the Lookout again?”
Pathfinder rolled his eyes. “You wound me, son.”
“Oh, come on, Dad,” Shimmer pressed. “Everypony knows he’s right.”
Pathfinder shrugged with his wings, at least as far as arthritic shoulders would let him. “Well, it wouldn’t do to completely cut off Stahl-for-short, would it? If you wanted, Gray, you could bring the kid up to Canterlot. The griffons brew some fine ale.”
“I think not.” Gray rose from his seat. “Not until we know who put him up to scratching at old scars, at any rate. I need to be off to court; my ‘better halfold flame’ may have the answers we seek. Fly safe, Father.”
“Somehow I doubt I’m going to be allowed to fly that distance at all at my age,” the old stallion grumbled back, turning to his plate. “Shimmer, do we have any prunes?”
—————-
The throne room of the Royal Palace of Equestria was cavernous and empty. It was still too early in the morning for public audiences, and Queen Platinum III was notoriously not a morning pony. She sat on her throne, a massive work of platinum inlaid with diamonds, and slowly drained an enormous wooden tankard of coffee—the rare beans were a gift from the deserts of the south, and their almost magical effect made her treasure the alliance with the camels far beyond what Gray thought was reasonable.
A few guards dotted the chamber, but oOnly one other pony of real note stood in the room. Lady Celestia, goddess of the sun, watched Gray approach the throne with the same quiet curiosity that had defined her presence since the day he first met her.
“Hello, Husband.” The Queen glanced up at the guards by the doors and nodded regally. “Leave us.”
Gray continued his approach as his subordinates left the room, swinging heavy doors shut behind them. “Your Majesty,” he greeted with a calm nod—there wasn’t any need for more ostentatious shows of loyalty and respect when they were in relative private.
She certainly didn’t bother to show him any special respect, her voice shifting to a harsher, more familiar tone the moment the doors were shut firmly. “We’re married with three kids and he calls me ‘Your Majesty’ from halfway across the fucking room,” she observed to Celestia, not even bothering to address the stallion until she turned her irate gaze in his direction. “If you’re about to tell me that I’m investing too much in the restoration efforts for Stalliongrad, Gray, you can go fuck yourself.”
“Gale—” Her pegasus name, courtesy of her father, Commander Hurricane, was how you could tell whether or not somepony was her friend.
Judging by how swiftly he was interrupted, Gray confirmed that he was not currently her friend. “The eternal winter is getting worse and ponies are starving. You yourself said my most valuable asset was public approval; how is it going to look if I turn the other way and let my subjects die?”
“That’s not why I’m here,” Gray responded, biting his tongue as to his reasoned response.
“Oh?” Gale sat back in her throne, taking a deep breath and releasing the tension in her face. She was nearly Gray’s age, and sixty years of rule through wars and magical invasions had not been entirely kind to the mare. The Queen utterly refused to endure makeup, so when she wasn’t smiling, the wrinkles on her brow gave her a look of contemplative focus and a warrior’s intuition that matched the rapier she wore at her side, even in her own throne room. “I’ve never known you to give up so quickly. What changed?”
“Something more pressing,” Gray replied. “Yesterday, some colt came to talk to my dad. He’s one of my guards, but not somepony notable enough that I knew his face.”
“And?” Gale asked.
“Apparently, somepony has proposed a scouting expedition without my approval.”
The Queen steepled her hooves and leaned back in her glistening throne. Her rapier clicked against the metal. “Gray, I know you get your cock in a knot sometimes about micromanaging the whole guard—”
“Ouch,” Lady Celestia noted with a grimace.
Gale chuckled. “Sorry, Auntie. Anyway, Gray, somepony took some initiative.”
“They proposed scouting Dioda.”
Gale waited for a moment, and when Gray said nothing, her shoulders sagged with a sigh. “Is that it?” Silence reigned over even the Queen’s head for a long few moments as she awaited an answer that wasn’t coming. Then she sat forward. “Do you remember when we were still stupid kids, when the griffons first got here? When all the old Cirrans had their sticks up their asses about it, and I had to fight Dad over whether they could even stay in the country?”
“I could hardly forget…”
“I fought Commander fucking Hurricane over this! Thirty fucking years ago! So forgive me if I’m not in the mood to re-litigate it!”
Celestia coughed into her hoof. “Your blood pressure, Gale.”
The middle-aged unicorn mare brought a hoof to her temple and finally collapsed back into her throne. “Emperor Magnus has been the monster under every pegasus bed for eighty years for no good reason. Do you honestly think he represents more of a military threat than Chrysalis? Or the Queen of Silk? Or stars-fucking-forbid, that viny bitch… what was her name?”
