Myths and Birthrights

by Tundara

Book One: Chapter Six: Bound

Myths and Birthrights
By Tundara

Book One: Awakening and Arrivals
Chapter Six: Bound

Tyr peered over the rim of the chariot as Canterlot came into view, a break in the scheduled clouds making the mountain city of marble and gold shine in the light of dusk, reflecting splashes of orange, violet and mulberry hues.

Built on a series of great, wing-like terraces and natural plateaus, Canterlot was very literally a city divided.

On the highest, overlooking all the others and Equestria’s heartland, sat Canterlot Castle, royal palace of the sister goddesses. Bridges and winding balconies were linked by thousands of stairs and pathways to the outer towers and structures with the grand central palace. The throne room shot off the northern section, alone and indomitable, filled with stained glass windows that showered coloured light on those inside beneath minarets of white marble and gold tops.

Utterly indefensible and impractical, Tyr decided, though beautiful and with an ethereal quality that suited a home for a goddess. Still, it was nothing like the sweeping open temples of the Citadel with its tiles of ruby-infused red clay. On a similar day, the Citadel would have shone like a beacon of light across much of the land.

Canterlot also lacked one very important feature. The city wasn’t a giant glyph created to repel invaders. If attacked, their would be no glowing dome of magic that could withstand a decade long bombardment, or the wrath of an alicorn. There weren’t even any catapults nor ballistae atop the short, stubby walls.

“Those are our apartments,” Cadence said, pointing over Tyr’s withers to a trio of low towers flush with the eastern wall.

Tyr snorted at the impracticality of the covered walkways linking the walls to the castle. It was as if the city planners never considered somepony attacking their creation as a possibility.

Except, did the city even need such things? Tyr glanced over to Princess Luna, the Moon Goddess sitting on her raised bench at the back her own chariot. With Luna sat Twilight and the wyrmling, the trio chatting amicably. The distance between the chariots was too great to hear anything over the rushing wind.

One of the many pieces of useful knowledge Tyr had gleaned was that Ioka possessed few alicorns. She’d already met almost all of them, with only one or two remaining. A world with so few alicorns… it boggled Tyr, and made her suspect that something must have happened to the others. Or perhaps Ioka was so backwards that it had utterly escaped attention.

Lost in her thoughts, Tyr didn’t pay attention as the chariot began its descent and landed on a wide grassy field in a crook of the castle’s western wing. She was snapped back to reality as the wheels struck soft ground, rolling to a gentle stop beneath a crimson awning.

“Well, here we are,” Shining said as he stepped down from the carriage, turning to help Tyr down and lend Cadence a polite hoof.

Tyr stiffened as her hooves touched the dew covered grass, noticing Celestia waiting in the shade of an awning. Through a smallish door an off-grey unicorn cantered out of the castle. Without looking up from the scrolls that hovered in front of his nose, he approached Celestia, giving her a differential bow as he reached her side.

“Is everything in place, Chronicle?” Celestia asked as she watched Tyr.

“As you specified, your highness,” the new pony said as he and the princess approached the chariots. From a set of saddlebags, he produced a set of papers and passed them to Cadence, not even bothering to introduce himself, nor acknowledge her presence with a bow, as was proper. “Lady Tyr was the daughter of one Captain Periwinkle Aegis. He and his common-born wife died in the shipwreck of the Mauretania last fall off the Crystal Coast. His will specified a request of his old academy friend providing for his daughter in the eventuality of his and his wife’s death.”

“I know you do good work, Chronicle, but how well will this hold up if it were investigated?” Cadence asked as she scanned the provided documents.

“It will hold against most scrutiny. To fully pierce the deception would require traveling to Equestria’s embassy in Hackney. That is where the late Captain Aegis was stationed.”

“Was there a Captain Aegis, though?” Cadence pressed.

“There was,” Shining confirmed. “He was in the same class at the Academy as me, and he and his wife did die when the Mauretania sank. But they had no foals. His nearest living relative is a grandmother that has dementia and lives in an institution for the elderly. It’s a solid enough cover.”

“Auntie?” Cadence turned to Celestia, looking for the princess’ opinion.

“I have the utmost faith in Chronicle’s work. He’s had to perform this sort of shell-game before.”

“Never with a goddess, though,” Chronicle grumbled. “If it were known to the other nations what you are attempting to hide right under their noses…” He shook his head a few times, muttering some low oaths. “And so many of them in the city for Lady Sparkle’s official presentation, too. It’s going to take a miracle to keep everypony oblivious.”

He then looked over to Twilight and Luna, taking in Twilight’s appearance twice, his mouth hanging open for a moment before audibly clicking shut.

“We’ll just have to make sure their attention is firmly planted on Twilight then.” Celestia gave a little smile and laugh, nodding as the mentioned pony approached. “How are you feeling, Twilight? I’m sorry we didn’t get a chance to speak yesterday.”

“I’m… I’m not sure,” Twilight admitted, her wings ruffling as she spoke. “Excited, nervous, a little overwhelmed.”

Continuing to give a soft laugh, Celestia said, “It was the same for Luna and I. You’ll get used to it, however.”

“I won’t,” Spike huffed behind crossed arms, his stubby tail thumping the grass and little tendrils of smoke curling from his nostrils. “Next thing you know, everypony is going to have wings and horns.”

“Don’t be silly, Spike,” Twilight admonished, giving the drake a playful nudge. “Besides, I thought you liked the idea of spending a little time in Canterlot again?”

Grumbling to himself, Spike eventually admitted he did like the idea. “But, only if we aren’t here forever. I’d miss our Ponyville friends otherwise.”

“You shan’t be here all that long, I suspect,” Luna said, wearing the same smile as everypony else.

Everypony but Tyr.

As the adults, and drake, laughed and joked, she slid away from the group and watched them with unrestrained curiosity, fascinated by how the goddesses would so freely laugh and jest with mere mortals. Somepony said something particularly funny, as Shining tossed back his head and let out a deep, throaty laugh. It was a laugh vastly different than the one she was used to hearing.

