//------------------------------//
// Revelations 
// Story: The Ambassador's Son 
// by Midnightshadow 
//------------------------------//

═ The ══════════
   Ambassador's
══════════ Son ═



Chapter Seventeen
Revelations
An MLP:FiM Fanfiction by Midnight Shadow





Chip weaved his way home through the rainy streets, pleasantly sozzled. He wasn't sure what he'd been drinking. He wasn't actually sure where he'd been. Something about a bar, and dragons. And drinks. Lots and lots of drinks. The bizarre beverages warmed him, and made the world delightfully spinny. He hiccuped, dimly remembering singing something back in the bar, for a brief moment. The world lit up in yellow and gold as flames shot out of his nostrils and a few bars of the tune danced through his head. He wasn't sure whether he should be worried that whatever-it-was had been in ancient draconic, a language he didn't speak, or not. He hadn't understood the words, so they'd probably been rude. Most songs you sing when mildly tipsy in languages you didn't understand were rude. He probably shouldn't have been singing it, but then he probably shouldn't have been drinking and he definitely hadn't been allowed out in the first place.
He found gates in front of him. Said gates appeared to be locked. They were made of that strange dark crunchy candy called 'iron'. A few bites later and the gates weren't locked any more! Wonderful! He wasn't sure if he liked the paint coating, it was a decent lead pigment vintage, but a bit heady for his tastes.
A few hoofsteps later, and he found his body had decided to inspect the gravel driveway without asking the rest of him if that was okay. Gravel didn't taste all that good, but then regurgitated draconic drinks didn't make anything taste good, especially not the roof of his mouth. Whatever. He huffed deeply, it was rather comfy, even if it was raining. Not that the rain was getting anywhere near him. For some reason it was puffing into steam a few inches from his pelt. He didn't feel cold and he wasn't sure how many legs he had. The rocks under him were glowing slightly, the clouds had rolled in and the world seemed to be insisting he take a nap. It couldn't hurt to close his eyes for a few minutes, surely?

There was burning, golden sunlight, and the raucous sound of birdsong.
Plenty of both.
Lots and lots of healthy sunlight and entrancing birdsong that both blinded and deafened him. It brought him back to a world that was still spinny, but no longer delightful when doing so.
"Ooohhh Luna's Fetlocks..." Chip opened his eyes again. The increase in sunlight made him wince, and he slammed them shut once more. He could do this. He was pretty sure he still had only four legs, and was somewhat enamoured of the idea that the world wasn't really moving. Right foreleg, left foreleg. There. Keep them steady... and left hindleg followed by... tumbling back down in an unceremonial heap.
Chip sighed. This was harder than it looked.
Several tries later, and he had gotten to his hooves. Putting one hoof in front of the other, he managed to amble towards the door. One of them had to open, he reasoned, once he managed to negotiate the real set of steps up. Somehow, all three front doors opened at once, and three Uncle Pyrites came bounding out of each one.

Pyrite zipped past Chip and cantered in a circle, before glaring back up the steps, and coincidentally up most of Chip. He hoped to Celestia's bright bushy blue beard he was still invisible.
"So you tell me, my good stallion, where that delinquent little halfwit is?"
Chip's eyes uncrossed long enough to glare at Silver Chalice and shake his head. The black unicorn raised one hoof and made as if about to speak and point. Chip made a zipping motion across his muzzle and the butler closed his muzzle again. He opened it a moment later to reply, "My lord, he must be in one of the bathrooms on the ground floor. Did you check them all?"
"Of course I... well, no, I guess I didn't check them all. Why would he be using the servants' facilities?"
"It is a little known fact, my lord," Silver Chalice looked reluctant to speak, but sighed and continued, "that the servants' showers are nearer the furnace."
"You mean the help has had all my hot water, all this time?"
"Indeed, sir."
"I am most displeased." Pyrite narrowed his eyes.
"Regrettable, sir."
"Any idea when he'll be out? And whether there will be anything remotely above 'tepid' left?"
"I shall stoke the furnace myself, sir, and my lord may of course avail himself of the servants' facilities."
"I'd rather die."
"Very good, sir."
Pyrite stormed back in, oblivious to the shambling wreck of a pony making its slow, painful way to the servants' showers.

