//------------------------------//
// 36 — Fractious Frigate V: Mare's Honor 
// Story: Ms. Glimmer and the Do-Nothing Prince 
// by scifipony 
//------------------------------//

Brother Gruff followed me up the stair onto the bustling main deck. I raised a hoof against the bright morning sun. Cadets had hustled out a four-wheeled stake bed wagon. The meeting must have ended as Streak flapped in the air, sorting out the hitch and traces.

The second griffon fluttered beside the cart. The golden hen looked considerably younger than her brother. Her brown wings, white lion's tail, and white head feathers resembled those of the griffon master that had nearly killed me. The frisson raised the hair on my neck, but she lacked the sinewy muscle and confidence of the living weapon and instead looking svelte like a sparrow. The down feathers around eyes shined metallic blue, like the neck feathers on a pigeon; blue tipped the crest feathers sticking forward from her sailor hat. I guessed her ten years older than me. Her white uniform looked crisp as she and Streak assembled the kit on the cart. The name embroidered near the collar of the blouse read Sister Gruff.

I looked back. Brother Gruff startled, fluffed his feathers, and smiled at me. Regardless of his beak, the muscles in his face worked his cheeks similarly to a pony's did. His smile looked fake. I narrowed my eyes, turned, and judged his very wrinkled and fish-stained uniform shirt. The catch strips were unzipped, revealing a whiter spot where insignia had been stripped. It also revealed embroidery: Brother Gruff.

I looked from him to his busy "sister" and back. Not related, I decided. It took less than a minute for Streak to hitch up with Sister Gruff's assistance. Ponies cleared the deck.

Sister Gruff walked up to Brother Gruff, shoving his shoulder with a talon. She said, "Don't leave me to do your work. I'm warning you."

The hen was my size, but I didn't doubt she could be dangerous. Her smaller svelte beak had razor sharp edges. Her ivory talons resembled pretty ceramic knives.

Brother Gruff grumped and moved behind me. This put me between them. The hen hissed. "Don't trust him, Ma'am."

I blew amused air through my lips. I'd kept my horn lit, and in the morning sunlight nopony could see my aura. I also queued Levitation.

Bent Feather climbed onto the bed of the supply wagon, together with one of my two guards. Made sense, as somepony had to direct Streak where to fly for supplies and to carry my orders. I trotted up. "Send back another guard when you arrive."

"Yes, ma'am," he said.

I looked for Pastel. I only needed one guard to act as a decoy, anyway, since I could protect myself. The wagon rolled across the shellacked teakwood as I realized Pastel was nowhere to be seen. Had she taken it upon herself to head back into Canterlot? I huffed, following as Streak galloped toward the forecastle, thinking how I needed to train the Royal Guard in properly protecting princesses. I'd been hauled by Streak before, but I still tensed as she looked like she would crash into the frigate's three story central superstructure. She pulled up at the last second. True to her name, she streaked upward, banking left, and over the starboard railing.

I still heard wings flapping. I spun around, ears swiveling to track the retreating sound. I kept spinning; not fast enough.

Reflexes tricked, I turned 360º and found myself looking up as a grey griffon, flapping for all he was worth, flew toward the forecastle. His tactic was to fly out of magic range before I could react. Most unicorns took seconds from wanting to use their magic to casting. Most unicorns knew only two spells, Illuminate and Levitate, and possibly a cutie mark-related spell. Of those ponies who could cast Levitate, few could target at distance, vector individual multiple items, or lift even a pony weight. Citron, who could set stucco and even cement on fire, couldn't lift me. All ponies, and likely griffons, knew these limitations.

I wasn't most ponies.

"Taking my shore leave now," Brother Gruff shouted, saluting me with a talon. He tracked to fly over the forecastle and over the bow. Made aware of the winds coming up the mountain as I took the gangway, I realized he'd not simply leapt the rail as he wanted to avoid being smashed into the side of the ship. 

Good for me.

Sister Gruff cawed. "I'm going to kill him!"

I cleared my spell queue, except for targeting vectors, spinning up a different spell. Voice lowered, I stated, "Please. Let me."

The hen reflexively jumped sideways. Her talons and suddenly triggered lion's claws clattering and scritching against the deck.

I cast.

My world slowed to a near standstill, and ratcheted 5° to the right. Brother Gruff's huge dark grey wings lowered in a downstroke that met below his massive V-shaped chest. Lightning spidered in bright blue jags over the sphere of space-time that encased me as my spell formed its singularity and warped reality. Though I was affected, slowed so I moved as if embedded in molasses, I positioned my legs widely. His wing position looked perfect.