“Gloriosa Everfree?” Celestia suggested.
“Right, her. If the last eighty years have taught us anything, Gray, it’s that Equestria should be the monster under Magnus’ bed, not the other way around! Tartarus, we’ve even befriended a bunch of griffons that ran away from him. You’re the Commander of the Guard; you of all ponies ought to know that.”
“I do,” Gray nodded. “So to confirm, you ordered the expedition, Your Majesty?”
That earned him a scoff. “Of course not. I thought you…” Then, suddenly, the Queen’s eyes widened just a hint. “You don’t know who gave that order?”
“That is why I felt the need to bring it up,” Gray answered. “If one of us had been approached, I wouldn’t be worried. But this secrecy worries me.”
“Reminds me of changelings,” the Queen answered. Then she glanced to the literal alicorn in the room. “Aunt Celestia, remind me to have a word with you when we’re done here.”
“About Magnus?” Celestia asked.
“Aboutnd Dad,” Gale replied, returning her focus to Gray. “Tell Pathfinder to play along for now. You have full use of whatever resources you need to get to the bottom of this.”
Gray nodded. “Father is already doing just that. He’s accompanying my nephew Whisper to Canterlot. They’re visiting Artorius.”
“Ah, wonderful.” Gale sighed. “That’s exactly what we need. A dozen honor-obsessed griffon knights pushing for this expedition, and a delusional half-senile drunk to egg them on. I wish they’d find a way to get themselves killed that didn’t involve starting a war with Magnus.”
“If you’d like, I can arrange to have them assassinated,” Gray offered flatly. “The griffons, I mean. I trust you understand my father is off the table.”
“I…” Gale stuttered for a moment before slapping herself across the face with a hoof and abruptly regaining her royal composure. “Are you serious?”
“I would advise against that course of action, Your Majesty,” Gray noted. “But if you believe they are likely to involve us in a war with the griffons, then whether we would ultimately be victorious or not—”
“No! Absolutely not! Do I need to remind you what happened with the Night Guard?”
“You don’t,” Gray answered. “Do you wish for me to intervene at all?”
Gale rolled her eyes. “I trust your judgement, Gray. As amoral as it can sometimes be. I guess above all else, I want to keep the crown out of this. We haven’t spoken; if this all gets out, you’re going behind my back. If Pathfinder and the griffons and whoever else is backing this expedition do wind up going, they’re on their own. Is there anything else?”
“No, your majesty.”
“Then you’re dismissed.”
——————-
The great castle of Canterlot was a strange place, Pathfinder thought to himself. It jutted out from the side of the Mountain of Dawn, the ancient home of the goddess Celestia, and every time Pathfinder looked at it, he was certain the stonework was on the verge of falling right off.
It had to be magic. Probably the same insane magic that made the doors open on their own—and not always to the same rooms on the other side.
After a moment’s reflection, Pathfinder remembered that he hated Canterlot.
It definitely wasn’t because the place was swarming with griffons.
“They’re not those griffons,” Pathfinder said aloud, causing his son to raise a brow and glance over. “Not…”
“It’s been thirty years since the griffons came, Grandpa,” Whisper observed calmly. “Do they still bother you?”
“My scars run deep, kid,” answered Pathfinder. “I almost stabbed the Queen over them, you know?”
Whisper raised a brow. “The Third? Or the old Queen Platinum?”
“My daughter-in-law. Though she wasn’t at the time.. You think I ever cared about what the old Queen Platinum thought enough to pick a fight with her?”
A wide platform covered in topiary and grass gave the citadel something akin to a courtyard, despite its place over a massive drop off the side of a mountain. Whisper sighed as his hooves settled on the lawn, but Pathfinder found himself tensing.
These weren’t Magnus’ griffons, Finder told himself, internally this time. They’re refugees just like you. They’ve proved themselves. But he couldn’t help his shoulders tightening, and his mind grew keener and keener on the weight of Ensis at his side.
“Grandfather, are you sure you’re alright?” Whisper asked.
“I’ve been better,” he answered. “Just… thirsty. And trying my best not to show it.”
Whisper wrapped a wing over his grandfather’s shoulders. “Well, come on.”
The doors into the castle from the courtyard were stout wooden things. Jutting out of one door and into the other like the prong of a jigsaw piece was a brass door knocker; a unicorn stallion’s head, its eyes closed, with the knocker held in its teeth.
As Whisper moved to knock on the door, the head came abruptly to life, opening its shiny metal eyes and taking in the two pegasi.
“Oh my,” it said. “Pathfinder? And you must be one of his grandfoals?”
“Whisper,” the pegasus in question announced.
“Of course. Welcome to Canterlot. Well, back to Canterlot, I suppose. Are you here for King Artorius, or do you have other business?”
