King of Diamonds

by Midnightshadow

Hearth and Home - Part 2

        ♠♣♥♦King of
Diamonds
The Ambassador's Son - Book 2
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The cavern was small and cramped, the walls pock-marked with rough claw-marks from where the pack had been digging it out. The Tacksworn Deep Holt was new, unfinished, and currently almost empty. Ventilation shafts led upwards to the surface. Down them flowed cool, crisp air as well as the sounds of celebration. Above, Tacksworn rang in Winter and bid farewell to the Fall. Below in the cavern, two groups of hulking trolls stood glaring at each other warily in the flickering torch-light, soft growls echoing between them in the enclosed space, sizing each other up.
Diamond Dogs weren't generally very good at sneaky, but Bruiser and Gnasher had learned a few tricks since Akhekhu had taken them under her wing. As alphas in the Sapphire Reaches Pack, formerly of the Shattered Hills, they had pledged their lives to the blue dragoness, ancient matriarch of her dragon clan and titular monarch who had enslaved their ancestors. Now, their geas demanded action, and the most furtive of meetings was about to take place.

"You not followed?" Bruiser asked, furtively glancing at the barred doors to the holt.
"We not followed. You not followed?" Gnasher replied, biting off his words in the snarling growl which stood for his attempt at 'stealthy'.
"No. It safe to talk." Bruiser clenched his great paws into fists. Talking wasn't his strong point, but it was necessary.
"When do we kill weakling dragon-pup?" demanded Gnasher, baring his teeth, top lip curling upwards. "Whelp is small and puny. We take this town tomorrow if whelp dead."
"Fool!" snarled Bruiser, stomping forwards with clenched fists. Gnasher leaned forwards, daring Bruiser to take another step. Bruiser ignored it. "Sharptooth run through us like claws through hide! We must wait, bide time. Bow down to dragon-pup for now... when ready, he pay."
"When is ready?" Gnasher grumbled. "Am tired of bowing to pathetic pony-dragon. Tired of scraping to worthless mongrel trolls from worthless town. This our town. When we take it?"
"When we have what Mistress seeks. Dragon-pup don't have staff, but dragon-pup have map," Bruiser said, stomping a hind foot for emphasis.
Gnasher slammed one meaty fist into the other, snapping his teeth and growling low. "But map is wrong map! My hounds know this! Yours do too!" the diamond dog snarled, glaring balefully as he leveled one great paw at his pack-mate. A chorus of growls from the assembled, mostly-submissive betas signalled general agreement. It was a challenge which set the other group baring fangs and raising hackles in response. Before the displeasure could turn to an all-out scrap, Gnasher rounded on them all, growling at them to fall in line.
As silence fell, Bruiser just grinned. "No, it not that map is wrong map, or that staff is wrong staff! Staff exist, yes?"
"Yeesss..?" Gnasher replied, furrowing his brow.
"Bruiser thinking: staff exist, map exist... map may be wrong map, staff wrong staff... but map exist, staff exist."
"You say... you say..." Gnasher screwed up his muzzle, deep in thought, his pack betas watching his every move intently in between glaring at their opponents and baring fangs.
"Bruiser say real staff exist, real map exist. Best place to find them? Here. Dragon pup bring them to us, and when he does, we take. He no alpha. He just pup. Bruiser challenge! Bruiser crush, Bruiser kill... wear pelt for cloak. Dragon cloak!"
Gnasher growled low in his throat, thoughtfully. "Mistress not like that." The diamond dog scratched at his chin, pacing. Scheming was something difficult for him. He'd been born into the pack, had risen through the ranks due to his formidable size, and had been taken before Akhekhu to be made a true alpha. She had claimed him for her own, placing her mark upon his hide and her claws around his heart. He hated her with a burning passion that rivaled any dragon's fire, but had no way to break free. "What do when Mistress want staff?"
"Bruiser no listen to Mistress then. Bruiser then king of all diamond dogs! Bruiser king even of Mistress." The diamond dog spat on the floor, kicking dust over the drying patch of phlegm. "That Mistress."
Gnasher shook, glancing furtively around the empty cavern, almost sure she could hear them. "Mistress strong! Powerful!"
"Bruiser be stronger. Pack show how, right?"
Gnasher stepped back, growling, as the alpha male before him turned to his betas. Gnasher's fur stood on end, there was something... wrong about Bruiser's pack-mates. "Why listen to them? What they know? Stupid mongrels! Akhekhu skin you all, use bones for soup!"
Bruiser's pack-mates hissed at him, low growls emanating from their throats. He snarled back, beating his chest.
One stood forward. "We show you, mighty alpha Gnasher, but this not for beta pups. Just for alpha dogs." His eyes glittered in the semi-darkness.
"You show how to defeat dragon?"
"Oh yes, alpha Gnasher, we can defeat a dragon. We tell you how. Unless you scared. "
Gnasher growled to himself, but turned and shooed his minions out. "Leave, dogs! Topside! Join party, watch for dragons, feast. We meet again tomorrow for hunt."
The betas snarled and lashed out with their claws at being dismissed, but betas were betas and they obeyed their alpha. In moments, the cavern was empty.
Grumbling, Gnasher turned back to Bruiser. "Tell!"
Bruiser's betas approached him silently, and every bone in his body told him to run, but he found he couldn't. In the close, fetid gloom, Gnasher swore he saw blue lights dancing like fireflies.  It was their eyes, he realized, their eyes were glowing a soft blue. They were like limpid pools. They called to him. He was drowning in them.
"N-no, you not... stay back!"
"Relax, Alpha Gnasher." the voice was soft, sibilant. It wasn't from the betas, it was from... something else. A pony... what was a pony doing here, in the most sacred of troll holdouts? No, it wasn't a pony... it looked kind of like a pony, but it obviously wasn't. And then, in a flickering instant, it was gone again. Whatever it was. Had there been something there? The betas surrounded him now, and he was—