Darkness enveloped me. Practice made perfect. I'd taken a deep breath before I floated weightless in frigid vacuum.

Pop! A thunder-like Bang! followed an instant later, caused the implosion of my in-teleport and the explosion of my out-teleport. I appeared over the forecastle.

I'd never teleported so high into the air. Like I'd proved with the prince, being able to throw him three stories up with Levitate because the spell understood he'd be safe, my Teleport succeeded because the spell understood I'd be safe despite the height.

I fell onto Brother Gruff's back.

His wings came up, even as he jerked startled first by the out-teleport and second by weight on his back. His wings buffeted me as I clasped my forelegs around what would be his withers were he a pony. My lower belly settled over his flank. I clasped with my legs, his buttocks firmly against my groin and inner legs.

That felt interesting, especially as he tried to whip his tail, which I'd captured, and buck. As a feline, not an equine, his lower back musculature couldn't propel his legs that way. Even with him twisting, I held him.

His wings couldn't manage my weight, however. Twisting and flailing and flapping, he crested the forecastle. He twisted his bird head, but the instant his deep brown eyes met my aggravated glare, he decided not to bite or peck.

"Smart pony," I spat as we arrowed down toward the bow. We'd hit it, rather than continuing beyond, falling toward the catch lake below the mountain. The impact would break our bones, more of his than mine since I rode him.

Not my intention.

I re-vectored my spent Teleport, spinning it back up quickly, made simpler by how badly I needed to prevent killing myself. My equations balanced and...

In the time in-between, I lifted my legs away from his body as fast as I could considering molasses-time. I hadn't warned him about the vacuum. I pitched our Y-axis over 90°.

Pop! I landed on my left side with a whump! 

I'd so startled everypony with my departure, nopony had moved. Since I'd targeted blindly back from whence I'd first cast, had ponies filled the space, the spell could have failed. Considering the danger I'd put myself in, I might have found myself shoved into a space that would have not been advantageous but safe.

The teak proved hard; I slid with accumulated momentum. Brother Gruff landed, trapping my left hoof. He gasped and hacked; his lungs had emptied into vacuum. I tugged and pulled free, jumping to all fours. I resisted kicking him while he was down as he coughed, ejecting red flecked spittle across the deck.

He scrambled out of reach, still coughing. Sailors and Sister Gruff dodged back, making room. When he eyed the railing—likely considering a desperate leap and dive as his wings twitched—I said, "No."

His single eye focused on me, glaring. The time he took failing to win a game of who would blink first gave me time to spin up Pull. 

He leapt.

I caught his tail, at the tuft. He had enormous power. I could lift five pony weight, that was a static lift. I dragged him down enough that he collided with the railing. He rolled into it, however, so he didn't break anything.

"You are determined to take that shore leave, aren't you?"

"I'm owed!"

"And you'll leave the first opportunity you get?"

He said nothing, simply glared as I dragged him back in front of me. No wonder he'd waited in the brig. I wasn't achieving the Ensign's Pony Relations goal, nor mine.

I said, "You have choices. Act like a proper sailor and give me your word that you won't go— what, AWOL?"

He stood. Doing so, he towered over me. He fluffed his wings. "Or?"

"Fight me. You win, I grant you shore leave. I win, you give me your word." 

He stepped back. "I get court-martialed, either way."

"Nah. You're free to pummel me with no consequence. Mare's honor." I held up my right hoof.

"Who are you?" he hacked, then coughed again, smearing red on his talon.

"Good question," I said, closing the distance between us. "Your future spouse? Considering I rode your rump midair, your husband?"

He stepped back, then back again. "Who are you?"

When Proper Step looked ready to clarify, I shook my head. I asked, "Are you going to accept the deal and fight? Or give up being an idiot."

He blinked at me.

I said, "I'll even spot you the first punch."

He studied me for a moment, noticing my bruises, his gaze coming to rest on my torn ear. 

I wriggled it. "The last pony I rode got in a few good hits." I inhaled deeply, queuing up spells and and adjusting my stance. My center of balance now floated, allowing me to move any way I wanted fluidly. I waved a hoof, announcing to our audience, "Ha! Ha! This rooster's just a big chicken."

His muscles rippled. He didn't prep. He reacted. A brawler, then, used to projecting his weight and terrifying his opponent by being a griffon. I didn't calculate that he used his wings to thrust forward. He led with his right talon, claws out. 

He fought dirty.

Guess my taunt stuck home.

That wasn't a punch, either. I'd only said I'd spot him a punch. In the arena, ponies wore gloves. A bare-hoofed punch could kill a pony. He could have balled his talon to hoof-punch, but hadn't.

