Full Lance & The Holy Roman Empire

by Merallakos


The Trotting of the Twosome

"You know," said Thistle. "If you took away all the trees, this country would all just one big, flat land. Like an ocean of land."
Full Lance and Thistle trotted down the two lane dirt road, the cart rattling behind Full Lance, contents still intact and on-board. The trees passed by at a moderate pace as Thistle and Full Lance trotted side by side, headed north.
On the side of the road, undergrowth batted at Thistle's fetlocks, almost as if asserting a territorial claim on the road.
The road itself had weathered much abuse over the years and decades. It was pock ridden and hoof marked and trench furrowed from ponies traveling during rain and shine. It was parched from the sun baking it, and it was cold from the morning's frost. It was dusty from the already cracked earth being further pummeled by iron shoes.
But it was a resilient road, proud with life. Grass grew between the lanes of traffic. Tree's roots crossed left and right while their colorful branches laced together above. Many leaves had fallen to the ground, mixing and drifting, making red, orange, yellow and green mosaics on the hearty pounded earth. And a pony presence trickled through it all, taking in these sights with bright eyes, feeling it in their hearts, and letting it go through open mouths.
"The ocean," Full Lance replied. "I've never actually seen it."
"You haven't?" Thistle asked.
"I've seen rivers and lakes, but never oceans," Full Lance idled.
"Huh... I don't really remember anything very well before I came here, but," Thistle paused. "I remember the ocean."
"...Neat."
The cart continued to rumble along, not quite filling the silence. Full Lance and Thistle passed a pony or two before the woods around the path cleared, making way for the neighboring manor of Sir James III.
"So, how many miles away is the Castle Town again?" Thistle asked.
"This," Full Lance said helpfully. "Is the manor of Sir James III."
Thistle stared at Full Lance. A beat. He pointed to the cluster of houses in the center of the fief. "So, that must be Duke bell's alleged castle." Thistle deadpanned.
"...Yup," admitted Full Lance after a long pause. "And see the big house in the middle? That's the castle keep."
"So those houses clustered around the keep, that must be the castle town... I have to admit it's a lot smaller than I remember it being."
"Well," Full Lance paused. "That's because Duke Bell has been fortifying the outer walls. See the final layer of houses? They're all solid stone blocks disguised as houses.
"I see," Thistle raised one eyebrow. "That's quite clever. But that must mean that that wooden box is--"
"That's right, that's the barbican."
"The stench alone would kill most ponies..." Thistle remarked gravely.
"Indeed," Full Lance agreed. "It also keeps vagrants away. As well as that, you see these fields all around the town, they are actually the area kept clear so that the ponies on the battlements can shoot invading armies; the killing fields."
"Then that fruit orchard up towards the woods," Thistle gestured towards the northeast edge of the fief. "that must be some form of devious trap?"
"Yes... a most devious trap indeed. You see, inside there are wood nymphs that lure invaders inside to stay as guests. Then when they go to sleep, they wrap them in roots and pull them into the earth itself."
"And then the ponies become tree food, allowing the orchard to grow bigger and gain more power, allowing it to consume more ponies!"
"Truly it is a vicious cycle," Full Lance agreed. "It is the handy work of none other than the mighty Duke Bell."
A dull quiet interposed itself as neither pony had much to say. The birds chirped, some farmers hummed to themselves, the wind blew and leaves fell. Slowly, Thistle and Full Lance passed through the manor of Sir James III.