Chip wondered whether whatever made him invisible could also just make him disappear and reappear in a world where an axe wasn't being used to inspect what remained of his grey matter. Hot water helped, although the colours that the porcelain turned beneath his hooves was distressingly bilious. Eventually it ran clear enough, as did his thoughts, to step out and rejoin the living. Things were looking up. The world was mostly still when he was, and he longer stank like rotten eggs and burnt tin. There was just one problem.
"Oh for the love of... where's a towel when you need one?"
"Good morning, young master, would you be requiring extra fluffy or would a regular towelling be enough?"
Chip looked up at a sternly glaring Silver Chalice. "Oh horseapples."

"So, tell me again... you're invisible?"
"I... don't know," Chip said with a sigh. "All I know is that Pyrite can't see me, or hear me I think, when I'm wearing my armor or carrying my box, which he can't see either."
Silver Chalice glared at Chip, who wilted under the gaze. "I said do not get caught!"
"I can't!" Chip complained. "He can't see or hear me!"
Silver Chalice glared for a few moments longer, snorted and then stalked off, grumbling. Chip let out his breath. Diamond dogs? No problem. Griffons? Big deal. Dragons? Pssh. Angry butlers? He shivered.
"And," called the deep, solemn voice of Silver Chalice from further down the gloom-soaked corridor, "if young master Chip would happen to know what the muffin happened to the front gates, I would be very interested to find out."
"The front gates?" Chip said to himself under his breath, what could possibly have happened to the front gates?