“Something troubling you, my lady?” asked Chronicle, making Tyr jump.

“No… yes… I don’t know,” Tyr admitted, frowning. “It’s like… A dream. Not a bad one, but very… odd. She’s like… a nicer, younger Hemera.”

“And who is she?” Chronicle quietly lifted a brow, making Tyr’s mane prickle as she realised her mistake.

“She’s… nopony.” Tyr swallowed the lump that lodged itself in her throat at the lie.

“Ah, it is good to hear that ‘nopony’ goes around laughing as she disembowels others.”

“She doesn’t do that! Well… only as a punishment. And she certainly didn’t laugh!” Tyr protested, and then slapped her hoof to her face. “It’s not nice to trick ponies,” Tyr huffed, crossing her hooves, her small wings jittering.

Giving a very slight grin, one that could hardly be considered a grin at all and more a slight deformation to the corner of his lip, Chronicle agreed.

“Are you Celestia’s High Priest?” Tyr asked, looking up at the old unicorn.

He certainly didn’t look like a High Priest. There was a distinct lack of robes, and he wore saddle-bags stuffed with scrolls. While this last feature was common on initiates, no High Priest Tyr had ever met had carried their own scrolls.

“Oh, no. I am her seneschal.” When Tyr gave him a deadpan look, he elaborated, telling her about his role as the head of the palace staff and Celestia’s chief aide, helping to organize her days and making sure everything that needed to be done was properly attended.

“Why are they so… similar?” Tyr mused after Chronicle’s explanation was finished, more to herself than him.

“It not uncommon for ponies to appear alike. There are only so many combinations of coat and mane, afterall. Or, do you mean their similar energies?” Chronicle asked, giving a slight smirk as Tyr glanced up at him in surprise. “I may just be a unicorn, but I can feel the differences between the princesses well enough. To you, I imagine it is much stronger and clearer. If their natures are the same, as say, both represent Love, then, perhaps they feel the same as well.”

“Maybe,” Tyr conceded. “You’re pretty smart, for a mortal.” Tyr decided, giving her thoughts voice, and making Chronicle smile slightly.

“Perhaps,” he said as Cadence detached herself from the small group, and with Shining, approached Tyr. “Or, perhaps I’ve just seen and done more than you.”

Snorting, Tyr rolled her eyes at the presumption. “I’m over a hundred and thirty-five years old. I doubt you’re half my age.”

“No, I am not, ha-ha!” Chronicle’s eyes crinkled in mirth, before he nodded to the princess, saying, “Your Highness, you have quite a special one on your hooves,” before briskly trotting off into the palace.

“Did Chronicle just laugh?” Shining asked in shocked wonder, gazing after the seneschal. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard him laugh before…”

“Are you ready, Tyr?” Cadence asked, her tone excited and friendly, ignoring Shining for the moment.

“For being fostered?” Tyr gulped, dread building in her belly.

She looked for an escape route, but everywhere she looked was either blocked off or led into the palace. If only her wings worked, Tyr silently cursed. Though, if her wings worked she wouldn’t have ever gotten into this predicament in the first place.

“Oh, no, not that.” Cadence shook her bouncy mane, amethyst eyes shining. “No, for dinner, and then, perhaps a bath.”

“Wait, what?” Tyr stopped looking for a path to freedom, and instead glanced up at Cadence.

For a brief moment, it was like being back home again, with her mother smiling down on her. The image quickly shattered. Superficial details like coat colour, mane, and essence aside, Cadence was nothing like Tyr’s mother. Cadence was… nicer, for one thing. She had yet to admonish Tyr, really. Or compare her failures to her sister’s successes.

“Dinner, and then a bath,” Cadence repeated, using a wing to lead Tyr into the palace.

Reluctantly trotting beside Cadence and Shining, Tyr looked around her new home. White marble everywhere gave her a sense of familiarity, as did the corinthian pillars. The busts of ponies in little alcoves were a little different, but only due to their mane styles. Under her hooves, red silk carpets muffled her steps, while magical chandeliers burned overhead, making the lattices worked into the ceilings dance.

It wasn’t long before they reached a section of the eastern wing where all the royal apartments were kept.

Pushing open a set of double doors, Cadence lead the way into a grand antechamber. There were a few benches, and a large piano beneath a high vaulted window. A smaller set of doors on the left lead into a bright sitting room, while ahead and to the right were more doors, presumably to the bedrooms. In the middle of the room sat a low table and benches that stood in stark contrast to the blue and gold decorating the rest of the room. Magic lingered in the air, making Tyr wonder if the room used to be in its present form.

“I see Celestia re-decorated while we were away,” Shining humorlessly laughed, confirming Tyr’s suspicions.

“Well, we’re going to need more room now.” Cadence grinned, approaching the table while pulling a cord that disappeared into the ceiling beside the entrance.

In short order, servants appeared to bring out plates of prepared food. Tyr sat stiffly, her own wings hidden beneath Cadence’s as the palace staff entered and left. It was a simple meal, in contrast to the palace, consisting of a salad, bread, and an orange juice of some sort.

A pleasant meal that was all too soon over.

Tyr was whisked through one of the adjoining rooms, confirming her suspicion that they were bedrooms, and into a large, ornate bathroom.

“I don’t really need a bath,” Tyr protested as she was lifted into the huge tub.

“All fillies say that,” Cadence replied, twisting a knob to send a cascade of water down a miniature waterfall and into the tub.

“No, really!” Tyr continued to protest as her head was put under the waterfall. Sputtering, she shook her drenched mane out of her eyes, adding, “Our lustre keeps us clean!”

She may as well have been talking to a wall, for all it benefited her. A wall with access to wonderful smelling soaps and a potion that filled the tub with bubbles. When it came time to dry off, Tyr began to beg for just a few more minutes soaking in the warm waters. Her little wings splashed happily, while she and Cadence entered into a little war that saw both dripping wet.

A knock on the door followed by a polite cough informed them that their time was over.