Celestia, he was fast.

I dodged quick enough that he missed my muzzle, but gravity took over as he over-extended his reach. His talon sunk down. He raked me with the back of his claws and the tips were plenty sharp. I felt the hide separate on my withers. 

It sent electric jags of pain through my body, causing the muscles to cramp all the way up my neck. Wincing, I clattered out of reach from the freight train to my right. I struck the railing, bruising my flank. That pain informed me I had an anchor I could push against. I flashed on the griffon master when she sliced open my flank back during her ambush of Carne Asada, then took advantage of the adrenaline surge it caused. 

Momentum exposed his left side to me. I chose my least murderous option, because I needed the sailor to capitulate.

I dashed forward, then leapt as if running a steeplechase. I traveled over him, kicking with my back legs, connecting with my rear hooves just hard enough.

He flipped over with a thump and slid away. I skidded on my brass horseshoes before sliding into an airbag spar. He flailed with his wings out, thrashing the deck like a songbird thrown to the ground by a gust of wind. He fetched up against the railing. He shook his left wing, but couldn't close it right. His anatomy resembled that of a pegasus. I'd stunned the nerve.

I said, "Like for like, bro. I said I'd take a punch. Raking me wasn't one."

He glared daggers at me, upset that he couldn't close his wing, perhaps worried I'd done real damage. Not enough that he gave up. His muscles moved through his body as his confusion peaked. His eye narrowed. He took time to evaluate me, improve his stance, and act like a real fighter, and I let him.

I dismissed the idea of taunting him again.

He launched. With a wing out of commission, it slowed him severely.

I took advantage of all the early morning running I did, and dodged out of reach. 

He barreled at me twice more—and maneuvered me toward a mast! I couldn't dodge!

I reared, exposing my belly.

He adjusted his angle and talons to compensate, lowering his body to avoid my pedaling hooves, while slowing his advance because of the crouch.

He'd missed that I'd also crouched. I kicked myself airborne at the last instant, and because of his stance it didn't need to be very high. I landed a hoof on the meaty part of his neck as he completed raking where I'd been with a talon. The hoof-strike transferred my momentum into his body, tripping me. I rolled as I came down, somersaulting head, neck, spine, rump. Not enough momentum or purchase to kip-up to my hooves, but I rolled and stood. 

He slid sideways into the mast. Thump!

I'd seen enough: if he cornered me, I'd be finished. Stunning his wing was fortuitous. I'd learned much I could apply to my next griffon fight. Were he able fall on me with his full weight, talons out, rear claws extended, even if I used Shield he could have maneuvered me into any disadvantageous setup. 

My body had started to cool, the best telltale I was losing blood. Wetness dripped down my leg. As he levered himself up, eye on me, I reared again, dancing back, punching the air with my hooves. He turned, blood dripping from his nostrils at the top of his beak. He bellowed, "I'm taking my shore leave!"

He accepted my bait. Never a prizefighter, I decided. I finished my spell prep and calculated the vectors even as he charged. Time to end this before the statistics of my defying the power, mass, and inertia of a much stronger foe killed me.

I fell forward as I triggered Teleport. In the momentarily slow time, my hooves almost touched down. I bunched the muscles in my withers. That merited me another jag of pain. Tension transferred down my back as the darkness of in-between stole away the air and all heat from my universe.

I teleported ahead of his gallop, and a pony length and a half to his left. I shifted my vectors, pointing my flank perpendicular to his path. 

The Pop! and Bang! sounded simultaneously. My forehooves struck wood and I fell into my crouch. I bucked.

Instinct, or blind luck, curved him away as I executed. I raked the top of his flank. A hit on a pony, but not so much on a feline body. Despite his age, he was more supple, more flexible. My ancestors were built for extended running. His were built to twist, sprint, and pounce. He galloped much lower than a pony would.

Still, the strike spun him completely around. He slid into the railing flank first. I spun also, instinct dominating good fight sense. Nopony wanted a flank exposed to a predator, but my best strength short of a rearing downward stomp was a buck.

He sprung before I had a chance to correct my mistake. In that moment, I could have re-vectored the spent Teleport any direction to dodge, risking it failing for obstacles in my guess work. I could have quick draw prepped Shield with lots of approximations, which had a better chance of succeeding thanks to the danger I was in, but if it failed...

Or I could fight like an earth pony, something I trained for.

He again led with his right. This time he balled his talon into what amounted to a good sized rock. Good for me. Like a thrown javelin, he launched himself all fours airborne. He twist midair as I compensated, yawing and twisting also as I dodged.