♦♦♦

"Three more this morning." cried Carmine breathlessly, as she bounded through the door, paws barely touching the ground as she landed inside the dragon's den.
"Three?" Sharptooth looked up from the workbench he'd set up in the corner, where he was working with semi-molten metal. Blue flames had been playing carefully over the glowing rods and struts, but now burst from his muzzle and flickered out. His eyes unfocused for a second before his gaze fastened on the young hen griffon who had burst into his mountain-clad home. "Tell me."
"They came separately, two by train and one by coach, but they met up at Beryl's Bar like the rest."
"This troubles me." Sharptooth fiddled with the strange mechanical device in front of him for a few minutes, bending and manipulating to set it as it cooled.
Carmine shuffled her feet, finally coughing softly.
"Ah, ahem, I am sorry. Would you like some tea?"
"Tea? At a time like this?"
Sharptooth chuckled, "Tea is good for what ails you, dear Carmine. Chip loved when we made... made tea together." The dragon's expression grew somber.
"Why did you send him away?" Carmine asked, accusingly, "He was happy here!"
"Happy?" Sharptooth gently put down the pieces he was fitting together and made a fist with his claw. He put it, gently, down onto the table. "You didn't hear him crying, child."
"Of course he was crying you... you idiot!" Carmine's breath caught in her throat. Had she really just called a dragon an idiot? Blustering in the face of the sudden angry glower from the huge green lizard, she carried on, trying to explain herself before the inevitable fiery death consumed her. "He'd just lost his parents! And now... now he's lost them again, you! You didn't hear how he spoke about you at school. Very first day I met him, he told me he was a dragon. I didn't... I didn't understand him then, but... he..."
Sharptooth strode over to the griffon and pulled her head up by the stern yet gentle application of a claw to the underside of her beak, "It is something hard to understand, young one," the dragon said, "but it is true, and you are right, I was a fool to send him away... but I cannot help it if I wish to save my child from the danger that even now surrounds us. Maybe I was too hasty, he is after all a dragon."
Carmine sensed that the dragon was talking to himself more than her. She stalked closer to the workbench, eyeing the contraption the dragon was building. She stroked the struts and straps with a forepaw, smoothing the strange thin webbing material. "Danger?"
"Yes, whoever is summoning these rogue diamond dogs is... most likely desperate. Nobody mobilizes their forces this visibly and clumsily unless they are assured of victory or fear defeat. Even a child could see what they're doing. The question is why they canvas Tacksworn. Surely they know where..." Sharptooth cleared his throat, "it is dangerous for you to be here, young Carmine Wildfeather."
"What aren't you telling me? This is my home, sir. My friends all live here," or should, she added mentally, "I've been watching these strangers come into town for the last week, I've told my parents and you, but if you know something everyone else doesn't, please tell me?"
Sharptooth pointed to the strange device he was building, "That is for Chip. Before he... left, he drew some simple plans for wings. I am building the first iteration of that device for my son."
Carmine squawked angrily, "And?"
"He was brought here by Celestia herself, who charged me with keeping him safe, which is why I sent him away when it became clear that the trouble following Chip was in fact following me. I am old, Carmine, in your terms. I saw Everfree Castle just after Luna's banishment as Nightmare Moon..."
"But what does this have to do with Chip? And Tacksworn?" Carmine butted in, frustrated.
"I am getting there, impatient chick." Sharptooth opened a drawer in the workbench, rifling through it. He pulled out a small leather-bound folder. "What they are looking for, is the master copy of this."
Carmine watched as Sharptooth undid the bindings and opened the folder, smoothing out the creases on a strangely flexible scroll. Carmine realised it was made on cured hide, skin. She bent closer, and made out a neat yet imperfect map of Equestria.
"This was my life's work, after both my mothers died. I spent a good few centuries finding myself by finding Equestria; I was a young dragon brought up by ponies, recently returned to the Great Flight and still ignorant of the ways of my true kind."
"You... made maps?"
"Not just any maps, but the maps to which Equestrian cartographers today still refer, though they do not have my master copy. Celestia bid me keep it safe. I found something as I was searching for myself, you see. You do know the diamond dogs are not natives to Equestria? Well, their origin is as strange as my own kind's is. Space and time are not as orderly as most think, not here on the outskirts of Equestria. These are the untamed edges of Celestia's Realm. There was, at one brief time, a path between this world, and their world. I found it quite by accident. I fear it is this map to a path they believe will lead them to lost riches, that the diamond dogs search for, and they will stop at nothing to have it."
"Can't you just give it to them?" Carmine hissed, "They're moving in to Tacksworn, stirring up trouble, and all because of a dumb map?"
"However the map," Sharptooth laughed, bitterly, as he folded the miniature copy back up, "is useless, but they will never believe me. Would you? The pride of your homelands, dangled out of reach, told you could never have it? If I should give it to them, many other secrets may be revealed - and yet not the one they seek. Who can tell what they would do? They are a fractious and ill-behaved people." Sharptooth slammed the drawer closed.
"So there's a way back home for these Diamond Dogs?"
Sharptooth shook his head, "No, it is most likely long gone. It may open again, it may move and stray, but their homeland is here, Equestria. They are not like dragons, though many of our kind call this land their home. None answer directly to the call of Celestia, however. Dragons are far too proud. Much like your own people, yes?" The dragon's eyes twinkled as he gazed at Carmine, who clicked her beak thoughtfully.
"Where was this... path?"
Sharptooth narrowed his eyes, "Near Neighvada. And so I wait, Carmine, for the inevitable move when the diamond dogs seek entrance to my cave and my horde, seeking to rob me of my collection, my memories."
"So you're sitting up here, whilst a pack of fuzzy mongrels takes over Tacksworn, looking for a map that leads back to where Chip was born?" Carmine stomped a paw, lashing her tail. A moment later, she knew she'd gone too far.
Sharptooth growled as he rose to his hind claws, neck bending down to spear her with a steely gaze, sulfurous fumes wafting from that great, toothed maw, "I do not idly sit and wait, young Carmine. I am a dragon. Do not insult me or my clan in mistaking deliberate, methodical planning for inaction. Tacksworn itself lies in oath to my kind, and to me in particular. Do not seek to lecture me, child. I will have your family's blood oath in bondage before I take an undeserved slight. You, chick, are but one pair of my eyes and ears. I have others. This town is my domain, that I do not exercise my rights is in deference to Princess Celestia and King Greybeak."
"I..." Carmine shook as mighty claws were flexed in her direction.
Sharptooth relented, his tone softening, "If you are to deal with my and my kind more, it would behoove you to know this: it is customary amongst our kind to own slaves. I do not, but answer me this, young one; To whom did you fly? To whom do they always fly?"
Carmine blinked as the world went cold around her, "To you." she hissed, and realized it has always been thus. When land needed purchasing or selling. When special weather needed arranging. When building materials from far-off lands were hard to acquire, Sharptooth was there. He herded, arranged and assisted. The annual Tacksworn Fair was organized in collaboration with the Mayor and the other members of the local council, but everybody knew it was Sharptooth who sat as the true head of the council, and had done for centuries. He likely would for centuries more.
"Indeed. And now these mongrels threaten not only my self and my home, but my town. Rest assured, Miss Wildfeather, they will not have it."