Pathfinder groaned. “We’re here to talk to Artorius, Angel.”
The doorknocker—or really, the spirit of the whole castle who just happened to be in the door knocker at that moment—Angel, smiled. “Oh, well that’s good. He is enjoying lunch in the main dining hall at the moment. I shall inform him to expect you. Do you recall the way? It’s straight down the hall from here and then—”
“We remember, Angel,” Pathfinder grumbled as the door swung open of Angel’s magical volition. “Thank you for your help.”
“Why, of course. It’s my pleasure. Can I arrange the kitchens to get you anything? If I recall, you quite enjoy…” Angel’s voice trailed off not because he’d grown quieter, but because Pathfinder had tuned out the overly helpful magical… thing, and walked on down the hall.
“How does anypony live here with that… thing?” Whisper asked. “Living in the walls, watching you. No privacy anywhere…” Whisper shuddered. “Did you ever know him?”
“Know who?” Finder asked.
“You know—the old Court Mage. The one the changeling queen killed.”
Finder scoffed. “He was court mage for, what, a week?. He and the Queen were close for a while… he’d probably be Crown Prince instead of your uncle if it weren’t for the bugs.”
“I’ve heard the rumors,” Whisper replied with a nod.
“Rumors?”
“About Prince Mercury...”
Pathfinder shrugged; he hadn’t heard the rumors, though it wasn’t too hard to guess. “I never cared about unicorn politics. But that colt… ‘Morty’... He was a necromancer, you know? He knew how to talk to the dead; he’d… He’d let us talk to your aunt, or our old friends from Cirra. If he were still here, Gods know I’d have him let me see your grandmother again… He was always a little crazy, but he was a good colt."
From there, the walk was quiet. Despite the rumors that swelled in Everfree City about the strange castle up the mountain, Pathfinder knew that all the paintings which would watch you down the hall and the statues that would move behind your back were kept in the upper halls, waiting for a master who would never return. The main floor was a much calmer place for most ponies - at least, ponies the age of his foals and grandfoals, who had grown up around the griffon refugees and never known what it felt like to wage war against a horde of their race. For Pathfinder, passing the hybrids in the halls inspired a terror all its own; one he knew was irrational, but which he nevertheless fought to subdue.
When the broad castle hallways gave way to an enormous feast hall, Pathfinder barely had time to scan the room. “Pfadfinder!” shouted a heavily accented voice. Artorius, King of the Griffons of Equestria, was a towering figure as he bounded over to the two pegasi. Resplendent with the white feathers of the Canii griffons once loyal to Cirra, albeit tinged with black flecks, he was not a small specimen of his race—though, thankfully, he had nothing on the size of Magnus or the evil god’s brood of freaks.
“King Artorius,” Whisper greeted, wrapping a wing around his chest and bowing. “It is an honor—”
“Oh, for the love of your gods, stop.” Artorius’ accent was a pernicious thing, slipping itself into the strangest of Equiish words and the queerest places in his grammar. “Pfadfinder, is this your whelp? Does he not know I am no king without a kingdom?”
Whisper was taken aback at the harsh greeting. “I was just trying to be polite, and—”
The words were cut off by the white-feathered griffon wrapping an arm around Whisper’s barrel. Though the motion was a friendly (if still painfully forceful) pat of condolence, Pathfinder still took a threatening step forward on instinct.
“Ah… many apologies, Pfadfinder. I forget you can be… jumpy.” The griffon released Finder’s grandson and offered a stiff bow. “Now, how can a humble knight errant be of service?”
Pathfinder and Whisper shot each other a look, though the griffon ‘king’s’ self-denigration was nothing new to either pony.
“Perhaps we should talk somewhere more discreet?” Whisper offered.
“Bah,” Artorius answered, glancing over his shoulder at the griffons’ feast hall. “The only creatures here are my knights. And I would trust any of them to hear what I have to hear.”
Pathfinder nodded. “Right. Well, we’ll be blunt, then. Somepony—well, someone—is planning an expedition to Dioda.”
Artorius’s eyes widened. “Oh. That is quite the proposal.” For about three seconds, he scratched at the base of his beak with a claw, then broke into a wry smile. “Alright, you son of a bitch, I am in.”
“What?!” Whisper gasped.
“No, no…” Pathfinder shook his head. “We wanted to know if you were behind it. Or if you knew who was.”
