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// Chapter 2: Throne Room 
// Story: Dead Hearts 
// by Flutter Bloom 
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Chapter 2:


Strange... the scenery seems adverse to change, the stallion thought as the armored one continued to escort him down the unreasonably long halls.
As their hooves traversed the cobblestoned hall, the armored one looked to the unknown unicorn. It seemed his charge cared little for his appearance; the wild mane cascaded down both sides of his neck, loose hairs strewn wherever they liked. Maybe he was bandaged, maybe not—if so, the stallion felt nothing wrapped around his body anyway.
“It would be best to know your identity, ere we present you to the king and queen,” so spoke the armored one. The gentle clop of their hooves continued to be his only answer, silence otherwise dominating the atmosphere. The stallion’s visage confronted the other, judgment pending on his decision—friend or foe?
“...Nam Tempus.”
Finally the stallion rasped his name, feeling it claw its way out of his tender throat. Apparently satisfied, the armored one returned his focus to their destination, the royal chamber growing ever closer. Silence reigned over the halls once more.
Having given his name at least, Tempus grew apprehensive about the imminent royal meeting. With knowledge of his name came potential knowledge of his whereabouts, his origin. What stopped these ponies from spreading it around? Could he trust them to keep it secret?
No, clearly not. He had to find the bag and go. He had to keep those precious stones from his clan's clutches at all cost; there was no telling what pain and calamity they'd spread! They were too dangerous to forfeit, especially in this place where fillies roamed freely.
A cough pulled his attention back to the armored one, who stood in front of him and beckoned to the open door ahead. The time for judgment was at hoof; had the filly saved him, only to prolong his pain in this cold, icy place? Or would hope of warm assistance yet prevail?
He kept his head down upon entry, utilizing his periphery to covertly survey the room. That's when he saw them. Two fillies—not one—sitting in their own places of honor beside the two larger thrones. Clearly, the fillies often played audience to important matters. The younger-looking of the two featured a midnight coat with a two-blue-toned mane. Yet it was the larger filly who drew his attention; a filly of familiar fur, mane and eyes.  She sat, patient, watching while the younger spoke and revealed the white one's name.
“Celestia. Sister?” the dark filly asked, tilting her head with her eyes blinking and full of unknown innocence. Maybe there was something there that wasn’t innocent; too early in the filly’s development to tell for sure. With time's permission, he may have studied her further. Nevertheless he trotted on, the fear of retribution weighing on his mind. He reached some small steps, the fillies' muttering now his least concern. At the base, he lowered himself into a short bow, noticing only then how long his limbs were in comparison to the others’.
A high, feminine giggle sounded, juxtaposed by an audible sigh. Drawn from his internal musings about limb length comparisons, Tempus' eyes met those of a radiant, attractive mare. His previous ignorance of early morn's name now seemed foolish, for he beheld one that seemed to represent sunrise itself. Orange and gold coalesced with white in a glorious display through her mane. The darker, blue tips—not unlike the coat of the younger filly—gleamed with hints of purple, shimmering with what one could mistake for the evening stars themselves. Though no wind breezed through this hallowed chamber, the mare's incredible mane flowed with fluidity all around her. It even caressed her elongated horn—an elegant spiral accented by the same shade of orange. Her equally glorious tail partially covered a curious mark on her flanks, the likes of which he'd seen only on the chieftain and witch doctors of his own clan. Tempus took one second to memorize the pattern: a single, centred star, with spirals sporting other stars emerging from the five points.
Slowly, his eyes drifted to the male who had coughed. Unlike the mare—whose body shared the elder filly’s white hue, save for orange patches around her hooves—his full form was decorated like the night sky. His horn was shorter than hers, but tapered to a rather menacing point. Unlike her mane of many hues, his was a solid dark purple that seemed to ripple like water down a stream. Endlessly rippling; did any other part of their bodies ripple like that? It was beyond beautiful—just like the forest which he suddenly longed to return to.
“You must be the unicorn Celestia told us about. The one who managed to concern yet frighten her at the same time.” The mare’s wintry voice breezed over Tempus, enveloping him in a feeling of gently falling snow upon his coat. Sweet, soft, light—completely enchanting. His heart hammered within his chest as he swallowed hard, remaining in the bow, captivated.
“At ease.” The magnificent stallion now spoke as the mare looked to him. Tempus quickly stiffened. His bones popped as he quickly changed position, almost having his limbs become entangled among themselves. Forcing the pain down, his eyes darted to and from the stallion on the throne to the mare on her matching throne. “Answer Radiant.” 
Radiant? Was that the mare? Tempus had to assume so— if yes, there two were definitely the King and Queen. Both were graced with stunning beauty. It made sense in a way—gems occurred naturally in the world, it stood to reason that it could produce gems of ponies, too?
A cough escaped from Tempus as he glanced over at the two fillies, observing as they took their leave. He quickly returned his eyes to the King and Queen—or who he expected to be the monarchs. He felt the desire to respond rapidly; the stallion’s eyes narrowed, his patience shrinking by the second.
“I am, sire.” Tempus felt his throat ignite once again. The words burned, as did standing there trying and failing to stabilize his paranoia. His head started to pound slowly. Thinking seemed to dull the pain, yet the two before him required his attention—attention he was not keen to deny. Just considering the idea was enough to twist and knot his stomach. He had to think of a way to distract himself; maybe looking for a similar mark on the king like Queen ‘Radiant’. As he heard them mutter among themselves, his eyes wandered down to the stallion’s tail near the flank. His eyes caught the mark, a giant star. Of course it was a star, had he expected a plant or something? That would be—
“Well, I am pleased to welcome you here to our humble home. I am Queen Radiant. This is my husband, King Sol. I apologize for the circumstances of your entry to our town, also for your rude awakening in the infirmary. No doubt that scared you...”
The Queen was speaking; Tempus registered too late, stiffening rigid and hastily averting his gaze from her flank to her face. “Militis Arma, please take this colt to a spare room. Preferably close to the infirmary, lest his injuries bother him further. Although it has been nearly two weeks, I recommend that he remains supervised for any… complications.” As she spoke, she smiled, serving only to tighten the knot in his gut. The armored colt from earlier walked in and bowed next to him. Tempus’ eyes landed on him as he surveyed him—well at least he now knew the armored one’s name.
“Yes, Milady,” he responded as he kept his head down, awaiting further orders from the two in charge. Tempus remained quiet. There was no purpose in speaking out of turn, desperately though he desired information regarding his bag. He briefly wondered if they planned to keep him captive, enslaved. But what if they didn’t keep slaves like they did in his clan? Every so often after a battle between clans, the victorious would take any captured warriors for their own. It was that way everywhere, right?
“Dismissed.” The king spoke, jerking Tempus out of his reverie. Militis glared at his charge. Slowly the guard tapped his flank, hustling him along. Unwilling to disobey the orders that were given to them, Tempus complied, hoping he could crawl out of the pit he felt he’d dug himself into.