//------------------------------// // Chapter 28 // Story: Tales of an Equestrian Mare // by Durandal //------------------------------// *        *        * Either she was adjusting to the way the world folded in on itself, or the second time was more gentle; as the world came together once more, however, it took her no time whatsoever to regret her decision to keep her eyes open. The king of Winter poured in past her defences, tearing a scream of pure primal terror from her lungs and dragging her breath out with it. It ended as quickly as it had begun, as the king swirled into a concrete form, leaving her fighting for air, her head filled with broken recollections of cold, and dark, and the empty sleep of hibernation. The king presented as an alicorn, with a coat of pure white and a mane of dark green that creaked like thin ice as he moved, but Hearthfire could still see his other-self showing through the cracks. Where the envoy had been a frosty morning sunrise, the king... He encompassed his season. That was all there was to it. There had been beautiful bleak vistas. Failed harvests. A silent world. Death by cold, by starvation. The graceful repose of a land awaiting renewal, hibernating and waiting. There were too many conflicting concepts swirling through his form, wonderful and terrible in equal measure. Like a pony emerging from a sunless cave into the light, it was not until her brain had adjusted to the flare of the king’s presence that she could begin to take in her surroundings. The Season of Winter, or at least this part of it, took the form of a wide, snowy expanse that stretched in every direction to distant mountains on the horizon. All around her, pillars of ice, alike in texture and colour to the king’s mane, rose in crazed rows to a high, cold ceiling, forming a frozen marquee that delineated the boundaries of the space and separated it from the white field that surrounded it. Around the periphery, other creatures lounged or sat, on shapeless furniture spread thick with pelts. They were almost easy on the eyes compared to the retina-searing intensity that was the king: a blizzard sat conversing with a frozen lake; a mighty oak, cracked by years of frost and thaw, was arguing some point or another with the Winter Solstice. Here and there, other things lurked, a pack of Windigos that circled the ceiling, fat and lazy, and dark scuttling monstrosities concealed which themselves in the shadows and darted out of sight when she looked at them. “Welcome to the Winter, Outsider.” The voice was a wave of cold that reverberated through her all the way to her core. She shivered, but the chill vanished without trace as soon as he fell silent once more. “Thank you for your invitation, your majesty. Uh, I’m not exactly sure of the proper etiquette...?” “Majesty will suffice. Is this form acceptable? I apologise for showing you my true self, I understand that it is stressful for Outsiders.” “Stressful?!” “Again, I am sorry. It was entirely unintentional. It has been a long, long time since I last allowed visitors.” “I suppose I should feel honoured? I don’t suppose you’d like to explain why I was allowed inside the city?” “What makes you believe I would know something like that?” He smiled, and his teeth were just a little bit too pointed. “I would be more than happy to explain my reasons. Would you join me for dinner?” At a wave of his hoof, his courtiers abandoned their own conversations, and followed as the king led them out into the snow field. There was a raging blizzard outside, now, but it did not seem nearly as cold as it should have, and the flakes did not seem to settle on her or Cas’ shoulders. It was impossible to see more than a few meters, the others just mere shapes behind them as she walked beside the king. The snow had been shovelled aside - or more likely it had been created that way, as nothing here seemed to correctly follow the rules of the outside world - to reveal the layers of ice beneath. There was a jaunty red-and-white polka dot sheet spread across the ice, and a picnic basket. “I regret that there is nothing for you to eat in my Season,” the king admitted, indicating that she should be seated before lifting the lid of the wicker hamper, “So when I have visitors, I am usually forced to deal with one of the other Seasons, and import what I need. Rocket and dandelion sandwiches from the Spring, and russet apples from the Autumn. Sardines for your companion, though I regret that they were imported to the City, tinned.” It was good, especially the apples, crisp and sweet and juicy. Cas was suspicious at first, but before long the sardines were being wolfed down whole. “So, your majesty,” Hearthfire began, between the most ladylike mouthfuls she could muster, “I think you were about to explain what this is all about? Why did it take a week