And then he knew. It was a great plan, and he was so proud to have come up with it. Yes, he was so brave and strong; he didn't need to worry about small details, like what the plan actually was. His betas would know what to do, and until then he could happily keep on working for Akhekhu. When the time came, she wouldn't know what hit her.
Gnasher staggered out of the cavern, feeling a little light-headed. Coming up with his quite frankly brilliant plan had left him feeling... drained, somehow. He shook his head; it was pointless worrying and it wouldn't do to be seen like this, so he loped off to find something to kill.

Quietly, Bruiser was led away to his private quarters. His betas were hungry, and as alpha it was his duty to feed them. A faint sound that was almost like hooves clip-clopping on dirt could be heard, before the heavy door was shut and the lights extinguished.

Chip groggily opened his eyes. There was definitely something wrong here. It was the weekend, he wanted to sleep in... and his adopted father was standing looming over him with the daftest of grins waiting for him to get up. Chip groaned, and pulled the covers over his head with a flick of his muzzle. "Go 'way! Tired!" Chip could hear the disappointment in the dragon as it seeped through the blankets. The floorboards creaked as Sharptooth started to turn away to leave. Chip sighed and threw back the covers. "Fine. I'll get up and read about this Billy Mighty. What was he, a goat?"
"Bevelmiter," Sharptooth smoothly replied, "and he was a unicorn. Come on, we need an early start because we've got a lot to do!"
Chip groaned again, slamming his head back down onto the pillow. "Daa-aad! It's the weekend!"
"That's the best time for forging star-metal, my boy! Though first we have to blow the glass... actually scrub that, first we have to brush up on the basics. Bevelmiter always was a stickler for the basics; I think he learned that from me when I taught him in Canterlot."
Hauling himself out of bed, Chip shivered as the cold air of the room hit him. His winter coat had come in nicely, but it didn't mean he liked getting out of a warm bed. He raised one eyebrow skeptically. "You taught this Bevelmiter guy?"
"I did. I was a teacher in Canterlot, at Celestia's School for the Gifted."
"What? When?" Chip raised his head, a few stray strands of hair from his fetlocks still hanging from his lips from where he'd been grooming himself.
Sharptooth tapped a claw on his muzzle thoughtfully. "Well it wasn't finished for a hundred years or so, and I taught there before they'd finished the roof..."
Chip sauntered past, stretching his legs until the joints popped. "Okay, whatever, Dad. When you want to tell me something believable, I'm all ears." Chip's stomach rumbled. "Breakfast first. I'll make the tea."
Sharptooth raised a claw and opened his muzzle in retort, but the youngster was already out of earshot, traversing the stairs. Chuckling to himself, Sharptooth did his best to straighten Chip's bed. Then he flung open the curtains, turned around and stomped downstairs.