I took his glancing blow on my left cheek, which I already rotated away. I came up with a right uppercut.

I caught his jaw where his beak met his face, feeling the thump vibrate through my hoof. His head went back. I'd used the joint above my bent hoof because using the side or flat of a hoof could be lethal—it was why prizefighters wore gloves on all hooves. I let my momentum spin me as I followed through, protecting my eyes from a slash with his wing feathers, and my side from a kick from his rear paws, claws extended.

I need not have worried.

Tension left his body immediately. His bulging muscles went flaccid as he turned for a heartbeat into a rag doll. He struck the decking like a spun throw rug—legs and wings out— and whumped onto his belly. His fur and neck dragged. He keeled over, rolling onto his left side, even as I galloped after him. 

He jerked, catching himself, keeping from breaking his neck. Rear claws extended at the last moment, stopping his spin.

No need to judge if he was aware enough to rake me on my approach with his rear legs like that twice-cursed lieutenant's cat, something I'd never let happen to me again, especially with lion paws. I teleported instead, popping in a couple hoof lengths above, having maneuvered my body into a sitting position. I punched the air out of his lungs as I pinned him. I queued Push as I splayed my rear back leg under his still limp haunch, brushing his belly as I reached my frog back until I touched something warm and soft.

"I think I won-on!" I sang, firming up my best fight arena wrestling pin, augmented with the dirty fighting the mob worked its best to instill. His wing jerked under me.

Yeah, I KO'd him momentarily. It took him a second to regain enough control to struggle, long enough to properly cast Push, to capture his talons, then his beak as he moved shakily to intimidate or throw me.

When he realized magic restrained him, he flexed his rear legs. Rather than calculating further targets to cast upon, I instead thrust backward against what I felt with the frog of my hoof. His stallion parts, or rather his—

Ponies cheered and shouted. The crew had figured out my previous profession. They had started counting him out. They sounded gleeful. "Five... Six..."

"You wanna remain a rooster?" I asked.

"Eight..."

"Who are you?"

"Nine..."

I chuckled. 

"Ten!" they cried, stomping loudly with their hooves. A certain sister griffon crowed loudly.

I wasn't a one trick pony! I'd beaten my second griffon. I said, "Give it up, already." I pressed harder with my back hoof, though frankly, reaching was causing a cramp in my ankle flexor. I started shaking.

"You win."

I jumped away, clattering around, eyes on the middle-aged wreck. Blood from his nose dripped across his cheek and down his neck. He sat up, not standing, flexing his still stunned wing worriedly. He looked green, then gulped, proving it was nausea. I'd KO'd him, if for only an instant, though judging how he managed to cross his legs, his rooster lion parts might concern him more.

He asked again, "W-who in T-t-tartarus are you?"

I grinned, then a jag of pain reminded me I was hurt. I looked left to my withers and saw 3 two-hoof length long gouges. The separated fur bled less than it looked like it ought, but red drenched me to the fetlock. A glance showed where I'd somersaulted. The length of red smear astonished me.

I gulped, my hide cooling more. Nonetheless, I answered, "I am, or rather was, a prizefighter. I won the championship three years ago. You might know the name, Princess Grim?"

He blinked at me. Obviously not a fights fan, but I heard gasps amongst the gathered sailors, and one griffon hen.

I added, feeling strangely proud, "I am Starlight Glimmer, the Earl of Grin Having, Captain of the Third Army of Equestria—in training—the Princess of Marks, and the Crown Princess of Equestria."

Ponies around me, by misbegotten pony instinct, went down on one knee, while a few petty officers saluted. Not what happened a half hour ago, but Oh Well! Brother Gruff threw off his shock, scrambling back and shakily standing on legs that didn't seem up to the challenge of holding him. He saluted with an open talon.

"Don't do the bowing, saluting thing, ponies. Please."

Everypony stood. Brother Gruff was too stunned to comply, and I decided in my largess not to kick him.

I asked, "We had a deal. Do I have your word?"

He said, "Y-yes M-Ma'am," not completely in control of his tongue, or his flagging salute, so he nodded.

"Good," I said, the fight finally catching up to me. I sat.

A sailor trotted up with white linen. I belatedly realized I had magic and I took it from him and applied pressure.

Proper Step and the ensign trotted up. I said to her, "I promised him no repercussions."

"No repercussions. Aye, ma'am," she said, nodding. "But are you okay?"

"I took worse as a prizefighter. Usually, I have a doctor to fix me up, but now I can heal myself." I grinned. "Give me five minutes. Proper Step wake me if I fall asleep."