Once dry, Tyr was placed into a soft bed with large quilts the same colour as her coat. Settling down next to Tyr, Cadence asked, “How about a bedtime story?”

“A story?” Tyr looked up with expectant eyes. It quickly vanished, Tyr snuggling deep into her covers so only her nose poked out. “I don’t need a story.”

“Oh, you don’t, do you?”

“No, I don’t,” Tyr proclaimed, puffing up in her duck-down den. “I don’t need to be fostered either, whatever that is.”

Cadence laughed that easy, joyous laugh that was so different from Aphrodite’s harsh barking.

“Perhaps. To be honest, I’m not convinced myself that it is necessary. But the decision isn’t mine,” Cadence said, the hint of apprehension in her voice unmistakable. It, and the next words Cadence spoke, calmed some of Tyr’s fear. “I’ll talk to her, and Luna, about it.”

“She’ll go through with it,” Tyr mumbled, retreating further into her quilts. “If Celestia is anything like Hemera, nothing will change her mind.”

“Whatever happens, Tyr, Shining and I will help you through it,” Cadence said,

Kissing Tyr on the brow, Cadence wished the filly a good night filled with pleasant dreams, and then left the room, the door gently snapping shut behind her. Content and warm, Tyr snuggled down into her covers and drifted off into a pleasant sleep. Tomorrow, maybe, she could discover a way out of the palace to find her family.

“I’m still uncertain about this,” Cadence said, sitting with her aunt and mother in Celestia’s chambers.

Celestia felt a pang of regret at Cadence’s words. “You know why this needs to be done. My decision is final.”

Cadence seemed about to argue, then she deflated, her wings growing heavy with resignation. She looked out the windows, gazing in the direction of Tyr’s room.

“There must be another way,” Cadence pled, looking back to Celestia.

“Agreed, she isn’t a foal fresh into the world. We don’t know what effects this may have on her.” Luna’s imperious voice cut through the discussion. “I have grave concerns that we are leaping ahead too fast. If for no other reason, there are two more alicorns out there who may be Tyr’s true parents. Not to mention that shade. We have no idea how they are connected.”

Rather than directly answer Luna’s concerns, Celestia asked Cadence, “Do you believe there is another alicorn connected to Love?”

Cadence sat up sharply at the question, about to snap out a stern, ‘No’. She didn’t, however, much to Celestia’s relief and respect. Celestia’s coat prickled as Cadence expanded her essence, searching for another manipulating the tides of love that permeated the disc.

“No… If there was another alicorn of Love out there, I’d feel it, especially this time of year. And… I can’t. Whoever the others are, neither are Tyr’s mother, at least.” Cadence’s words clearly weighed heavy on her as her wings continued to droop, as did her head.

“What if we just used illusions to hide her?” Luna asked, taking a new tact. “We all use them, or other spells, to go among our little ponies as regular pegasi or unicorns.”

“No, that’s too impractical,” Cadence mumbled, rubbing her temples. “There are too many ways for a filly to accidently break an illusion, and she’d have to be the one to maintain a transmutation. Besides, such tactics wouldn’t solve the real problem, would they?”

“That’s correct.” Celestia let some of her own exasperation with the situation leak into her voice. “What if it were a couple decades, or more, before she found her talent? Luna, we both know what that can do to a filly. The toll it takes on the mind.”

Her upper lip curling, Luna snapped, “Don’t bring Namyra into this.”

“You know I’m right,” Celestia returned, her own lips pressed into a firm line.

“What happened to her has no bearing on this!” Luna snorted.

Letting her own irritation slip from her tone, Celestia said, “If she had been—”

“No!” Luna smacked a hoof to the floor, her presence becoming a cold, furious tempest. “The world is not the same as it was a millenia and a half ago.”

“It is not so different, either.” Celestia said around a low, resigned sigh. “Roving hordes of marauders have been replaced by scheming politicians. At least you know where you stand with raiders.”

“They are easier to deal with, as well,” Luna said with a whimsical huff. Glancing out the window to the horizon, she added, “At least there are few cabals now.”

“Things aren’t as dark as when we were young, Luna. You, of all ponies, know this. But, neither is the world a fount of light. Look how shadows claimed you, and almost Cadence as well. Or the past few years. Your return, Discord breaking free of his prison, Changelings invading Canterlot; these are but the incidents closest to us. There are wars out in the Old Kingdoms, and our combined lights are only just keeping things stable.”

Celestia watched closely as Luna tried to form another argument, only to stop, and look to Cadence for support. Cadence, for her part, was examining the weave of the rug as if by doing so she could divine an answer.

“You can not allow guilt to guide you blindly down this path, Tia,” Luna finally said, her tone no longer harsh, but conciliatory.

Celestia began to dismiss Luna’s concerns, but stopped. Memories she'd ignored for centuries battered at the walls of her mind in terrible flashes, moments more eternal than if they'd been etched in stone, choices, words... mistakes. Her shame bubbled and frothed as it had for centuries at the back of her heart. Greater, however, was her fear of failing again.

“But, surely, the four of us, if we include Twilight, can keep our eyes focused within and without?” Cadence asked, her hoof tapping on the legrest of her chair. “Won’t we be required to do so, regardless?”

“No, actually,” Celestia frowned, pulled back to the present by Cadence’s uncertain voice.

Luna added, “The spell acts as a ward, manipulating the strands of Fate and Destiny in subtle and confounding ways. She could be harmed, though not anything grievous. She could find herself in danger, but, no matter what, she will be protected until she came of age.”

“Fostered, she’ll be safe. Mother will see to it, I am certain.” Celestia spoke softly, but with a firm assurance in her voice.

“You have more faith that she’s out there than I,” Luna snorted, looking away from her sister and instead focusing on the fire burning in the room’s hearth. “The spell does the work, not her.”