Breakfast had been simple – the feasting the night before meant neither of the two had much of an appetite. Hairpin had slept late and could smell a boy's day in a mile off in any event. As Sharptooth and Chip trudged into the bowels of the cave-home, the pegasus jotted down a list of supplies, devoured something from the fridge, threw on her saddlebags and trotted out the front door.
"Just popping out to Tacksworn, boys. Don't break anything!" she called, before chomping on the handle and dragging the heavy door closed.
"Sure thing M- Pin!" Chip called over his shoulder as he trotted after the great green lizard.
Sharptooth stopped before the Hoard door and waited for the boy to catch up before opening it. "We're going to need my furnace to make some Bevelmiter tubes," the dragon said, snapping a claw at the torches. They burst into warm yellow flames. "We'll need sand and starmetal, and my engraving kit for more precise work on the runes... and a book."
"Runes?" Chip asked. "Just what are these Bevelmiter tubes?"
"A unicorn's magic is in his horn, yes? Well, do you see a unicorn horn on my brow?"
Chip shook his head.
"No," Sharptooth said, "that's because a dragon does not need a horn to focus his magic. More to the point, earth ponies don't have horns either, yet they have magic. Pegasi use their wings, and can walk on clouds. This is all... ambient magic. Intrinsic. Haven't they taught you this at school?"
Chip's ears flattened against his head and he blushed.
"I see," the elder dragon said, raising one eye-ridge. "Then it is good that we are having this little impromptu lesson. Bevelmiter was my student at Celestia's School. He was always going on and on about intrinsic magic. Eventually, after he graduated, he took up research into it. Most of his works are now in the Starswirl Wing; they are not for the faint of heart. Of those who can understand them, few can comprehend the majesty of his meta-thaumic research. I am no slouch in the study of magic myself, but he... he was a genius."
Sharptooth led the way deeper into the hoard cave, past odd collections of tools and paintings, to a bookcase. The bookcase itself was made of solid wood, a dark cherry of some sort. It stood innocuously next to a wall, gathering dust. The brass handles on the cupboards and drawers in the bottom half were too small for a dragon Sharptooth's size to open, they seemed more suited for ponies. In them were stacks of scrolls and sheets of papers. Upon the shelves were more aged scrolls and various time-worn leather-bound volumes. Seemingly at random, Sharptooth selected tome after tome, flipping through their pages or merely glancing at the title, before placing them back. Finally he found the one he wanted. It was obviously old, though newer than a good deal of the works in the dragon's collection. It was bound in a curious, dark-brown skin-like material. Chip sniffed at it as the dragon tenderly flicked through the pages. It was leather, real leather. More than that though, it was—
"Dad... that's made from pony-skin."
Sharptooth nodded. "It's Bevelmiter's last true work of art, and the only spell which he never managed to write down."
Chip tilted his head, "What? He made that book, with a spell?"
"Yes. He entrusted it to the one person who would know what it was, whom he trusted never to reveal its method of creation."
"Dad, it's... it's skin. How did... how did he make it?"
"Think, lad." Sharptooth's voice was soft, gentle. "He spent his life researching the transfer of magic, knowledge and abilities."
Chip recoiled as he realized what the dragon was holding. "That's... him?"
In the flickering torchlight, Sharptooth's expression was sombre and wistful. "Using the last of his waning strength, he begged me take care of his legacy. You have to understand, a unicorn like Bevelmiter... normal ponies don't go bad, but there have been those who overstep their bounds. Bevelmiter knew, by the end, just how far he had come. His work, if fully realized, could be incredibly dangerous. So he bound it up in the one form that he knew a pony could never bear to read, and gave it to the one person who would never use it."
"Why not just destroy it?"
Sharptooth snorted. "When you spend a lifetime building something, even though you know it to be terrible, tearing it down is still often more painful than you can bear. Bevelmiter was the same. This tome holds everything he ever knew; every spell, every diagram, every treatise. The pages aren't just enchanted, they are suffused with his very essence. He, with his dying breath, carved it out of his own body. That final act of creation is the only one that could never make it into these pages; to cast it, it must act upon the whole but not itself. It was for the best, too. It is dark magic that can take a creature and bind its very soul up in pages of vellum."
Chip gulped. "Y-you mean, that's actually Bevelmiter?"
"Everything he was, minus his intellect. He wanted to make sure he hadn't forgotten to write anything down. I tried to persuade him otherwise, but with ponies like him, there is no arguing."
"And we need... that?"
Sharptooth stroked the cover of the book softly. "I have other copies of the pertinent information, but none so concise. And besides, who better to help us? The old boy gets lonely, I'm sure."
"Dad, you're weirding me out."
"Shh." Sharptooth waggled his eyebrows conspiratorially as he whispered behind a paw, pointing to the book. "You'll upset him."

The blast from the furnace was sweltering, though it didn't bother the two dragons. Chip was sweating from exertion, and even Sharptooth was huffing and puffing as he sought to keep the furnace hot enough.
"Don't. Stop. Stirring!" wheezed the elder dragon, sucking down a great gulp of air as he set to breathing once again through a low-set door at the base the infernal contraption. He stopped every few seconds to place a claw on various strategic points of a set of squiggly lines, stars and other symbols on the floor, and mutter to himself.
"Why can't you just..." Chip waved a hoof about as he stirred with the other, "Make it hot with your magic? Like... wheeooo!"
"Dragons do not 'wheeooo'," Sharptooth answered breathlessly as he straightened up, dipping a claw into the mixture and tasting it for consistency. "Even if we did, this is thaumatic imprinted glass. If we try to take shortcuts, it will not respond to morphic fields consistently. Now, fetch that pipe, and blow. The salt's just about right, the lime's perfect and the soda is right on the bits."
"So what do I do?" Chip asked, as he nudged the long, hollow tube into the molten glass.
"Blow. Slowly and carefully. I'll nudge it along into shape. Once you've started blowing it, it'll imprint smoothly with your morphic field. Think about what you're doing. Love it. It's your creation, all yours. You made it, shaped with your own four hooves. Tell it about itself."
"You what?" Chip asked, lifting his muzzle from the tube.
"That glass – shards, child, blow! – is a part of you. It has to be, for it to answer your calls."
"If you say so." Chip bent his head to the long metal tube once more and began to turn it with his hooves, slowly, as he blew into it. Gradually, the lump of molten glass on the end began to take shape. As Chip blew, Sharptooth exerted his magic. Delicate touches of thaumic energy flickered and teased across the surface of the tube as it lengthened and took shape.