“Me?” Artorius asked, placing a claw on his chest. “Of course not! Certainly not for the knights and my people. Though, I confess, I relish the thought of returning now that my son is old enough at least to care for himself.” He sighed. “There is but one knightly vow I have left to fulfill in my life. I will carve out Magnus’ beating heart and commit it to the flame…”
“Here he goes,” Pathfinder muttered to his grandson, before raising his voice again. “Artorius, I spent all of last night trying to convince some damn fool greenwing that it was a terrible idea to go back. The last thing anypony here wants to do is get Magnus in a war with Equestria. We only came here because we were trying to find out who was responsible.”
“Ah. Well… I am sorry, but I do not know.” Artorius shook his head. “I hope that is not all you came for; I would hate for you to have wasted the flight. Come, share a drink with me.”
“Have fun, but count me out.” Pathfinder rustled Whisper’s mane with a wing. “I have better things to do with my days than sit and drink.” The moment it left his lips, Pathfinder realized it was the most stupid excuse he could possibly have come up with. Still, he had no interest turning down Artorius on the truth - that he did not want to sit and drink across from a griffon - to his face.
“You, touch alcohol?” Whisper asked with a smirk. “Grandfather, don’t even joke. Everypony knows you hate the stuff. You’re just running off to tell stories to the Royal Guard, aren’t you?” When his two-faced teasing ended, Finder’s grandson let his voice drop to a flat, serious tone. “Look, Grandfather… just promise me you won’t fly up to Cloudsdale on your own? If you want the evening, I’ll be glad to fly with you, but—”
“Relax for two seconds, Whisper,” Pathfinder replied. “I’m just going to glide back down to Everfree. And if you so much as suggest I can’t glide on my own anymore, I’ll… well, I’ll do something.”
Whisper replied by rolling his eyes and then nodding. “Have fun, Grandfather.”
“You too, kid.”
Pathfinder moved to leave, only to feel a taloned grip on his shoulder. He felt himself lunge out before his mind even realized what was happening, but all he achieved was feeling like he had pulled his shoulder.
Artorious seemed not so much offended as worried that the offense was his fault, immediately releasing his grip and holding up both palms in a plaintive gesture “I beg your pardon, Pfadfinder, I did not mean to frighten you. May I ask a question of you?”
“You just did,” Pathfinder answered on instinct—one of may strange verbal tics he’d learned as a father. “I don’t care, Artorius.”
“You seem to have a great worry on your shoulders about Dioda. I am wondering what you are worried about. Even if Magnus learns of Equestria, your people are safe. You have two gods now, yes?”
“It’s not…” Finder sighed. “It has nothing to do with Equestria.”
“Ah.” Artorius nodded. “There is not much of Cirra left, though, is there?” When Finder winced, Artorius raised a calming hand. “I mean no disrespect, Pfadfinder. I just… I was thinking of when my people first came here. The reception that your Emperor Hurricane gave us. But he is gone now… Things seem to have changed a great deal.”
“You’re right,” Finder answered. “I’m the last pony who fought in the Red Cloud War. Have been for two, maybe three years. And I still twitch at griffons.” He hoped his laugh covered the nervousness in his voice, but judging from Artorius’ face, it didn’t come close. “It’s ancient history. Between me and Rain, and Hurricane and Celestia.”
Artorius chuckled. “Well, then there is somepony to talk to about it.”
“There… you mean Celestia?” Finder shook his head. “I can’t just go bother the goddess.”
“Why ever not? She has always had time for me.” Artorius smiled. “And she is not a griffon, yes?”
——————
Pathfinder may have insisted on thinking of himself as some no-name scout turned alcoholic great-grandfather, but he had enough of a name that nopony questioned him when he landed in front of the Everfree palace. His son’s royal guards nodded as he passed, another reminder of how far his own flesh and blood had gone in Queen Platinum’s work disassembling the legacy of Cirra.
Pathfinder knew a lot of ponies who had been furious, but it was hard to make himself care. Maybe he was just getting old.
When the throne room doors opened, they revealed a smiling queen on an elaborate throne, surrounded by a few courtiers and supplicants, but there was nowhere near the crowd Pathfinder would have had to fight through on a day of open court. As he’d expected, Celestia stood over the shoulder of the throne, wisely and silently listening and making no indication of an influence on events.
If his foals were to be believed, the fact that she almost never spoke was a sign of just how terrifyingly influential the goddess really was on Equestrian politics, though Finder had never had the mind for politics to follow their meaning. Instead of retreading those old explanations, he settled on a smile about the lack of a crowd; ever since the changeling, crowds made him nervous.
Queen Platinum III glanced up at the arthritic sack of bones making her way toward her, but returned to her advisors without any comment. Finder sat and waited a few respectful strides away, listening to the fountains on the dais around the throne. He remembered when two more thrones used to sit in those spaces, where Puddinghead and Commander Typhoon used to sit, back when Equestria pretended to be ruled by a triumvirate.