“Will she really be safe, though?” Cadence gave a long sigh, looking up towards the fading day. “She—”

“We could debate this in circles for a century and get nowhere.” Celestia interrupted. “I will take the responsibility for this choice. Fostering is how we’ve always done things. She will have as normal a life as we can provide, with school, friends, and family. Within a year, or two, she will find her special talent. The fostering spell may end right there, or it may last until she reaches adulthood. Without fostering, she could be vulnerable for many decades, or centuries. Namyra was over two hundred years old when—”

Luna's sharp breath brought Celestia to a halt. The two sisters eyes met, the elder's gaze falling to the polished table.

"I won't let that happen again," Celestia said, her voice barely a whisper. "I can't."

Luna stared at her sister with tear stung eyes. "Tia? Look at me." Celestia didn't respond until Luna repeated herself, harder and sharper. Holding her gaze, Luna said, "You have to let it go, Tia. It wasn't your fault."

"I've told myself that a thousand times. It doesn't change that I let him into our home."

"And I left him alone to his own devices. We are not the same ponies we once were. We are stronger and wiser. We can protect her, Tia."

"Of course we can!" Celestia came back, her voice as resolute as ever. "But at what cost? She has already been denied most of her foalhood. Have you even looked at her? She's spent the last one hundred years as a filly, her only friends those like her. One hundred years old and she has no respect for any life that isn't immortal. If we do not do this, she will never grow to love our little ponies, they will forever by nothing but distractions, ants crowding her picnic." Cadence tried to speak up, but Celestia's gaze silenced her. "Friendship can not be taught, it must be learned. You, of all ponies, should know that."

Mother and daughter studied the table's wood grain, letting the the last of Celestia's words fade into silence. In the seconds that followed, Celestia’s posture relaxed, wings folding back to her sides as she settled back to her haunches.

“I will take no part in this…” Luna said, not looking up from the table.

“That is alright. I can do this alone. It is appropriate.”

Decided, Celestia stood and went to a cabinet. From it, she pulled a box older than the nation she ruled. Memories surfaced as the weathered box was lifted in her magic. Twilight discovering the box and asking about the many interlaced enchantments woven throughout the wood, preserving and protecting both it, and what was hidden within. Still just a filly, Twilight had been so frustrated that she couldn’t open it. But that frustration had been nothing next to her desire to know the spells used upon the locks.

Another memory, from a little over a millennia before, sitting down to open the box, a little pink newborn filly placed on a low bench before her. Cadence squirmed slightly in the ceremonial plum coloured swaddling. The sharp smell of overripe cherries permeated the air, while in the background, Luna pleaded with Celestia to not take away her daughter.

Celestia shuddered at the latter memory, tucking the box under a wing.

She said nothing more to her sister or niece as she left, her stride quick and determined. Celestia worried that her resolve would falter, that her heart would betray her before reaching Tyr.

It did not, however, and all too soon she was pushing open the door into Tyr’s bedroom.

Standing in the doorway, the doubt finally struck, pouncing like a cat upon Celestia’s resolve. Once done, there would be no going back, not until Tyr grew up. At least she would grow up, and no longer be stuck as a perpetual filly.

Knowing that did nothing to allay Celestia’s growing unease. It felt wrong, and that was not something with which she was accustomed. The filly sleeping peacefully before her was not her own. Tyr wasn’t even a distant relative. What right did she have to force such a decision on her?

“Mother, where are you? I could use your guidance now, more than almost any other time before,” Celestia whispered, careful not to wake Tyr. “Please, give me a sign that this is the right thing to do?”

As every other time for fifteen hundred years, Celestia received no answer.

The room was silent, save the ticking of a grandfather clock, as Celestia left the doorway and approached the bed. Placing the box on the end table next to Tyr’s bed, Celestia set her doubts aside.

She was doing what was best for Tyr.

Before doing anything else, Celestia cast a powerful sleeping enchantment. At least Tyr would not be aware or suffer through what was to come. It was only the barest of consolations.

With Tyr deep within the enchanted sleep, Celestia began to cast the fostering spell. Created before modern magic, the spell was more like a ritual comprised of five different magical matrices that worked in conjunction.

Snapping open the box, Celestia drew from within a bone needle and a pair of sheers. These she placed before her.

Golden circles filled with arcane formula hummed, slowly spinning around Tyr while Celestia picked up the needle and sheers. Above Canterlot, clouds formed and swirled in time with the glyphs below, the city becoming the eye of the storm. A single bead of sweat prickled Celestia’s brow as she worked the ancient magic, binding and drawing it together until it began to writhe and slide through the room with a life all its own. Motes of coloured light sparkled in the spell’s wake, leaving dancing tails hovering throughout the room. One by one, the colours faded until only shades of red remained as the spell reached the sleeping filly.

Tyr rose into the air, held aloft by ruby wisps. The room was unnaturally dark and foreboding with the magic flowing from the glyphs, a quiet hiss rippling to the corners like a drop of water burning on a stove. The torches gutted as if they were being snuffed. A golden thread flowed from Tyr, glowing like a second dawn, light spilling out of the tower and out into the night. Drawing the needle to Tyr’s withers, Celestia began to sing an ancient, sad melody.

As Celestia’s voice rose, the needle passed through Tyr’s wings, trailing more of the ruby strands of aether, and drawing the golden thread. At the last stroke of the needle, Celestia lifted the sheers, placing their edges to the threads, and holding them there.

A terrible emerald fire snapped through the room, seering the tips of curtains and the bedsheets as the scissors snapped shut, severing the gathered thread. Celestia staggered back as a wave of howling magic circled her, full of righteous anger. Then it was gone, a pulse from the needle tugging at the cut threads and pulling them within itself.

The magic calmed, ruby and emerald aether fading into the night as Tyr slowly descended to her bed. Celestia tucked away the needle and sheers before she stepped forward to inspect her work. Tyr’s wings were gone, as was the shimmer of her coat, while her horn remained unchanged. Where her wings had been were angry, yellow scars bound by strands of red that pulsed in time to Tyr’s heartbeat.

“A unicorn,” Celestia whispered, letting out a breath she hadn’t been aware of holding, “that is good.”

Wrenching her gaze from the profane scars, Celestia tucked Tyr into the covers.