♦♦♦

Chip sat at Pyrite's long table, chasing some pony-food around a plate, the same as he had done every night for the last week or so. There was a cough, and Chip looked up.
"Have you... taken a look yet at the letter I delivered last week?" Pyrite sounded hopeful.
"Letter?" mumbled Chip through the strange greenery in front of him. It tasted weird, like most food seemed to now.
"Yes, the letter, from the lawyers for the Irontail estate once they were notified of your new change of address. Another was sent, since you didn't answer the first one. I... thought you deserved a little time, to get over the loss of your mother and father, but you really do need to-"
"Have any of my letters been answered?" Chip asked, shaking his head to answer Pyrite's question.
Pyrite scowled, "No."
Chip's brow furrowed, "Really? I could've sworn Sharptooth would've answered by now."
"Maybe they got lost?" Pyrite offered, helpfully.
Chip sullenly chewed his hay fries in plum sauce with a white-wine and carrot casserole, and sulked. He'd been writing letters to Sharptooth demanding to know when he could go home. It wasn't that he didn't like living with uncle Pyrite, but... he didn't like living with uncle Pyrite. The only thing he'd miss would be Sunshine. He'd miss her quite a lot, actually. He really liked her, as a friend. She knew all the best hiding places in the mansion, so even without his Pyrite-b-gone draconic armor they could get into plenty of trouble.

An envelope was placed on the table before him, snapping him out of his reverie.
"You should read it, and... it's probably a good idea. You know, in case something happened."
Chip scowled. He'd read the previous one, and ignored it. He was Sharptooth's son now, and Sharptooth would do a better job of looking after the Irontail estate than Pyrite could, right? Sharptooth did still want him, didn't he? Chip slumped in his wide, plush seat. He'd been sending letters to Sharptooth, so if they'd been sent by draconic flame-mail they should have arrived almost instantaneously... so why hadn't Sharptooth answered? Instead, he was cooling his hooves here. He had realized throughout the last week that he really missed his desert home, and it just wasn't like Sharptooth to act like this, even if he dropped Chip here...
Chip opened the letter with a practiced swipe of his hoof, dragging out the folded paper and opening it. It was in standard legaleze, the sort of thing he could barely understand, but he got the gist of it. He had the first time. They were angry, reading between the lines, that pony property had been given to a dragon, and felt that only a real pony should be the designated executor of the estate, let alone guardian of the heir. Chip picked it up in his teeth and threw it across the table, "Tell them to get lost. Sharptooth is my dad now, and he's down near the mines. He can manage them perfectly well."
"That... dragon, right?" Pyrite looked confused for a moment, confused and angry.
"Yes. He's my father, and I'm a... his son. I'll never change that."
"Very well." Pyrite got up, which was a signal for the staff to take the plates away, "I think you and I need a heart to heart. Meet me in my study in a half hour."
Chip narrowed his eyes slightly at Pyrite. For days something had been nagging at him about this strange uncle of his, maybe this would be a good time to clear the air. "Of course, unc," Chip tried hard to sound upbeat and happy.
"Good show, Chip my lad. We can have tea and discuss this foolish plan of yours to let a bloodthirsty beast fritter away our family's gold, would you like that?"
Chip grinned, as hard as he could. It almost hurt his gums.  "I would love that, unc. I... might have been stupid. You're so rich and clever, you must know what you're talking about. I'll finish my latest letter to Sharptooth, and then bring it to you, okay?"
"Splendid!" Pyrite, half a table away, was beaming like the sun on a summer's morning. He turned smartly around and strode out of the dining room.
Chip's smile faded. It was time to stop thinking like a pony, and start thinking like a dragon. Pig Iron had been right, Pyrite would never understand what Sharptooth had done, nor how. He would never accept Sharptooth as a guardian... but it wasn't because Sharptooth was a dragon, it was because he wasn't Pyrite.
Remember, Sharptooth had said, all this is yours. The dragon had been sincere, even in trying to give it all away. Pyrite was insincere and appeared to be trying to take it.
Often, his parents had talked about wishing to be a fly on the wall during negotiations. He'd only listened with half an ear, playing with his toy trainsets or Real Tail Action Discord Doll, but their words floated back to coach him. Chip grimaced. He could be that fly. Spying was wrong, but Chip had to know. He was sure he was right about Sharptooth, that meant something was wrong about Pyrite.