A short while later, Sharptooth examined the glass tube. It was still red hot, but it had cooled enough to be solid. Nodding to himself in satisfaction as he checked it carefully for flaws, he judged it suitable. Snipping it off the blow-tube with his claws, Sharptooth set about filing the top smooth with his talons. Eventually he was satisfied, and placed it carefully on a smooth piece of cloth. Blowing fire on it gently, he rolled it to and fro for a few minutes, before straightening and pronouncing it finished.
"There, that looks about right. It's great for a first attempt. Of course, Bevelmiter would have yelled at me about being a sloppy, blithering idiot, and he would have thrown it back in the furnace, but I believe the lesson will have more of an impact if we finish it today rather than you and I spending the next decade 'getting it right'."
"A decade?" Chip snorted, peering intently at the glass bauble. He poked it experimentally with a hoof, watching it roll. Sharptooth leaped and steadied it before it fell to its doom.
"Trust me. A decade. Even for a dragon, my patience was running thin by the end of it. I sometimes wonder how he got so much done. I don't think he slept at all for the last fifty years of his life." Sharptooth sat on his haunches for a few moments, reminiscing. Laughing to himself at a scene only he could see, the elder dragon picked up a roughly bar-shaped piece of star-metal and turned it paw-over-paw. "Most of us dragons are well versed in metallurgy, but from an entirely different perspective than griffons or ponies. Star metal though, like this, is too rare to consume. Most times, we collect what others have shaped. Bevelmiter taught me to appreciate the art of smelting and smithing."
"What're you going to do with that?" Chip asked.
For an answer, Sharptooth fished out a crucible, placed the bar into it, and heated the furnace up again. Chip sighed heartily and rolled his eyes, before trotting off to get something to stir with.

A while later, the molten metal had gone from a dull grey lump to a white hot liquid. Sharptooth deftly picked up the crucible and gently but smoothly poured the mixture into a mould. Placing a mirror-image of the mould on top and steadying it with his paws, the dragon bade Chip hit the blocks. The workshop rang with the echoing sounds of metal on metal as Chip tempered and shaped the final piece. Finally, Sharptooth told the youngster to stop. Heaving the two halves apart with his fore and hind paws, Sharptooth freed a silvern slither of metal shaped roughly like a thunderbolt from it's prison.
Chip whistled through his teeth. "What is it?"
"This is what you will be carving the runes I showed you earlier into. By your own hoof."
"Aww Dad! I don't even know what it does!" Chip whined, watching as Sharptooth deftly sliced off the excess and filed it down.
"Do it right and I'll show you," Sharptooth promised, grin wide and glistening in the light from the furnace.
Chip huffed, but took the proffered piece of metal in his mouth. It stuck out a good few inches either side. The substance made him wince; it tingled where it touched his teeth, little jabs of pain jumping from gum to gum. He placed it down between two clamps and fastened them both. Picking up a long-shafted graver, he sighted along the length of it, and then placed his hoof into the strap of a hoof-hammer.
At the youngster's questioning glance, Sharptooth nodded encouragingly. "That's right, lad, gently now. Slowly at first. It's about repetition and precision, not brute force. The rune-crafting will temper the metal..." Sharptooth hovered nervously as Chip lined up for the blow.
The youngster raised his hoof, brought it down, and struck.