Retrieving the box, Celestia returned to Cadence and Luna. Her steps were slower, weighed down by guilt pressing upon her withers. She reminded herself that it was in Tyr’s best interest. But the words helped not at all. She couldn’t bring herself to look at her sister nor her niece as she pushed open the door to her room.

“It has been done,” Celestia stated as she returned her mother’s box to its place within her cupboard.

Turning her gaze to her family, she saw what she feared; disappointment.

“We know,” Cadence replied, her face downcast. If she were not an alicorn, Celestia suspected Cadence would have been crying. “We felt it as… It’s not right, auntie.”

Celestia opened her mouth, about to say, ‘It is how we’ve always done things,’ but the words wouldn’t come. Relying on the past alone was a terrible excuse, and she knew it. So, instead, Celestia repeated what she kept telling herself, “It was in her best interest.”

Maybe she’d believe it herself if she said it enough times.

Fleur stood at the gates to her manor, legs shaking in trepidation. She had known this encounter would come. It had been inevitable ever since she’d stormed out of her home. Hesitantly, she placed a hoof onto the stone path that led to Fancy Pants.

She recoiled as if stung, and turned to run away again, making it only a few steps before she stopped, trembling.

“This is silly,” Fleur growled to herself. “Je suis plus fort que ce.”

Returning to the gates, Fleur forced herself over the threshold. Eyes closed to preserve her determination, she walked the familiar path, hooves easily clicking over the loose stone at the base of the maner steps. A flick of magic opened the doors, and she was inside.

The entrance hall was dark and cold, the candles dead in their sconces, burnt down to nubs, rivulettes of wax forming rounded stalactites beneath the brass fittings. This was an empty home, bereft of more than just ponies. There was a longing silence that begged to be filled, making the manor cold and unwelcoming. Saddlebags deposited beside the door, Fleur glanced around. She quickly spotted the shards of the vase she’d hurled at Fancy during the arguments height still laying scattered and broken beneath the arch leading to the petite salon.

Lifting the largest of the shards, Fleur brought it to her hooves, tears welling in her eyes. Turning it over, she saw the partial smiling faces of herself and Fancy.

The vase had been a wedding gift from the Comtesse de Burgundy, commissioned from the famed painter Pinceau D’or. Fleur collapsed to her knees as a sob wracked her body. Reaching out, she picked up every shard and sliver that she could see. The gesture was futile; there were too many pieces missing, and even if she managed to find them all, she possessed no spell that could repair the damage done.

So, Fleur placed every fragment she could gather within a decorative plate upon a hall table. The last piece she placed was the first she picked up, positioning it so that the images of her and Fancy faced the door.

“My Lady?” A cultured voice asked from within the gloom, so close that Fleur jumped and spun with a gasp.

“Monsieur Key, don’t sneak up on me like that,” Fleur said as the head butler ignited his horn to place simple light spells along the wall. “Where is everypony?”

He was an older pony, and long been part of the manor, since before Fleur had taken residence as Prance’s Ambassador. As always, he wore his black jacket and bowtie, giving him a look of distinguished professionalism. Fleur did note the worn expression at the corners of his slate grey eyes, like he was both happy and exasperated at the same time. Perhaps she was imagining it, a trick of the poor light inside the manor. Fleur quickly decided that was the answer. Mr. Key was too professional to ever show his inner thoughts on his face.

“His Lordship is in the library, my Lady,” Mr. Key said, stepping forward to take Fleur’s bags and close the door. “He desired the staff to remain in the downstairs until your return. He became very animated when young miss Potts attempted to tidy the entry hall. I’m afraid this space was declared somewhat off limits. I hope the staff and I have your permission to resume our regular duties, my Lady?”

“Oui,” Fleur said, turning towards the petite salon, “Please see it is done.”

“As you wish, my Lady,” Mr. Key gave a slight bow, then added, “One more thing, a letter from the palace arrived day before last, bearing the Royal Seal. It is on your desk in the study.”

Fleur gave a little nod, saying, “Thank you, I am already aware of the letter and its subject.”

“Understood,” Mr. Key said in his dry voice before heading towards the stairs down to the servants quarters. After a few steps he stopped, looked back, and added, “It is good to have you home, my Lady.”

“It is good to be home, Monsieur Key.” Fleur closed her eyes, drinking in the old smells of the ancient manor, a hoof resting on an ancient wooden beam. The words were only a partial lie.

Leaving the entry hall, Fleur passed through the petite salon and grand salon, stopping in the open doorway to the library. She could make out the figure of her husband sitting in his old chair, the one with the stuffing falling out of the arms and the leather dry and cracked. A hoof dangled down to a side table, resting on the accursed doctor’s reports.

Again, Fleur wondered if it wasn’t too late to turn and run. She could go to Baltimare or Bolton, perhaps Halifax, and from there take passage back to Prance. It would only be the most cowardly act she could possibly commit. She’d be ruined, never able to show her face within either Equestria or Prance’s polite societies, but at least she wouldn’t have to face Fancy.

The desire was fleeting, possessing her for less time than it took her to step fully into the room.

Clearing her throat, Fleur spoke her husband’s name.

He stirred, letting out a low snort, an empty brandy glass falling to the thick marabian carpet with a clink. Moving around the chair, Fleur saw Fancy was in a deep sleep, his chin resting on his barrel in what had to be the most uncomfortable posture imaginable.

A long, rumbling snore escaped the stallion, his head rolling to the side as he muttered, “Fleur, please come home,” before a second snore filled the room.

“Oh, my dear beloved, I have been such the fool,” Fleur whispered, taking care not to wake Fancy.

Putting the brandy glass on the table, Fleur lifted her husband. She was momentarily shocked at how light he felt, placing little strain at all on her magic. The surprise was quickly brushed away, more pressing concerns on her mind. Tip-hoofing through the manor, Fleur brought Fancy to their bedroom. She met miss Potts near the stairs to the servants quarters, the young maid giving a joyous squeak when she saw Fleur, followed by a curtsy.