Thistle's stomach rumbled.
Full Lance and Thistle had passed five different manors, each mostly structured like Sir James' with all the houses clustered in the middle. Full Lance reckoned they'd been going for about an hour --or maybe more-- at a moderate trot.
"Full Lance?" Thistle asked.
"Yes, Thistle?" Full Lance responded.
"Did we bring any water?" Thistle asked curiously.
"I figured we'd drink out of rivers or someone's well."
"Ah."
Full Lance glanced around at the surrounding countryside. They'd entered a dry grassy plain, sloping gently downwards.
"Are you thirsty?" Full Lance asked. "I believe there's a river somewhere close ahead."
"No, I'm not thirsty," Thistle's stomach growled again.
"Oh... That's good."
The cart hit a rock, causing the left side to jump up, wood creaking in protest. Full Lance looked back just in time to see the tiny hay bale rock precariously to right as the cart landed. Before it could topple Full lance side jumped causing the cart to veer to the right, catching the tiny bale at a diago--
"Woah!" Thistle had to jump backwards to avoid cashing into Full Lance.
"Oops," Full Lance veered left, narrowly avoiding steering the cart off the side of the road. Full Lance chuckled nervously, glancing back at Thistle.
"That rock nearly pushed you out into the grass!" Thistle exclaimed.
"Well," explained Full Lance. "I had to save the hay bale."
"You mean..." Thistle puzzled for a moment. "You mean you jumped after the you hit the rock to stop the hay bale from falling off?"
"Exactly." Full Lance looked back at the tiny hay bale for a while...
...Then at the sky. The sun had once more taken to the stage with only a few ensemble clouds to dance with it. A whispering of the northeastern wind set a slow but steady tempo, conducting swaying tall grasses and distant creaking trees. Full Lance looked back to center stage: the tiny hay bale. Perhaps a fifth of the proportions of a regular bale, but still posed strongly atop a stack of its siblings and cousins in arms. As it faced the wind, a small clump of rebellious fibers lifted and fell and fluttered, like a pony's mane. And focusing closer still, Full Lance could swear he felt a crackle, a spark of energy within it. Just like...
"Say Thistle?" Full Lance asked.
"Yeah, Full lance?" said Thistle.
"Do you have anything... special to you?"
A beat. "What do you mean?" Thistle asked warningly.
"I mean, do you have anything you keep that... That's from your past, but reminds you of your future?"
"Uh..." And idea sprouted in Thistle's head. "Can I see that bale of hale?" Thistle pointed at the tiny bale of hay.
"S-sure," Full Lance Stuttered. "Do you want me to stop and get it for--"
"No, don't stop. I got this." Thistle eyed the turning wagon wheel for a moment, before settling for a safer route. Thistle nimbly hopped up onto the still moving cart's right rail and scrambled up the pile of assorted foodstuffs. Arriving near the top, he picked up the tiny hay bale took it's place.
"I suppose," Thistle began. "That in way, this hay bale reminds me that in the past I was hungry." Thistle took a bite of the hay bale. "But eating it reminds me of the future, in which I am full. Is that what you mean?" Thistle looked back at a slightly horrified Full Lance. "Why are you staring at me like that?"
"You're eating Tiny Hay Bale," said the slightly incredulous Full Lance.
"So?" asked Thistle.
"It was... It's bound with blue string!" Full Lance mustered.
Thistle took a closer look at Tiny Hay Bale. "So it is."
"And I, I kind of got attached to it. It's so... tiny. Cute, you know?"
"So? It's a hay bale; it's meant to be eaten."
"I suppose that's true, but it has... Sentimental value. Like an unopened letter from someone you know: It could be great, and it makes you feel... nice."
"So, because this hay bale could taste great, it makes you feel good. But if you feel good about its potential, then you'll never eat it, and you'll never actually know if it's good, and you'll never get any..." Thistle moved his hooves back and forth, trying to think. "You'll never get any payoff!"
"But it's not about how the hay bale tastes, it's about how it makes you feel. It's about what it makes you want to do and reminds you who you want to be!"
"It's not about the hay bale?" Thistle pondered.
"It's about what it means to you. How it's... Special to you."
"It's a value you attach to something, not something already part of it?" Thistle squinted.
"It's special because you reflect on it. After enough time, your feelings become a part that is already a part of it; your feelings become intrinsic to the thing..." Full Lance looked at the path ahead. "Does that make sense?"
"Not really," Thistle sighed. "But I think I get it, and I do have something... 'special to me.'"
Full Lance smiled at Thistle. "You do?"
"Yeah," Thistle looked off to one side. "It's the ocean."
"Really?"
"Why do you say that like it's a bad thing?"
"Oh, no," Full Lance shook his head. "It's just that, I have a special thing, and 'the ocean' is way cooler sounding than mine."
"What's your special thing?"
"...An old bottle of wine," Full Lance made a grand gesture.
"An old what?"
"Well," Full lance said quickly. "Knowing who I got it from, it might not actually be wine--"
"Ew" Thistle interjected.
"--But I'm pretty sure it's wine, or at least I want to believe it's wine. But you know, it's not the--"
"--not the hay but the idea that counts." Thistle concluded. "At least to you anyway."
"Yeah," Full Lance nodded.
"Yup," Thistle agreed.
"You know something weird?" Full Lance asked after a while.
"What?" said Thistle from atop his perch.
"The birds have been silent today."
"That's weird?"
"They usually wake me up."
"You know what's actually weird, your obsession with food." Thistle countered.
"Obsession?" Full Lance squinted skeptically at Thistle.
"The feast, your wine, this giant pile of grain," Thistle looked down at all the grain. "Plus, you live with Minty, who is a cook."
"I'll have you know Minty is also a talented, natural born leader who could wrestle an ox if she needed to! Also, Nothing you said proves that I'm obsessed with food."
Thistle laughed. "Nothing you said disproves what I said."
"I--" Full Lance huffed. "How old are you anyway, eight?"
"I'm twelve, thank you," Thistle chuckled.
"Twelve? Well I am much older, therefore, I am right." Full Lance concluded.
"Yeah right. You're like twenty? twenty eight? That's like eight years. Muuuch older."
"If we get ambushed by criminals, Thistle, I daresay I will not be inclined to save you."
"And you think you could do so in the first place?"
Thistle and Full Lance's argument continued gently rolling into a chorus of small conversations interspersed by comfortable silences, as they trotted inexorably on towards Castle Town. The hours trickled by as Thistle And Full Lance forged through fields, past homes, into forests, over rivers and up hills.