♦♦♦

Chip knocked lightly on the door, it swung partially open.
"Come in!" came the cheery voice from inside.
Chip nosed the door open and stepped in. A fire was burning in the grate, and a tray with a teapot and two cups of tea was on a small mahogany table. Two bowls of some salad-like dish were next to them. Around the fire were two ofthe wide, soft plush chairs that Pyrite seemed to like so much.
"Come in, come in. I thought we should just... talk a while, you know? You can tell me how you've been, how you like your stay here, that sort of thing."
Chip sniffed at the tea as he wandered closer.
Pyrite took a sip of his own cup, and gestured with a hoof, "Imported, from Neighpon."
Chip settled himself into the other chair, and nibbled on the salad a bit. He'd never had anything like it before, it was... interesting. Exotic. "I won't sign, you know."
Pyrite laughed, and drank some more tea, "Forget about that for a while. Tell me, how do you like it here?"
"It's... nice."
"Only nice? It's got to be better than living in some desert hovel in the middle of nowhere!"
Chip scowled, "I liked Sharptooth's house! I had my own room and everything!"
"You've got your own room here, lad!"
"Which you lock me in at night!"
Pyrite leaned back in his chair, waiting, as Chip angrily drank tea and ate the salad. "It's true, I lock you in."
"Why?"
Pyrite drank some more of his own tea, slowly and deliberately. "It's so you can't follow me, when I go to meet my... employees. I wouldn't worry about that now though. You won't have to worry about anything much longer."
Chip stopped chewing. He opened his mouth and stuck his tongue out. He spat the salad out on the floor as his blood ran cold.
Pyrite chuckled, shaking his head, "Oh, the salad was just insurance. There grows within some areas of Equestria many interesting plants. That is an interesting one. They call it barbed ragweed, which is a strange thing to call it, for it is neither ragweed, nor does it posess barbs. What it is, is rather poisonous. It won't kill you, probably, but it does lower tolerance for other things that can."
"What did you..." Chip blinked. The room was feeling very hot all of a sudden, and a somewhat familiar wooziness was creeping over his body.
"Relax, lad, it won't be long now. I doubled the dose on a new batch. You managed to recover, last time... I don't understand how... but this time? This time you have no chance."
"What did you do?" Chip croaked. The world was starting to spin, and his vision was growing indistinct and hazy, with odd lights flaring just out of sight.
Pyrite sipped his tea, "Oh, lad, I've been a busy pony, these last few years. So busy. I've been searching and seeking and you know what? I've made a lot of friends. I hear things, you see? I hear about odd plants and strange minerals, and most of all, I learn about this stuff the dragons sell. Apparently to them, it's like... salt, right? But to stupid little colts like you? To normal ponies who... are pregnant and think it's vitamin supplements because it's written on the side, and they take it..."
"You killed... your wife?" Chip dragged himself off the seat. He had to get up... he had to...
"I DIDN'T KILL HER!" Pyrite screamed, kicking the table, the tray and it's contents far across the room, where the cups shattered and the liquid splashed across the walls, ceiling and floor.
"You were going to," Chip wheezed as he hit the floor hard, legs giving out from under him, "only you killed her before she could give birth." He coughed, it hurt. His stomach lurched and he felt himself throw up.
"So she died. And my son died. And her worthless brother took my name. So I killed them, I dropped a mine on them."
Chip gasped, even through the pain, looking up into the mad, wide eyes of his uncle, who threw back his head and laughed cruelly. An angry heat built in his stomach, the pit of shame and fear turned at once to a boiling rage.
"An accident, yes? They told you it was an accident? Of course they did. I paid them to say that.  It cost me." Pyrite got up, walked right up to Chip, and hissed in his face, "and still my name finds a new home. An ungrateful little snivelling colt, stolen away from my minions before I could end his life, too. And then, what happens?"
Chip was trying to stand up, snarling incoherently, but his legs kept failing him. He retched, and whimpered, and cried, emptying his stomach all over the plush carpet. 
Pyrite ignored it, walking back to the fire, stoking it with a poker he held in his muzzle. Putting thet metal rod down, he turned back to Chip. "The stupid foal is brought right to my lap, and dropped into my hooves. So I take him home, and I tell my doctors and my lawyers and my police-ponies... I explain to them something. Shall I tell you what I explained to them?"
Chip snapped his teeth and snarled, rolling across the floor as the world refused to right itself.
"I told them young Chip has become ill, of a broken heart. He doesn't barely get up in the morning, he doesn't go out, he doesn't attend lessons."
"Lies! Sunshine..." Chip groaned, fighting.
"Yes, a pity, they will need to be dealt with, both Sunshine and her doddering sire. Never mind, I bought enough of this for everypony." Pyrite laughed again, almost jovially, as he went to a cupboard. He pulled out, very carefully, a glass jar. He was trembling as he did so, as if he were afraid to get too close. "You see this? I laced your tea with it, I'm surprised you didn't taste it, but then you've never struck me as very intelligent."
Chip struggled, his tongue felt too big for his muzzle and it was hard to breathe. He tried to say, "I'm going to kill you!" but what came out was barely recognizable.
"Oh, don't worry. I never sent any of your pathetic, mewling letters." Pyrite opened a drawer, and threw a bunch of papers from it into the fire. He kept one, smoothing the creases out. "There, now I have the perfect opportunity to forge your signature. It will be foals' play, Chip me lad. But you'll already be gone. Don't worry, I'll give you a proper, tearful burial."
A hoof in his ribs knocked the breath out of Chip, and Pyrite laughed as he trotted out of the room, "You lie here a while... it'll all be better soon. You just let that cup of grade 'A' whizbang do it's job."