“...and if you ever want to be heard, you old sack of shit, you’re gonna have to butt in. They’ll keep talking until sundown if nopony stops them.”
Finder shook his head to find the Queen smiling toward him.
“Your Majesty,” he greeted with a bow.
“Pathfinder.” The queen bowed her head, then sighed heavily. “The crown acknowledges that you’ve given due respect. Now, you can call me ‘Gale’, okay? You’re my father-in-law, as weird as that is to say.” She rolled her neck, producing a number of pops, before standing from the throne. “Are you here about the same business as Gray earlier?”
“I’m… Sort of. I need to talk to Celestia.” The queen raised a brow, to which Pathfinder only nodded. “About your father.”
“Lady Celestia,” somepony in Gale’s circle of advisers sniped. Pathfinder almost didn’t notice the snide correction, though, as he was distracted by Celestia’s reaction. The immortal alicorn’s ears perked, and then gracefully she rose up from her seated position to her full height.
It was easy to forget, when she was mostly hidden behind her throne, just how enormous Celestia was.
“Please follow me, Pathfinder,” the goddess directed, before walking away from the room. It took Finder a few seconds for his brain to shake off the shock of her poignant presence, and another two or three for his hooves to get moving again. Though he was aging incredibly well for a pegasus, his aching knees still couldn’t hope to compete with the enormous limbs of the alicorn, and by the time he made his way to the far side of the throne room, Celestia had already disappeared through a doorway.
To Finder’s surprise, when he slipped out after her, he found himself in the palace gardens, in a little grotto shaded by willow leaves and smelling of rich lily pollen.
“Come on over,” Celestia offered, taking a seat on a stone bench beside the water and effectively filling the entire seat.
“How… the throne room doesn’t have any exterior walls.”
“Just a little bit of magic on the door,” Celestia explained, tilting her head back to point her horn behind Finder. When he turned, the door he’d just stepped through was gone, and in its place, a long shadowed path out of the garden grotto and onto the long paths around the palace’s topiary and fountains and statues. “I imagine this is going to be a private conversation.”
“It is, my lady.” Pathfinder walked over to her, sitting down on another stone seat where he could comfortably face the alicorn. “Where do I start?”
“Well, as you aren’t a wizard, I would assume you only have the choice of the beginning.” Celestia smirked when Finder raised a brow. “I’m sorry; I couldn’t resist.”
“Well, you are right.” Finder shrugged. “There’s a royal guard colt who came to me last night asking about Dioda and the Red Cloud War. Somepony is planning an expedition back to Dioda.”
Celestia nodded. “Your son said the same this morning. But he didn’t come to me, and he did not mention Hurricane.” Celestia steepled her wings and leaned forward slightly, attentively. “I hope that you haven’t come to me looking for the answers to those questions. I know ponies assume I am some power behind the throne, but I rarely know anything about politics that Gale has not already learned first.”
“That’s not what I wanted to talk to you about,” said Pathfinder. “I… well, I need your advice.”
Celestia nodded. “Then I am glad to help. But despite what you might have heard, I don’t read minds either.”
Pathfinder swallowed, and then spoke. “I need your help stopping this expedition. I can tell all the ghost stories in the world, Celestia, but with Artorius and his refugees here, these young ponies don’t understand why going back to Dioda is a terrible idea.”
“Why?” Celestia asked. When Finder’s eyes widened, staring up at her, she calmly swept a wing through the air. “Why not just let the expedition go, I mean?”
After choking on the audacity of the question, Finder leaned forward. “What if Magnus finds out? What if there’s another war?”
“I will intercede to make sure that does not happen, if it comes to that.” Celestia answered, her voice like steel. “On that, I give you my word. I don’t know what he will do, if he will appear in person to meet the expedition, or try to turn you away at the shore. But whatever his response, I see no reason to worry about this expedition. In fact, I would personally suggest you lead it.”
“I… excuse me?” Pathfinder’s mouth fell open. “Why?”
Celestia paused for a very long moment, turning her eyes to the distant horizon. When she finally found words, they began slowly, hesitantly. “The Red Cloud War is an open wound that has never scarred. Once, you may know, I was close to Hurricane; that was the first pain I learned of in his life, and it is my great regret that I never found a way to help him heal. When I first met Hurricane, after he had freshly lost his wing, we went back to Dioda in search of my sister.” She spoke swiftly then, without enough of a pause for Pathfinder to cut in. “I do not know if Hurricane told you about that journey before he passed, but I will not speak any more about it. But you should know that, though it hurt him, returning to Dioda at least let his wounds scar. Both the ones on his heart, and his side where he lost his wing. And… if you’ll forgive me for being so bold, Pathfinder, I see those wounds on you too. You and Equestria both.”