for me to be allowed inside, and why was your envoy practically waiting for me when I arrived?” “Politics, I’m afraid, Outsider. As soon as I set eyes on you, I knew I had to meet you. For that, I needed to ensure that you were permitted to pass inside.” “You could have hosted me, couldn’t you, if you were so desperate to meet me? That’s what the unicorn in the buffer said normally happens.” “I could have offered to, certainly. For that, though, there must be a vote. The Seasons, along with the buffer, must agree that you are of sufficient interest to be brought through the gate. The rules require that four of the five agree before a decision is made.” “And you didn’t think you would be able to persuade them?” “Allow me to put this as delicately as I possibly can: you are thoroughly uninteresting to two of the other three Seasons.” “Ouch, your majesty.” “Apologies, Outsider, but it is true. You are a creature of the Spring, so the Autumn despises you, and the Summer mocks you.” He shrugged, as if these were self evident statements. “Regardless, I needed leverage, and if there is one universal truth of the City, it is that the Seasons are eternally and inexhaustibly jealous of one another, especially of their opposing Season. I needed to make you interesting, and the way to do that was through a little misdirection: I made sure that it was well known that one of the Seasons was desperately interested in you, but I hid my own connection to that tidbit. Each of the Seasons was more than happy to imagine that its own despicable nemesis was the one who wanted you. There were arguments and recriminations, and oh, how I played to them, and fed their basest fears. My windigos have been very full this past week.” “If they thought their opposing Season was the one who wanted me, why risk letting me in?” “The wonder that is curiosity. I’m sure you’ve heard the saying about it? No offence to your companion, but I digress. The point is, why! They have to know why, and who, is interested, in order to set their minds at rest, and for that, they have to meet you. To offer to host you would have utterly defeated the purpose of the exercise... and besides, none of the Seasons would risk letting any of the others host you, given the situation.” “I suppose that makes some sort of sense... but haven’t you rather given the game away? You pounced the minute I walked in the door, your majesty, and each of the Seasons must have already deduced that it was you all along.” “Probably,” he replied, utterly unconcerned, “but it’s too late, because here we are, and while you are in the Winter, none of them has the authority they would require to banish you back to the Outer City. Now, aren’t you the least bit curious as to why I went to such great lengths to get you here?” “I am, but I’m sure you would be telling me, even if I couldn’t care less.” “Probably,” he repeated, flashing her a smile. “You have something of mine, give it back.” The king said it carelessly, as if it were of absolutely no consequence, but the words nailed her to the floor with the sense of foreboding they conjured. “I have something of yours...?” “Yes. Something I lost some years ago in an unfortunate incident. I could smell it on you the second you stepped onto the docks. You should return it to me, it’s only fair, isn’t it? It was originally mine, after all, and you had no right to take it.” “I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about, your majesty. You will have to be more specific.” He sighed theatrically, and began to pace. Was she detecting a note of tension in his stance? There was a hunger about him, above and beyond the Winter-hunger he radiated as a fragment of his aspect. “Outsider, you are a Spring creature at heart. Your homeland is truly claimed by Spring, and has been since it was snatched from the Winter a hundred generations or more before your birth, and will remain so until the Summer claims it a hundred generations hence. You are Spring to the core... and yet, you wear each Season like a cloak. You have walked in the shadow of them all, at one time or another, and you collect mementos of each of them as you pass, do you not?” “Hang on, mementos?” Hearthfire’s hoof crept almost guiltily to her saddlebags, dropped on the ice beside her, and she drew it protectively closer. “You want something from the Box?” “That, I don’t know. It is something you are carrying. A leftover piece of the Winter, a leftover piece of me. I need it back, and I would very much like to know how you came by it.” Hearthfire hesitated before digging for the Box inside of her saddlebag. A leftover piece of the Winter. The king drew in a juddering, excited breath as she gingerly lifted the freezing crystal out from amongst the other memorabilia, and unfolded the hoofkerchief to reveal its sharp glow. “Yes. That’s it.”