♦♦♦

Chip lay on the carpet, breathing heavily. The hoofsteps of Uncle Pyrite dwindled into the distance. The room spun, the strange lights danced, his stomach heaved... but Chip began to laugh.
Slowly, very slowly, he pulled himself up to all four hooves.
Whizbang.
Chip laughed again, even as he fell against the wall,knocking over a display case. He hoofed the door open and fell through it.
Whizbang.
Of all the substances in the world to try to kill him with...
Chip threw up again, but there was nothing left any more, just bile. He navigated the stairs, mostly by falling up them. He found his door, and fell through it. He rolled around on his floor, laughing at the similarity. What had he come here for? He wasn't sure it mattered, for a few minutes, but then one thought caught in his mind.
Sunshine.
Pyrite might have been ignorant enough to try to poison Chip with draconic narcotics, but whilst it just left him feeling sick and silly, it would certainly do a lot more to Sunshine Filigree and her father.
He had to get well, or well enough, to save them, or at least warn them. He wasn't enough of a dragon though. He was just a... a hatchling.
He blinked.
He laughed.
the world still barely made sense, but he knew where his box was. He crawled under the bed, and tipped it up. His training spikes fell across the floor, and he flailed as he searched for his objective. He spotted it, scrabbling with hooves. It was small, flat, and covered in black velvet. As he twitched, breathing ragged, he unwrapped the eggshell very carefully.
Sharptooth's egg.
A piece of the egg his draconic, adoptive father had been born from.
Suffused with the essence of a dragon.
Gingerly, shaking, he bit, and chewed.


♦♦♦

Silver Chalice was busy brushing his daughter's mane and tail when there came a knock at his apartment  door. "Just a moment, sir." he called. The unicorn recognized that knock anywhere, and whilst he was technically off the clock, it wasn't seemly to ignore the call of one's employer.
The door opened to a smiling Pyrite, holding a tray in his teeth.
"Sir?"
Pyrite put the tray down, "Oh, Silver, I... you know, I've been a bit of a grump, lately, and I just wanted to apologize. I thought... I thought I could do something nice for you, how about that? I've made some tea, and some fortified biscuits. I thought we could all have a bit of a nosh and a chinwag, eh?"
"I... don't know what to say sir."
"Mostly folk say thank you." prompted Pyrite, with another smile
"Well thank you, sir, but..."
"Ah-ah! No buts. Just a small cup, and one biscuit? I promise you'll like them."
Silver Chalice sighed, but then smiled. He enjoyed his quiet time with his daughter, when neither of them had places to be and he could just be with the one good thing in his life, that reminded him of his lost love... but there would be time. "Very well sir. Would you do the honours?"
"Allow me, my friend."