“Miss Potts, some assistance, if you please,” Fleur said as she looked up the stairs to the manor’s bedrooms, wondering how she’d manage to get Fancy up them on her own without banging him into a wall or railing.

“Of course, my lady,” the young earth pony said, taking the lead as guide.

Together, they maneuvered him to their shared room and laid him in the master bed. Fleur took a moment to thank miss Potts before instructing her to collect the vase’s shard. In the morning Fleur would see if a restoration specialist could repair the vase. Crawling into bed, Fleur wrapped her hooves around Fancy’s barrel and placed her chin in the familiar crook of his neck.

He shifted a little, finding a more comfortable pose and entwining a leg through her own. As he did, Fancy said, “I’m glad you’re home,” in a gentle rumble, kissing her just above the horn.

Fleur stiffened as if stung, her eyes widening and an almost imperciptible flutter in her heart.

Shifting her head, Fleur gazed up into Fancy’s eyes, and said, “I am so, so sorry, mi amour. For those terrible things I said. For running away. For being a coward.”

Fancy was silent as Fleur apologized, his face unreadable to anypony but her. She could see the swirling hurt and disappointment behind his sparkling blue eyes. Then he leaned forward, placing a soft kiss at the base of her horn, the touch sending an electric current through her body that left her dizzy and panting.

“You are not a coward.” The words, said with unmatched certainty, warmed her heart, banishing her fears like night before the dawn. “It is I who should apologize. I pushed you too hard. Even the finest steel can be broken if stressed enough.”

Fleur shook her head, reaching up to bring Fancy into a tender embrace. “Non,” she whispered as she took her turn to break the kiss, “I wanted a foal as much as you.”

“Aye, you do,” Fancy agreed, running his hoof slowly through Fleur’s mane. “But I was the one who pushed and pushed, dragging you to all those useless doctors, with their vile potions and devices. None of which are worth two bits.”

Fleur protested, exclaiming the fault was as much hers as his. That the idea originated with her in the beginning.

“I suppose it isn’t meant to be,” she finished with a sigh.

“There are other ways, you know.” Fancy spoke in a slow, musing way as he settled.

Both had said their apologies, and both hated the long back-and-forth of other couples. Repeating the same words over and over made them no more true. An apology was only the first step to making amends. It was a path that would have to be walked for months, or perhaps years. A journey Fleur knew she could easily walk.

“We could adopt, or foster,” he continued, oblivious to Fleur’s thoughts.

Fleur couldn’t help but laugh, not unkindly, as her mind flickered to the encounter in Ponyville and what was said in the town library.

“Oui, perhaps. Something to think about,” Fleur agreed as she closed her eyes and was lulled to sleep by Fancy describing their ideal foal.

The constant drone of rain pit-tap-tapping on his roof was Zubu's loudest companion, if a most inconsistent one. The old zebra had more, like the gentle flickering of a small fire in the center of his hut or the welcome heady buzz of the herbs in his pipe. Fire and Herb, as Zubu called them, were both more common than Rain, but not as common as Pain. Pain had been Zubu's companion the longest, as it so often liked to remind him. The only other of Zubu’s companions that could claim to have been with him as long was Orenda, though she was missing, off on one of her adventures, as was often the case.

At least Rain was back and, with Herb and Fire, had taken Zubu's attention away from Pain.

"I tell you Rain, it is good you are back," Zubu shouted up to his dripping ceiling, waving the pipe containing Herb a little wildly. "It has been a good fortnight since you last visited. Seen anything interesting?"

All around the zebra, droplets of water fell into precisely placed buckets, pots, and urns creating an almost musical din. Nodding his head to unspoken words, Zubu muttered, "Uh huh. No. You don't say? Scandalous! So the mayors daughter was caught in the granary with some young buck? Most wonderful! Oh, halloo and hurray!"

Zubu fell backwards off his small cot, his head striking an urn and tipping it over. In a hiss of smoke the fire was extinguished as both the laughing zebra and urn rolled across the floor. Jumping up to his three hooves, Zubu swore.

"Fire! I'm sorry! Are you okay, old friend? Fire?"

Zubu leaned his right side towards the remains of the fire. Dangling at his side, his right fore-leg tried to reach towards the wet soot. The elbow, fused in a right angle, couldn't move, and his mangled hoof hung limp and useless, a twisted mass of rolling black-white fur, dislocated bones and cartilage. Flipping the smothered fire with the crippled limb, Zubu shook his head sadly.

"Don't worry, Fire, I know how to breath you new life. Mm hmm, I do indeed. Yes, I do."

Leaning down, Zubu ran his good hoof through the soggy mess. A few syllables, growled in a low voice, accompanied the runes forming in Zubu’s mind. Sparks shot from his hoof, dancing across the sodden pit, relighting the few logs in a burst of orange.

"Ah, you're back, Fire? Where'd you go? Hmm… hmm?" Zubu smiled, rubbing the muddy mixture clinging to his hoof onto a rag . "Such wild and crazy antics you get up to every time you leave, Fire. Almost as bad as Orenda. Not like Rain, she is far more sensible. Just listen to her soothing song."

Zubu's eyes widened when he realised he could no longer hear the gentle pittering and pattering of rain striking leaves or his roof. In the hearth, the fire shrunk and gutted. Even the fuzzy warm haze surrounding Zubu's thoughts began to clear. Wrinkling his nose, the old zebra detected a peculiar scent on the tip of the wind. It was sugary, impossibly sweet, like over-cooked honey-berry pies.

It was a scent of magic.

The last of the clouds filling his mind vanished, Zubu spun and snatched up a long staff propped in a corner. Bones rattled and chimes sang as he leveled the staff using his mangled leg at the small door of hanging beads. Beyond the door he could see movement, a shape flitting through the thick trees and broad leaves that hid his hut.

All was silent. None of the incessant chirping of insects, nor the distant roars of the Great Apes as they battled over mates and territory, nor the song of birds drifted through the early morning gloom. The hackles along the back of Zubu's neck continued to rise. The smell was growing stronger. A quick shift of a shadow drew the zebra's gaze, his staff following the movement and more dangerous runes forming on the tip of his thoughts, combining into one of his favourite spells.