"Ow. Ow, ow, ow..."
Sharptooth chuckled as he reclined against the wall, embracing his son and stroking his mane. "It takes years to properly learn how to engrave, but for your first time? I think you did excellently. Dizziness gone now?"
"Uh huh." Chip grimaced as a nod of his head sent little ripples of pain shooting behind his eyes.
"Good, that means I can do this." Sharptooth touched one claw to Chip's poll, and suddenly it was if a huge weight was lifted from the boy's withers.
"Wha-?"
"Simple pain relief spell, but it's not safe in cases of mental confusion. Give it a few more moments, then we will continue."
Chip winced again. "Not more hitting?"
"No, lad, no. No more hitting. This is the fun part.  You and I are going to put your first Bevelmiter tube together. It's not going to be perfect, but it is going to be functional."
"What's it going to do? What is a Bevelmiter tube?"
"Come with me, and you'll see. You get the star metal, I'll fetch the tube."
Wearily, Chip disentangled himself from the elder dragon and lifted himself to his hooves. It had been a long day, and it promised to only get longer. He sighed heavily, and trotted over to the workbench to retrieve the metal blade. The runes he had engraved on it seemed to shine in the torchlight; he didn't know what they were for, but he'd been very careful placing them. He recognized them as the pictoral script of the unicorns and spotted certain basic forms – stability, calm, and breath of first wind, next to flowing stream. He didn't know whether it was the grooves from the runes or just his imagination, but the solid lump seemed to positively buzz between his teeth now. Shaking his head, he trotted over to Sharptooth, who was just finishing running a claw across the glass tube.
"In finer examples of the craft, we would create a brace for the tube, made of metal – gold or silver for purity, iron for inductance, oricalcum if we wanted thaumic response. In this case, however, I have engraved the corresponding runes directly."
Chip peered at the tube, and noted now that the surface of the object was covered in silvery, spidery text. "That needs runes too? I thought the metal—"
"You would do well to read up on Bevelmiter's work if you are to fully realize your dreams of flight, lad, but for now, pay attention: everything within this creation must play its own part. The two halves of your creation must both have your imprint upon them. The external runes, however, are merely control and manipulation. It is the inner construct which must answer to its owner's call."
"But what does it do?" Chip asked, as Sharptooth relieved him of his burden, the elder dragon turning the piece over and over as he examined it.
Grunting in approval, Sharptooth gestured to Chip. "Come, place your hooves here. Hold the glass tube – gently, don't shatter it. Once it is whole, it will be nigh indestructible, but incomplete like this, it is still fragile."
Chip sat back on his haunches, held almost upright by Sharptooth's tail around his midsection. He put one hoof on either side of the glass tube, and the elder dragon gently but firmly placed the metallic blade flat between one of Chip's hooves and the bauble.
"The glass remembers when it was sand. The metal remembers when it was molten. You have shaped it, but it remembers. In a moment, I shall remind them of that time. When I say so, push your hooves together."
"What? You said it'd break..." Chip gulped nervously, glancing back and forth between his father and the precious creation they'd spent all morning putting together.
"Just do as I say. Push your hooves together... now. Gently, but firmly, push." The elder dragon squeezed, and the rune-covered object beneath Chip's hooves suddenly felt decidedly odd. It was if it had come alive; it vibrated, pulsating like a heartbeat. Stranger still, the metallic thunderbolt-shaped blade seemed to melt into the glass. With a bright flash that caused Chip to gasp and drop the object, the piece of metal sunk fully into the tube, where it gravitated to the center and slowly began to spin, hanging in mid-air.
"What did... did I do that?" Chip's voice was filled with wonder and awe as he poked the device with a hoof. It tinkled slightly, shedding sparks. Sharptooth unwrapped his tail from around Chip's waist and bent to pick up the strange tube. He then harrumphed and hummed to himself as he searched around the workshop. A few moments later he returned with a leather harness, which he placed around the barrel of Chip's chest.
"This is a post-pegasus's harness, and whilst not perfect," Sharptooth said, holding the Bevelmiter tube in one paw as he sized it up against the harness, "it does have a scroll-holster which will fit." The dragon pushed the tube into the holster. The leather criss-crossed in even strips, leaving the device inside visible. Chip eyed it suspiciously.
"Now what?"
"Think about it. Ask it to come alive. Come, this will help." Sharptooth beckoned, holding up a large mirror for the youngster to stand before.
Chip trotted over for a better look. It glittered and shone, casting strange shadows between the leather latticework. It was warm to the touch, and it vibrated gently. Tilting his head, Chip narrowed his eyes and thought about the Bevelmiter tube. It was strange, the heavy weight seemed to almost be a part of him somehow, like an extra limb. He could feel it, pulsating gently. At his mental prodding, it responded. Opening his eyes wide in shock, Chip stared long and hard at his reflection. The central metal piece was spinning wildly, glowing brightly and fizzing with energy. He could feel it; it felt almost like he was running without moving, if he closed his eyes, he could almost believe he was charging across the great plains, hooves slamming into the dirt and propelling his body at great speed. His pulse quickened, his fur stood on end and his breath came faster as a sort of euphoria washed across his body, seemingly tingling down in his bones.
In one smooth motion, Sharptooth fished the Bevelmiter tube out of the harness, and the connection was broken.
"What..." Chip panted for a few seconds before continuing. "What was that?"
"That, my boy, was a fully tuned Bevelmiter tube. With it, even the most mundane of earth ponies can, with the right equipment, perform magic like the most studied of unicorns. And for you, my boy, it will give you wings."