Pathfinder closed his eyes and sighed. “I was afraid of that.”
“Hmm?” Celestia raised a brow. “Should I not have talked about Equestria?”
“I was afraid you’d actually have a damn good reason,” the old soldier answered. “I’m old and tired. And I can get through the rest of my years with my family around me just fine. I don’t care much if I ‘heal’. But fixing this mess for my foals, for my grandfoals…” Again, Finder drew in a long breath and let out a long, somewhat wheezing sigh from old tired lungs. “I just worry I’ll make a mess of it for them. Drag them into my old history somehow. I still don’t know its worth it.”
“Well, I cannot tell you what to do about your descendants. They aren’t my foals.” Celestia smiled. “I know if I was worried about my own foals, I’d want them to know the real truth about what Dioda is like, instead of leaving them with ghost stories and nightmares about an army of phantom griffons.” The grin on the goddess turned sly. “But I admit my perspective there is a bit unique. If you still need help deciding, I’ll just remind you of this: there’s only one mare in a stallion’s life that he absolutely has to listen to. And it’s not me.”
Finder looked up at the alicorn, and then frowned. “My wife passed years ago, Celestia.”
Celestia just chuckled at first. Then, carefully waving her wing over the ground between them, she seemed to make a coin appear out of thin air beneath her feathers. Pathfinder had not seen her horn light, but then he knew better than to question what Celestia could and could not do. The coin itself was… strange. It certainly wasn’t an Equestrian bit, or even old Cirran or unicorn money.
“Did you know that in the early days of Nimbus, the ancient Katagismos warriors used to place coins like these on the eyes of the dead? They believed that to reach the Great Skies of the afterlife, one needed to be carried. A coin like that was the price the ferrypony asked for passage.”
“Alright…” As Celestia spoke, Pathfinder had been scrutinizing the coin. He couldn’t even read the writing scratched into it; the language was too old. “So what am I supposed to do with this? I’m not about to go dig up Rain and put this on her eye or anything.”
Celestia chuckled. “Do you still believe in the old Cirran gods, Pathfinder?”
It was the old soldier’s turn to laugh. “I believe in you. And your sister. The rest…” Finder shrugged.
“We aren’t gods,” Celestia replied slowly, sadly. “And the others aren’t even ponies. There is no ‘Garuda’ waiting to ferry ponies to their afterlife. The Summer Lands are my domain.” Then she swallowed. “And though I may not be as gifted at bringing them back as my late pupil, I do know how to speak to them.”
Pathfinder swallowed. “Wait, are you offering…”
Celestia extended her wing, offering the ancient Nimban coin to the old soldier. “Meet me in the highest tower of Canterlot tonight, Pathfinder. I will need some time to prepare.”
“I…” Pathfinder tore his eyes away from the coin. “Thank—” But when he looked up, Celestia was gone.
——————-
Stalwart was late when Finder collapsed into his seat in the corner booth of the Legate’s Lookout, but thanks to his ‘chaperone’ in his son, Gray, Finder did not lack for company.
“Learn anything useful, Father?”
“No… now I know less than I did before...” Finder’s voice was hesitant, his mind still lingering in the gardens of Canterlot, when he motioned to Cirrus with a wing. She didn’t need any words to start pouring him an Old Cirran ale.
Gray frowned. “Then it wasn’t Artorius either.”
“Not the griffons. Not the Queen. Not even Celestia.” Finder smiled as a tankard settled on the wooden table before him. “Thanks, dear.”
“Anything for you, Pathfinder.”
After a long sip, Finder returned his focus to his son. “Though Artorius wanted to go. And Celestia said I ought to.”
“She did what?!” Gray snapped, leaning forward across the table. “Tell me you aren’t considering it.” When Finder did not reply quickly enough Gray loomed forward further. “Father, tell me this is some joke.”
“She made a damn good point, son. I don’t know. I’ll make up my mind tonight.”
Gray Rain relaxed tensed on his stool, making his light ornamental armor clink into a more comfortable position. “I’m certain Lady Celestia made a compelling emotional argument, but emotions do not weigh much against the risk of our nation going to war.”
“I wouldn’t worry about that,” Finder answered him. “Celestia gave her word that if it came to it, she would stand up to Magnus. Personally.”
“I’m hesitant to trust that a war between the gods wouldn’t hurt Equestria even worse than the changelings did.”