As the duo closed closer and closer to the Castle Town, the forested stretches thinned, manors grew bigger and the road widened. Finally, atop a hill, a proud stone castle keep came into clear view. Its blocky structure was enshrouded by a series of rectangular towers, each connected by thick stone walls. Surrounding the walls, a collection of tile roofed buildings stood. These were in turn beginning to be encircled by a new wall, currently under construction.
"Woah," Full Lance stopped the cart.
"?" Thistle looked at Full Lance questioningly.
"That wall." said Full Lance.
"What about it?"
"It wasn't here last time I came here."
"Well it has been, what, a year since you last came here?"
"Woah, check out the hills."
Thistle focused on the distant hills. A few of the hills sides' bore regularly stepped rock terraces in place of underbrush, forests or fields.
"They look just the like the quarry by the manor," Thistle concluded.
"Spot on," Full Lance nodded. "Hmmmm..."
"Hrmmm" Thistle hrmmm'd.
"Thistle, did you bring any clothes with you?"
"You didn't, so I assumed I didn't need to either."
"Primrose would disapprove," Full Lance admonished.
"So would Minty," countered Thistle.
"Hmmm," Full Lance rubbed a fetlock on his chin. "Speaking of things Minty would disapprove of, that reminds me I have yet to give you your lecture."
Thistle turned his head away and stared mutely in the the distance behind Full Lance.
"Hey, this is an important lecture," Full Lance said.
Thistle's wide eyes continued staring at a point behind Full Lance.
"Uhh, well we sh--"
Suddenly, a strained voice coughed into existence. "Today is a bad day to transport opened harvest, Full Lance."
"--who?!" Full Lance's head whipped around to face the voice. He found his muzzle nearly colliding with the stranger's. Full Lance stared into the mysterious pony's glazed eyes.
The stranger smiled. "You didn't expect to see me here," he stated.
Full Lance mutely flapped his mouth. Finally he managed, "Rhense! I thought you were in Milan!"
The smell of peppermint wafted from Rhense' slightly open muzzle, but a sudden wind blew it away, leaving no trace. "I doubt you'll care, Full Lance," Rhense rasped. "But tomorrow will be an even worse day to transport barley."
"Why?" Full Lance began. "Why are you here? How come you always know these things? And why don't you ever answer my questions?
Another sudden wind blew Rhense' stringy white mane away from his deep gray green coat. "I was needed by the resonance of a bell. So I came here. Now I am going to the niter apple grove in the mountains below Bohemia." Rhense smiled widely, exposing pristine white teeth. "You'll be happy to know, Full Lance, that a the twin'd kiss of a star lies beneath your hearth." Rhense reached into one of his saddle bags and pulled a peppermint leaf.
Full Lance gaped.
Rhense pressed the leaf into Full Lance's mouth. "Here," Rhense began turning around. "You'd do well to freshen up your breath every now and then. You're not wrong, though you'd do well to not underestimate how quickly ponies my age can move." Then, Rhense simply trotted away, due south.
Thistle and Full Lance both stared until Rhense went around a bend, disappearing from sight.
"Who was that pony?" asked Thistle.
"A box," said Full Lance. "A box full of mysteries." Full Lance looked down at the puzzled Thistle. "This is the third time I've met him."
"bu--" began Thistle.
"Don't ask me anything else," Full Lance cut in. "Because I don't know anything else."
Full Lance began to slowly chew the mint leaf. He faced forward once more, took a deep breath, and slowly reopened his eyes as he exhaled.
"Uhhhhhhh," Thistle slowly rewound his mind. "Why did you ask me if brought clothes?" asked Thistle.
"Because," Full Lance said. "We need to become peasants."