Chip glared down at the book on his desk, lit by a flickering candle. He'd taken it out of the library section of the hoard a couple of weeks ago. At first he'd kept it on the table, but the rustling of its pages at night had made him keep it in a drawer. He was pretty sure it was just the wind, but still – it creeped him out. The taste of the leather in his muzzle had been foreign and unpleasant. He could still taste it from the short trip up to his room, and he'd all but ignored the tome since. It hadn't fazed Sharptooth, but then nothing seemed to faze the old lizard.
After the success with building the Bevelmiter device, the elder dragon had dug through his library for the next phase of Chip's wing design. Throughout his life so far, he'd made friends with a number of colourful individuals. One of them had inspired in him a period of investigation into the mechanics of living creatures. It was an interest which had turned into a lasting hobby, building model flying machines.
Using his expertise, Sharptooth had helped Chip realize a new design for wings, one which the dragon was rapidly turning into reality in a room the dragon had cleared out for use as a workshop. Sharptooth was insisting it was going to be his Hearth's Warming present, though Chip wasn't sure something so complicated could be produced so quickly.
The device was designed around Sharptooth's own wings, refined from the first version which he had finished for the lad. This one was powered by Bevelmiter tubes, with twin banks of actuator crystals. It was already taking shape and looking quite formidable. Even on parchment, it was striking. However, Sharptooth had demanded Chip work out for himself the runes necessary to make the whole shebang work. He had offered to correct the boy's work should he get it wrong, but was insisting Chip learn what he was getting in to. This was why Bevelmiter's book was currently sitting in front of Chip, on his desk. He was sure it was glaring at him. He'd put it off long enough; winter was coming, and he really needed something to do now the nights were too cold and dark to go out in.
"Okay then, I need to know about Bevelmiter tubes. How do they work? How do you work?" Chip swished his tail, feeling a surge of draconic anger at being forced to do more homework – from home of all places. He flipped the book open. The pages flickered between his hooves as if by themselves, and plopped open on a section about Bevelmiter tubes.
"I... see." Chip shivered slightly, and began to read, humming to himself. At one particular passage, his hoof stopped and he hunched over, reading aloud.

"...Bevelmiter tubes, therefore, once properly set in motion by an accomplished mage, will begine to effuse most efficaciously as theye drawe moste rightly from the quintessence of the universe. This power is limitless in scope, suffusing all things, an ambiente field of immeasurable power and grace. Anciente peoples named thisse powere Gamigin, calling upon yt bye name in times of yore. I wondere whether the gryphon doth call upon these spirits, or daemons, still as they worketh their own magicks. They be without ayn Celestiae..."

Chip looked up and blinked. "These things will never run out?" he asked himself, idly hoofing the device he had created a few weeks ago to and fro on his desk. He stared at it as sparks emanated from the central, floating sky-metal piece. "I wonder how big one like this can be?" As he studied the book further, it became clear that Bevelmiter tubes operated by normal creatures didn't get much larger than the one he had made. To go bigger, one had to use a standard-sized Bevelmiter tube to 'jump start' a larger Bevelmiter tube through what the book called sympathetic vibrations. Apparently Bevelmiter had never built one, nor had he worked out all of the details.
"So how large can those get?" Chip wondered aloud. Turning the page, he noticed it was blank. He flipped back and forth in confusion, then finally shut the book. Either the book didn't know, or it wasn't telling. Either way, he'd had enough of the creepy creation for one day. Blowing out the candle, Chip trotted over to his bed and clambered in under the covers. Giving the book one last glare in the darkness, he turned over and waited for sleep to claim him.

The year was almost up and school was almost out. It would be his first Hearth's Warming in his new home, with his new family and new friends. Wiping a treacherous tear from his eye, he curled up tighter into a ball. This Hearth's Warming would be special, he would make it special.
A single thought bounced through his brain as consciousness left him – what in Equestria would he get for Carmine?

Chip's breath steamed in the chill air. This was it, the longest night before the shortest day of the year. Hearth's Warming Eve, Luna's domain. Landing below the griffon-family's eyrie had been touchy, especially with the load of gifts each of them carried – and Sharptooth had had to carry Chip as well.
Chip shook himself, his gleaming armour settling more comfortably. They'd dropped through a snow-laden thunderhead on the way, and ice had somehow formed inside his chest-plate. He'd wanted to come au naturelle, but his father had insisted on being formal. Even Sharptooth sported a suit of armour, though in deference to how breakable creatures less than half his size were, the more serious weaponry had been passed over for what he blushingly referred to as 'courtship armour'. Chip wasn't sure whether the fact it had seen obvious use was something he wanted to know about or not.
"So, you do this every year?" Chip asked the elder dragon, staring at the circular doorway before him as Sharptooth collected himself.
"I do. I find it the best way to cultivate trust between myself and the inhabitants of Tacksworn. I've been giving gifts to the children for a couple of centuries. To the griffons, and those who cohabit with them, this night. Tomorrow for the ponies and diamond dogs."
Chip looked up at his father, struck by the gulf between the lonesome wyrm and the ponies he lived with. He'd been playing host to all the denizens of Tacksworn for all their lives, and likely for most of the lives of their parents and grandparents. And he still got nervous when dressing up to hand out presents. Chip shook his head. "Ready, Dad?"
For a response, the dragon examined a large sack suspiciously. "I believe so. I may not have enough cuddly griffons and ponies to go around, the Digger's just had a new litter and the Skychasers adopted Ruff—"
"What?" Chip looked sharply up at Sharptooth.
"Ruff is... considered a runt. Unfortunately, he was born into a conservative diamond dog family. Fortunately, that diamond dog family lives in Tacksworn."
"You mean..."
"Indeed. He would have been left for dead if the Skychasers hadn't taken him in. They're an older couple who never had foals of their own."
"But that's horrible!" Chip stated, then furrowed his brow in thought, "not that he got... adopted but... you know what I mean."
"It is distasteful, yes, but it is their way. And it is the ponies' way to make things right. It is what I do."
"You make sure foals get adopted?"
Sharptooth gave Chip a withering glare as Hairpin stifled a giggle. "I fix problems between all the races that inhabit Equestria. Further from home, the scale changes. Close to home, those under my direct protection require a more personal touch."
"That's why Celestia gave me to you, isn't it? She knew you'd know where to keep me safe?"
"Aye, lad, though I doubt she could have predicted you would become my son."
Chip straightened himself up. "I'm... glad, you know?" Chip's voice was hesitant, and soft.
Hairpin was quick to trot up beside him and nuzzle the boy's ear. "That's how it starts." Trotting past the two boys and knocking on the door, she looked over her shoulder. "Come on, let's go in. They're waiting. You know how foals are, whatever the species."