Finder took another sip of his beer and looked up as the Lookout’s door swept open. “Looks like Stahl-for-short’s here now, and Whisper too. And…”
Pathfinder’s eyes were perfectly sharp despite his age; Lieutenant Stalwart and his own grandson Whisper had just entered the tavern. Behind them came a pony nopony could really mistake. Garbed in a crimson jacket with a gilded trim, the relatively young faint red stallion cut a dashing figure. As a unicorn, it was notable enough that he’d entered the Cloudsdale tavern at all, rather than falling through the floor, but his presence was still accentuated by the sizeable gold epaulets covering his foreshoulders. Atop each rested an insignia wrought of glittering gold and jewels: the royal crest of Equestria.
“Your majesty!” Cirrus offered a lurching bow before rushing out from behind the bar. She spoke nervously, her voice rushed and breathless. “Welcome to the Legate’s Lookout, Prince Mercury! Can I offer you…”
Mercury had held up a single hoof midway through the bartender’s words, and he held it there waiting until Cirrus’ voice fell away. Then, with a calm motion, he lifted the same hoof to his brow, brushing the bangs of his blonde mane, parted down the middle behind his horn and hanging down each side of his head to the height of his chin. The motion brushed against a small golden crown resting on his head, and he took another slow moment to gently adjust it in the silence that had engulfed the tavern before he spoke.
“Your highness,” were his first words. “Only the seated monarch is addressed as ‘majesty’, and I hope my Mother continues to hold that title for a long time yet.” He waited, deliberately, a few long seconds before continuing. “I understand that you have some of my grandfather’s private reserve here. One glass would be much appreciated.”
Cirrus stared for a few seconds of surprise before shaking herself back to something resembling conscious thought. “Of course, your highness.”
As Cirrus rushed away, Mercury gave Stalwart and Whisper a slow sweeping gesture toward Pathfinder’s booth. The two pegasi moved at his silent bidding, leaving Equestria’s crown prince and heir to walk slowly over and settle into a seat beside Stalwart.
“Good evening, gentlestallions.”
“Highness,” Gray answered sternly.
Pathfinder gave a short nod. “Kid.”
The word put a small knot on Mercury’s muzzle, directly between his eyes, though he made no comment and the display of emotion quickly passed.
Gray was the first to speak. “Whisper, I’m assuming Prince Mercury is here because he’s the stallion behind Stalwart’s questions.”
“That’s the idea, Commander.”
Prince Mercury let out a small chuckle. “You call your own father by such a title, even in a bar?” When nopony else found the observation funny, the unicorn shook his head and his expression dropped flat. “I didn’t realize I had created such a conspiracy. You will have to forgive me.”
“For somepony ignorant, you’ve gone to a lot of effort to keep it secret,” Gray replied with signature coldness to his voice. “Even your mother, the Queen, had no idea about your plan, nor did King Artorius, nor even Lady Celestia.”
“I wouldn’t call it a secret,” Mercury replied calmly. “I simply decided that it would be better not to waste Mother’s time, or yours, step-father, before I knew whether or not the expedition was even feasible. As it turns out, there is only one stallion left in all Equestria who knows his way around the ruins of Cirra, and without his cooperation, there wouldn’t be much point going.” Mercury then turned pointedly toward Pathfinder. “I had been expecting a simple yes or no from Stalwart, not an hour-long war story.”
“And you went directly to one of my soldiers instead of talking to me because…” Gray prompted.
Mercury sighed. “Would you forgive me if I were honest? Because my step-father, like most of the first generation foals of Cirra, grew up indoctrinated by Grandfather Hurricane’s ridiculous notion that ever returning to Dioda would spell a renewal of war.” Mercury took a deliberate pause as Cirrus approached, carrying a number of tankards, spreading them around the table. He looked down at his own mug, lifted it to his muzzle with his magic, sniffed twice, and tilted it back for a small sip.
The sound of his swallow was painful and forced, and he followed it by holding the still full tankard over the cloud floor and slowly upending it. “Another of Grandfather’s misguided legacies, I see.”
Pathfinder glared. “Hurricane and I brewed that together.”
Mercury nodded. “I see. I can defer to taste on the ale, but regarding Dioda the point still stands. Captain Gray, your generation is tainted by the treason of my uncle and Stalliongrad, and beholden to the image of ‘Commander Hurricane’ as the infallible hero of Equestria. Gryphus is a potential trading partner and an ally, not a demon waiting to devour us. They are not parasites like the changelings or monsters like the spiders; they eat, and drink, and build, and therefore trade. I intend this expedition to be diplomatic. Even if I had felt I needed an authority on the subject, I would not have chosen you.” Mercury then steepled his hooves and turned his head from Gray to stare at the eldest of the gathered stallions. “I’m here to find out exactly what the esteemed Scout-Centurion Pathfinder would need to help me with my little project.”
“What are you offering, kid?” Finder grinned. “Bits? Some sort of title?”