A swift crack rang through the jungle, blue light briefly breaking the stillness and the sharp tang of ozone filling the hut. Smoke trailing from the staff's head, Zubu slowly made his way out of his home, eyes darting in case he had missed, or the threat wasn't alone.

Zubu, you must come…

The words drifted like gossamer through the shafts of shadow and light striking the jungle floor and entering Zubu's thoughts directly.

"Who are you? Where are you?"

Hope, Zubu... She needs you.

The old zebra snorted, resting against his staff. "Are you a demon, here to take me at last? Spirit perhaps? Or a foal thinking to play games with Zubu the Maimed and Mighty? If it is the last, then know I have not lost my wits nor my magic out here." A bead of sweat rolled down the side of Zubu's face, his thin tongue licking his lips.

A rustle in his vegetable garden made him turn slowly and his breath hitch in his throat.

The creature that had driven away his friends was a being of bubbling pink smoke and pure magic. His nose hairs twitched at the ambient energy given off by the spirit. There could be no other explanation for the apparition trotting sedately out of the jungle. It looked a bit like a zebra, only taller, and with wings of fog that frothed from its back. In the forehead between where eyes should have been, sat a glimmering star.

You must follow us, Zubu, you must help us... She needs you, the star said, her light flickering with every word.

Peering closer, Zubu realised just who he was speaking with, and the knowledge chilled him through the muggy jungle air. "Firestar, is that you? Sirius, why are you not sleeping with your sisters?"

This one dreams and needs my help, and we need yours. You must follow us, please. She needs you.

Looking between the comfort of his hut and the wet fetid air of the jungle, Zubu gave a long weary sigh. He was old and tired, his joints ached, his mane was almost pure white, and his right eye could barely see it was so filled with cataracts. If he left his home and followed this star, Zubu knew he wouldn't see his home again. Adventures were for the young of body and soul, and he was neither. Zubu gave the spirit and star a toothy grin.

"Lead on, I will follow as best my old bones allow."

Come, our time runs short.

Through the thick boughs of the jungle, over streams glutted with water so they became dangerous torrents and slippery logs bridging chasms, they lead Zubu. His pace was consistent, if slow. He knew the jungle and her ways, and it was not long before he realised they were being followed. He slowed his already languid pace, casting furtive glances to the shadow darting through the foliage.

As he was crossing a slippery log, the shadow struck, bursting from the underbrush with a howl that turned into a pained yip as Zubu hopped backwards and brought his staff down upon his persurers head.

The creature, a three tailed fox with soft, sky-blue fur, fell onto her back, white paws grabbing where she’d been struck.

“Ow, ow, ow!” she exclaimed over and over, rolling back and forth across the path several time before stopping on her belly.

“Orenda! What are you doing, silly fox-spirit?” Zubu demanded, thumping his staff against the log for emphasis.

“I thought you were in trouble,” Orenda grumbled around a pout, continuing to nurse the bruise to her ego and head. “I smelled unusual magic at the hut, and you were gone. So, I tracked you, thinking you were in trouble. Then I saw you were with a shade, and trouble was mild next to whatever mess your in.”

“Bah, Zubu is perfectly safe,” he dismissed, tail snapping in irritation.

“Of course, because the majestic and wise Zubu doesn’t charge headlong into danger, and then demand I pull him out by his tail.”

Orenda rolled her eyes, the dark splotches on her face making her seem sinister and unwelcoming, while her tails thumped onto the path, sending up a spray of mud, none of which stuck to her fur. Her tails, each marked with a different rune, then curled against her side, Orenda lowering her head.

“I’m sorry, that was uncalled for,” she apologised. “I just worry about you.”

“Worry? For Zubu? Ha!” He puffed out his chest, beginning to trudge after Sirius. “Look, Zubu still goes on adventures. On one now. No need for silly fox to worry. Not about old Zubu, oh no, no, no.”

“But, a shade?” Orenda jumped up to Zubu’s side, easily matching his slow stride. “The dead shouldn’t linger like that. It’s unnatural.”

Neither said anymore, each falling into their own thoughts as jungle began to thin until a rolling golden plain opened up before them, beckoning them to step out of the humid, confining air. Few trees dotted the land beyond the jungle’s border, the ground dry and cracked, baked into a dense crust by Sol. Far off in the distance so it was just a smudge on the horizon was one of the griffon's aeries. Hesitating, Zubu turned to his unusual companions.

"Out there, in the open?" He asked, only for the spirit and star to move ahead. "Of course, it would be near those rotten cat-birds," Zubu hesitated, moving back and forth along the divide between jungle and savannah.

“You did say you were on an adventure,” Orenda teased, jumping ahead with a spring in her step only carried by the youthful. “What’s an adventure without a little danger? Unless, you want to turn around, slink back to the hut, and commune with your fire some more.”

“No, a shaman does not back out on a promise,” Zubu grunted as he followed, his staff digging into the hard, dry earth.

Orenda shook her head as he passed, muttering under her breath, “Stubborn zebra, he’s going to end up bird food if he keeps this up.”

For hours they traveled, searching continually for griffons, or one of the many other predators that called the land home. It wasn't long before they came across a set of tracks. Zubu lifted a curious eye as he saw two sets of prints that could only belong to griffons, one whom was dragging both feet on her right side. Among them, racing back and forth in a chaotic swirl, were the tracks of a foal. At least, Zubu believed they were a foals tracks. They weren't right for a zebra foal, a little too round, and the hollow was too narrow. He had never seen tracks like them.

As he inspected the tracks, shadows began to cross the sun. Looking up, his old heart almost seized. Hundreds of griffons flew past, many giving him angry or suspicious glares. Saying a little prayer to the White Walker, hoping the griffons were unaware that he was unprotected by the Compact, Zubu sat down and waited for the flock to pass, Orenda laying down at his side, growling at the griffons. The star and shade had completely vanished.