The tea certainly did smell good, as did the biscuits. Silver raised his cup and a biscuit, he noticed his daughter doing the same. Proud of her accomplishments with magic, he nodded once to Pyrite, and prepared to sip. The tea was hot, golden, with an intriguing fragrance... it burnt his nostrils in a pleasantly spicey flavour.
He puckered his lips and slurped...

The wall exploded.

The boards, ancient and warped. The wood old and dry, yet firm and strong. The plaster, cracked with age. None of it withstood the force of nature that demanded such fripperies as these remove themselves from its presence. It was a whirling, snorting demon; flaming eyes and sharp hooves, a whip-like tail that smote the air asunder.
"Get away from them!" Chip bellowed, as pieces of the house rained like confetti around the room. All three ponies found themselves cowering from a sudden, overwhelming presence that snuck in through the ears and went straight for the hindbrain without contacting the intellect.
Silver found his skin crawling, his tail flagging high in fear and his eyes rolling of their own accord. His magic failed him and the cup - untasted - fell the floor. The roughly pony-shaped demon slammed its hooves on the china with such force that it was pulverized into dust. The creature took a deep breath, seemed to swell to three times it's previous size, and then it roared.
A stream of hot, shameful liquid spattered against the carpet from between his legs as Silver fled, pushing his daughter as far away from the monster as he could. Both were struck dumb with fear. Silver watched, mute with terror, as the creature turned towards Pyrite.
It said a single word. It spoke it quietly, but with more malice and anger than Silver had ever heard before in his life, and dearly hoped never to hear again.
"Run."
Pyrite fled.
Silver trembled, eyes unfocused, brain latched on to the single thought that permeated his very being: monster-bad-defend-death.
"Sunshine," the monster said, "are you... okay?"
Silver blinked, shaking with shock and fear. He watched the demonic entity in front of him ignorantly for a few moments, wheels spinning idly, before it dawned on him that the creature in front of him... was Chip. The fear permeated the room like the stench of his piss, but through it his brain warred with itself to understand what it was seeing.
With every fibre of his being, his body sang monster-dragon-run-fight, but his eyes and heart told him this was Chip, the small, lost colt that had befriended his daughter.
"Ch-Chip?" it was his daughter who spoke, sobbing, yet paradoxically the first to recover.
"You didn't... drink anything? Or eat anything? Did you?" Before his eyes, the... thing... seemed to deflated, to soften.
"N-no..."
"Don't, it's poison." Chip's voice was suddenly cold, like ice.
"Poison?" Silver shook his head to clear it, spell broken, "What do you mean, 'poison'? How come you're... how come you know? Didn't you..? You must have..? Poison?"
Chip nodded, pawing forehoof gouging great tracks out of the carpet as if he bore claws instead of hooves, "My soon-to-be-late uncle tried to murder you and me, like he murdered my parents, and like he murdered my aunt."
"He what!?" shouted Silver, snorting angrily.
"Murdered them, poison and... I don't know, but he arranged the mining accident."
"Then how come..?" Silver trotted forwards, curiosity temporarily overcoming his crippling fear.
Chip looked at Silver Chalice, his gaze almost sad, before he turned his head to look dismissively out of the window, "I am a dragon, Silver Chalice. I have been since I was adopted. I can't explain it, but it's part of who I am... and it saved me, but it wouldn't have saved you. Eat nothing in this house, trust none of the other staff and get yourselves as far away from here as possible."
"Who do you think you think are, talking to me like-"
Chip turned back to Silver Chalice, and glared with a baleful expression on his muzzle, "I am Baron Chiphoof Irontail Leatherback, of the Neighvada Irontails and scion of the Diamond Expanse Dragon Clan. I am the one thing responsible for your continued existence this day, so do not make me require payment for this service I have done you. Shortly you will take yourself, your daughter and what supplies you need, and leave until I say otherwise."
"Yessir." the words were out of Silver's muzzle before he had time to fully examine the order.
"Good. Now, before you leave, you will do me one small task."
"A-anything."
"Accompany me to my room, I am to be dressed for battle."


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