The question earned Pathfinder steepled hooves and a small smile from the crown prince. “You will find, Pathfinder, that my resources are quite substantial—both in wealth and magic. I would be more than happy to give your family a small fortune, land enough to build a city, or whatever noble titles you could dream up, if any of those entice your imagination. Or—”
“I’m going to go ahead and stop you right there, highness.” Pathfinder lifted his tankard to his lips and swallowed down the entire thing in a series of heavy gulps. Wood crashed against the table with a not insubstantial force. “I’ve lived a long life and a damn good one too. Now I’m old as hell and I’m tired, and the last thing I want is muddying my last few years with my family thinking about titles and coins and ambitions.”
The crown prince sighed, then rose from his seat. “Gentlestallions, could I trouble you for a moment of privacy with Pathfinder?”
“What are you trying to pull?” Whisper asked, leaning forward. “If you try and drag Grandfather into your political games, Your Highness—”
“Let him talk,” Pathfinder interrupted. “But when we’re done, Mercury, you’re gonna take the answer I give you. I’ve listened to enough foals begging ‘grandpa’ for another pancake without putting up with you.”
“Of course, sir.” Mercury folded a foreleg across his chest and offered a stiff bow, then waited for Whisper, Stalwart, and Gray to leave the booth and wander to the far side of the bar before returning to his seat.
“So?” Pathfinder reached over to where Stalwart’s drink from Cirrus was still resting on the table, pulling it close and taking a healthy sip. “You going to threaten me now?”
"Please, Pathfinder, at least have some respect for my skill at diplomacy. I'm not going to threaten you. I would be an imbecile. You are a national hero, and your son is presently the head of my Royal Guard."
"I’m pretty sure the guard is still your mother's, you upstart little shit."
Prince Mercury frowned, glancing back over his shoulder to where Gray was apparently chiding Stalwart over his activities. "Also true, for the moment. But both Captain Rain and my mother are past sixty, and you, relic of a dead empire, are not long for this world by your own admission. I meanwhile, am only thirty, and I have a very firm grip on the quill of history. Do you understand, Pathfinder, what exactly that means?"
"I've been called a lot worse and a lot more creative names than you could ever come up with, colt." Pathfinder snorted in disinterest, then took another long sip of his ale.
"I'm certain. But I wasn't talking about you. You see, the power that most ponies tend to forget about the quill of history is the power not to write anything at all with it. Lady Rain's name for instance. What was her first name again?"
Finder scowled. “You want to try that again, colt?”
“No. That’s precisely the point, Pathfinder. I cannot try again, because I haven’t done anything. I won’t do anything until you are already long dead.” Mercury leaned back. “I know my mother is not… was not popular with ponies who called themselves Cirrans first, and Equestrians second. History isn’t wrong to call her the mare who killed Cirra. Griffons in Equestria? A Royal Guard separate from the ancient Legion? She might as well have killed Grandfather Hurricane herself.”
“If you think I care about bringing Cirra back, you’re barking up the wrong tree.”
“Of course not. She wasn’t trying to make you feel better when she chose your son to be her second husband. But I also know that your late wife did care. Very much.”
“Rain’s gone.”
“Legacies are forever, Pathfinder. You might not have been born into a family with enough of one to understand that, but Lady Rain did just as much as I do; she was the Princess of Nimbus, wasn’t she?” Mercury lit his horn, and retrieved from his jacket a small square of parchment, which he unfurled on the table to reveal a map.
To Finder’s surprise, it wasn’t of Dioda.
“I have, at some expense to the Stable of Nobles and a deal for my little sister’s hoof in marriage, acquired a sizeable portion of the new territories we’ve colonized in the west. I present to you the Domain of Bitaly. Most of these sites for settlement are already filled in, but this one here I’m still not settled on…”
Mercury’s hoof hovered over a black dot at the mouth of a windy black river. In florid unicorn-style script, it was labeled New Nimbus.
“I don’t want a city.”
“Yes you do, Pathfinder. Because your wife did. Because it would make her smile. And because if you don’t, you will no longer be alive when I discover that it is just as easy to erase with the quill of history as it is to write. But, of course, that will never come up. You will lead my expedition in the name of your late beloved, and her legacy will live on in a New Nimbus. Perhaps we can even bring back some part of her old home when we return to Dioda.” Mercury calmly placed both hooves on the table and leaned forward. “Have I made your position clear, Pathfinder?”
Finder growled in irritation, swallowing the last of Stalwart’s beer. “Crystal clear, Mercury. As for an answer… I’ll get back to you.”
“Oh, but of course.” Mercury nodded. “Same time tomorrow?” Then he leaned back and folded his forelegs across his chest. “Now, I imagine our other friends are still excited to hear the rest of your little story.”