I heard activity around me, orders being called out. I felt happy—I enjoyed fighting; getting injured somewhat less so, but that was a cost of my happiness, I supposed. Centering myself, I balanced the Barthemule mathematics associated with Dr. Flowing Water's spell that I'd copied, what, four months ago? I used the spell to search for the ebb and flow on internal energies. My own pain provided guidance. The voices and clatter faded as I slipped into an phantasmagorical landscape. This time I saw shadowed, snow tipped fjords, three of them, rising above strange pinkish sand on a shore line of crimson waters. The waves moved sluggishly, like honey. I sensed how it ought be flowing, more tidal, less restricted. I recognized the wrong in the landscape and the red waters flowing from the heights. Long ago, when Zecora had given me nettle ewe tea to ramp up my magic to save a pony's life, I'd had taken the drug-enhanced IQ to realize a pony's cells contained all the information necessary to heal themselves. The spell let me read my internal operations manual and apply the knowledge, speeding healing by two magnitudes. I pushed and cajoled my environment. The world quivered, responding to my command as storm clouds gathered above. Lightning, followed by thunder along the cliffs, announced the resulting pain. Rain came, hot and humid. The steep walls of the fjords melted. I'd incited fever. My body focused it healing to the gashes—

I gasped, shaken by what wasn't an internal earthquake.

"Ms. Glimmer," Proper Step said as my eyes snapped open, looking into his concerned eyes.

I brushed aside the blood-stained linen to see the scabby surface had indeed sealed itself. It looked nasty, red, and raw. It radiated heat. Healing was well underway. It hurt less, though it twinged angrily as I stood.

I said, "I'll be fine."

"Good trick," the ensign said, having bent down to see the difference. She nodded and stood. "I'd like to outline their mission, but suspect the word of a prizefighting princess might set the tone and expectations better."

I nodded. Self-healing sapped my energy, so I wobbled as I stood and squared my shoulders. I followed Berrytwist, her uniform immaculate, as she led me to a raised area. She introduced me as "Ms. Glimmer."

I said, "Yesterday, Princess Celestia left for southwest of the Everfree Forest. As a result, she asked the Eagle's Stoop be repositioned to Canterlot. This morning she reported a village obliterated." 

I let that sink in, then pointed toward the forest south of us below the ship. "The Golden Stag avow themselves the enemy of Equestria, and have moved against us. Proper Step will detail them later. When Celestia made her report this morning, she said, 'Take appropriate measures.' The last time I failed to act, ponies died."

I reared, pedaling my legs, shouting, "I will not fail to act this time! The Eagle's Stoop and her crew, you ponies and griffons, are the only tool allowed me. I recognize the enormity of the task I ask with a ship of this antiquity, but you must protect Ponyville for me, for everypony. The farmland surrounding the town feeds Canterlot, the capital of Equestria. Do you see my worry? The Golden Stag may choose to attack if the path looks open. Us looking strong may be enough, but it mayn't be. This is what you trained for, everypony. Make Princess Celestia and Equestria proud!"

As I'd spoken, I'd read plenty of worried faces. Most were cadets, but not a few of the seasoned airponies looked taken aback. If Brother Gruff's derision for the Stoop and the Ensign's words were any measure, I was asking a lot from a crew insufficiently trained and poorly provisioned, at least until Streak and others returned throughout the day with their wagon loads. They had to patrol today, no matter what. 

If I was right.

I refused to take the chance that I was catastrophizing. Not with my 24 dead screaming in my ears.

The ensign took over, pointing out that the best time for the putative enemy to attack would be during the last hour of the day. When the shadows of the forest grew the darkest and the long shadow approached the margins of the town and farms, while the sun dazzled eyes. Counting on ponies being blinded by the sunset, the Golden Stag could take initiative then as at no other time. She went on, urging her crew to get as many trebuchets operational as they could, even if for one shot. It'd save everypony's life.

Her words faded into a buzz in my head. I'd taken the interlude to return to my inner landscape and complete the healing process.

When Proper Step woke me, he clasped a tall wooden cup of water between his black hooves. He held it as I greedily gulped it down. Last night, I'd slept exceptionally well, apparently. I threw off my fatigue swiftly, and the healing fever passed quickly, leaving thin ragged lines of pink that my lavender fur covered. In a few days, I suspected nopony would notice my newest souvenirs.

Healing did use lots of energy. Worse, I hadn't eaten breakfast. My stomach growled so loudly that everypony heard, a few daring to smirk. My face reddened, but Proper Step understood when I trotted him off the ship, regaling him about where I wished to eat.