Stepping across the threshold was like leaving winter behind. A roaring fire – of real wood and coal – flared brightly behind plate glass doors. The rocks lining the massive fireplace were giving off waves of heat, and the great living-space of the extended Wildfeather clan was chock full of griffons and more than a few ponies and diamond dogs. Hairpin gravitated to the fireplace, nodding politely to the hosts of the gathering, mister and misses Wildfeather. Carmine was stood next to them, feathers neatly preened and fur brushed until it shone. She was decked out in bows of what appeared to be black silk, with painted tribal-patterned tattoos of blue and gold.
Chip stood motionless as he took her in, mouth hanging open, just long enough for Penny to whisper "That's how it starts, you know!" to Bethany. He turned and scowled at the pair, who were doing all in their power to not double over with laughter. Sharptooth chuckled as he surreptitiously nudged Chip with his tail. The young dragon, feeling the full impact of his station, stammered out the ritual greeting. "E-elder Wildfeather, Lady Wildfeather, may I present myself, Chiphoof Irontail Leatherback, Lord pro-tem of the Sapphire Reaches?"
"Well met, young lordling," Carmine's father replied, inclining his head, eyes unblinking as they inspected the newcomer.
"A-and my father, Lord Diamond, of the Diamond Expanse."
"Well met, my Lord Diamond, "Carmine's mother replied, the corners of her beak turning slightly up and her eyes twinkling. "And we now present our daughter to you both, Mistress Carmine Wildfeather, of the Wildfeather Clan, first offspring of the Elder of the Wildfeathers."
Chip's throat bobbed up and down as the ritualistic language clicked in his brain. Formal presentations, exchanging of gifts... this really was how it started. Nettled, he shook as he fished out the poorly-wrapped present for Carmine from his saddlebags. There was gaily-coloured paper tied up with string, but what was within was obviously heavy. Carmine bobbed her head in thanks and took the package. Looking up at her parents for reassurance, she savaged the wrappings until they fell off in pieces. Beneath them was a supple black oilcloth bundle cinched through the middle with a single silvery buckle. Peering at it in confusion, Carmine neatly undid it with her claws, and unrolled it. Blades gleamed in the firelight.
"W-what is it?" she asked, glancing from the metal and leather devices to Chip and back.
"Well, it's... uh... they're for you," Chip said, grinning.
"I know that, you dufus," quipped Carmine. She let out a high-pitched squeal as her mother nipped her tail-tuft. Ducking her head apologetically, glaring at the sniggers from Team Beth and Penny, Carmine separated out the objects before her. "I mean, what are they?"
Chip resisted the urge to say 'I thought you'd know' and instead trotted over and picked one up carefully in his muzzle. He placed it neatly down upon Carmine's front claw, teasing the straps until they were tight. A few seconds in, and his cheeks were burning at more sniggers from Beth, Penny and Bella. As he looked up to apologize, he met Carmine's gaze as she looked down at her present. A lump caught in his throat again. He coughed, trying to clear it. "They're, uh, hunting claws."
Sharptooth cleared his throat and interrupted smoothly. "They're actually warblades, Elder Wildfeather, diamantium tipped. They are made for hunting your enemies, and precisely machined for dispatching them."
Elder Wildfeather rumbled in pleasure, a throaty warble that reverberated through the fetishes and jewelry he wore. "Your gifts do our clan honour, young lordling. I am pleased."
Chip bobbed his head in thanks. "I, er, didn't have quite enough allowance to buy you the full armour set this time..." he whispered.
Carmine chirped happily and gave him a peck on the cheek. "I'll take good care of them."
Squealing in happiness, Penny jumped up and down, clopping her hooves together. She rushed forwards and embraced Chip and Carmine. Bethany and Bella were quick to follow her.
"Be off with you now, lad. Give your gifts and have fun. It's what tonight's for," Sharptooth ordered, laughing heartily. Ducking down, the dragon dragged out a heavy bag full of toys and opened it experimentally. "My, my, my... it seems somebody has left a whole sackful of gifts outside the door. Whatever am I going to do with them? If only there were good little children I could give them to for a good home..."
No sooner were the words out of his mouth, than he was swamped with foals, pups and chicks all begging to take care of the toys. Whilst the parents looked on indulgently, Sharptooth bartered with the little ones for promises of going to bed when asked to, and of brushing teeth and beaks properly. There were cries of joy all around as he started furnishing the children with toys which he could barely pull out of the bag fast enough.
"There's a lot you don't know about him, hmm?" asked Hairpin.
"Yeah. I got the picture he was some lonely dragon, you know? They're supposed to live alone, at the top of some mountain—"
"I think he does, but every once in a while he's got to let a little pony out, you know? I guess they've rubbed off on him." Hairpin smiled and fluttered her wings.
"They?" Chip raised an eyebrow.
"You know what I mean, Master. After all, I've spent all my life with dragons. Sometimes I forget. It's not like I grew up like most of you and your friends. Come on though, it's time for gifts." Hairpin took out gift after gift from her saddlebags, placing them on the floor before her. "Chip told me what you would each want, and I went to Neighvada if I had to, to get it. So it's from all of us, to each of you."
Bella levitated her package, ripping the paper off to reveal a book. "Souper naturals?" she asked, her mouth forming a perfect 'O'.
"Yeah, you... you said you liked the one in the library, so..." Chip cleared his throat.
"Wait, is this an original print?"
"I dunno... 'Pin couldn't find it and I know you wanted it, and Sharptooth had an extra copy in his library he said he didn't mind..."
"A signed original copy?" squeaked Bella.
"Maybe?" Chip's ears splayed out.
"Celestia's teeth! I didn't get you anything like this!"
"That's okay, I... I don't mind what you got me. If you got me anything. I'm just glad that you're there for me. My... herd, you know? Dad's big on the whole dragon thing, but... I-I'm glad you're my friends."
Bella galloped over and hugged him whilst Penny pulled out her signed replica wonderbolts costume and squealed with delight and Ruff opened up an entire year's worth of Daring Do Adventures comics, with a paid year's subscription for the next one. Bethany pulled out a similarly-wrapped present to Carmine's. Unwrapping it, Beth revealed several sets of slender, blade-like edges.
"What are these? Wait, are these..."
"They're wingblades, B," Chip replied, "not quite so... aggressive as warblades—"
"Are you saying I'm aggressive?" hissed Carmine.
"No!" squeaked Chip, "just... ah, um..."
Carmine rolled her eyes, folded her claws up carefully and gave Chip a light punch in the withers. "You gotta learn to relax, dragonboy. I know what you mean. I do the whole pouncing thing. B here does the playing with her food. Come on, I'll help you put 'em on."
"I didn't really know what to get you, but Dad said th-they were the right kinda thing, and I kn-know you've got a different dad now too, but I thought he'd still—"
Bethany stiffened, then turned to look at her step-father. He had a wing and tail entwined with her mother's. She turned back to Chip and blushed. "Thanks, Chip. I know I kinda gave you a hard time before, about the hat and all, but you were trying to help. Dad's a pegasus, but I'm still Bethany Lionstuft the griffon, you know? He gets me though, and... I think I get you. They're wonderful. Come on, let's... do you wanna meet my folks too?"
"I wanna meet all your folks! I'm living here, aren't I? Gotta meet them some time. You too, Ruff." Chip nudged the diamond dog pup with a hoof.
Ruff yelped like he'd been bitten. "Ruff not sure... umm..."
Chip raised an eyebrow, then he leaned in closer. "My dad's a dragon. I think ponies for parents are slightly more normal than that, right?"
Bethany murmured assent. Ruff's ears drooped. "You know, about..?"
"Ruff, I've known for ages you weren't getting on well at home, and then you started getting... happier," Beth said evenly. "I figured something had changed. Not hard to find out what. It's kinda what Tacksworn's about, you know? New starts? Different species, all coming together?" Bethany straightened up. "What? It's not... I'm not being corny! It's true!"
Penny hugged her friend. "It's okay to be a bit of a softy. Just because you've got a little pony in you too doesn't make you less of a griffon."
"Or less of a diamond dog," Hairpin added. "Come on guys and gals, let's mingle. Coming, Master?"
"Call me Chip for once!" wailed Chip.
"Yes, Master!"

The night outside was cold and unforgiving, but this night, inside, the atmosphere was warm and cheerful.