When the last griffon vanished behind a small hill, Zubu let out a deep gasp of relief he'd been holding.

"Firestar? Firestar? You still here, Firestar?"

We are here. The star dryly intoned from a little ways down the path. We must hurry. Our time is almost gone.

Gulping down the fear swirling in his stomach, Zubu hustled after the swiftly moving smoke. A few minutes later, he again saw the griffons take wing, lifting off from around a lone tree.

We are too late, Sirius lamented, gently rolling towards the tree.

Silently, Zubu followed, taking laboured breaths, his hooves dragging as he walked. Beneath the tree he could see two griffons, both laying far too still for the time of day. Dread over what he would find filling his mouth with burning bile, Zubu carefully approached the griffons. All around were a sea of prints making it impossible to tell what precisely had happened.

A tear trickled from Zubu's eye as he inspected the first griffon. She was so young, and had been horribly battered, a wing mangled by some fight or crash. Her throat had been slit, no doubt with one of those terrible ceremonial knives. Griffons, Zubu snorted, they believed it a kindness to end the life of those they thought were cripples. Zubu looked to his own mangled leg.

He had lived his entire life with his maimed limb, and it had only made him stronger, fiercer, and more determined. Now, in the autumn of his life, Zubu wouldn't have traded it for a functioning leg.

The Griffons made no sense. Zubu tried to think over what he knew of the cat-birds as he went to inspect the second griffon. They were so fiercely loyal, and cruelty from a griffon was almost unheard of, they went out of their way to avoid making anything suffer a lingering death, and yet they were so cold. At least they were predictable. Unless they were an Exile. Zubu shuddered thinking about the wild and frightening ways exiles from the aeries could act.

Approaching the second griffon, Zubu was surprised to see she was still alive, her chest just barely moving. A large pool of blood spread beneath her making the ground wet and sticky. Curious, Zubu bent down and saw she'd been stabbed in the chest. She also seemed to be in prime health, if a little dusty and unkempt.

The griffon's eyes shot open as Zubu moved her head to see her neck. Jumping back, he leveled his staff at the griffon despite knowing that she was no threat in her state.

"Talona, they took her," the griffon said, spitting up blood.

Confused who a 'Talona' could be, Zubu looked to the smoke for guidance, but it was gone along with the star. Snorting, Zubu turned back to the dying griffon.

"Looks like your day is lucky. I was brought here to save someone, and you get to be it."

The first rays of Sol, perfectly slanting in the minutest of gaps between curtain and sill as the sun crested the Canterhorn so that it struck Tyr upon her eye, waking the filly with a start. Wearily blinking away the crust of sleep on her muzzle, Tyr glanced hopefully around the room, silently praying to Hemera, Aphrodite, and Athena that she’d find her old, comfortable chambers. The soft bed she’d known the past century, with it’s perfectly placed lumps and grooves, was not beneath her. Her dresser made of pink coral, a gift from Poseidon and Amphitrite, the god and goddess of the Oceans and Lakes, respectively, was not standing between a pair of thin, gold framed windows. Nor were there toys and dolls scattered about the floor like a rolling field of flotsam.

Tyr couldn’t hold back the pang of profound weariness that overcame her as she was instead greeted by the too-clean room she’d been given. Everything was too clean, too fresh, too perfect for Tyr’s tastes, with none of the little bits of history and charm she was accustomed to seeing.

Grumbling, Tyr rolled onto her stomach, reminding herself that she’d known what would be waiting for her when she awoke.

The previous day, waking in the strange library, hadn’t been nearly so striking. It was too strange and different, the juxtaposition too great for her mind to overcome.

Now, surrounded by what at first seemed familiar, but after the first glance was so wrong, the full weight of her loss crashed down upon her heart. Tyr felt both heavier and lighter, her body sinking deeper into the quilts. Grabbing the covers in her small hooves, Tyr pulled the plush, excellent sheets to her chin as her lip quivered.

Something wet stung her cheeks, slowly trickling down a cheek. Tyr’s self-pity slowed as she touched her hoof to the damp spot, pulling away a couple tears.

Tyr didn’t even attempt to hold in the shriek, primal fear piercing her like a thousand lances. Flinging the treacherous drops away, Tyr scampered backwards as fast as her legs could move, tumbling over the bed’s edge. She attempted to slow her fall with a couple flaps of her wings, producing nothing save a few sporadic twitches in the muscles along her back.

Laying on her back, her mind locking up as she tried to coax any movement from her wings, Tyr was only vaguely aware of pounding hooves and the door to her room being flung open. Cadence and Shining both stood for a moment in the space between rooms, eyes darting about for whatever threat was circling Tyr. At once they took in the heart of the matter, Tyr’s strangled gasps reaching their attentive ears from the tight bundle of quilts and sheets.

“Tyr, are you alright?” Cadence asked, slowly unwrapping the tight cocoon of cotton and duck feathers Tyr had managed to create in her short tumble off the bed.

Cadence’s words had the effect of snapping Tyr back into action.

Shrieking again, she spun, attempting to peer at her wings, and finding only the normal, ordinary back.

No wings.

They had taken her wings!

The realization rampaged through her head as she sat down with a hard thump.

Again, she brought a hoof to her face, more tears trickling down her cheeks to drip off the end of her muzzle. With an infinitely languid motion, the trio fell, splattering upon the floor like common, salty tears.

No, they’d done worse than take her wings.

Tyr placed her hoof over the wet spots on the marble, and she could feel nothing. No tingle of magic, no sense of hidden, waiting strength. Worse, the fur of her coat was so… plain, flat, and muted, her lustre gone, whisked to the same place as her wings.

“She did it. Celestia really did it,” Tyr mumbled, an entire stream of little droplets running down her cheeks. “For a moment… last night… when you said…” Tyr’s voice trailed off in a weary sigh.

“Tyr…” Cadence spoke in a gentle, conciliatory tone, one that sharpened as she repeated the filly’s name. “Look at me.” Tyr did so, but slowly, and with a begrudging glare.

“You will get your wings back, and your earth pony strength.” Tyr’s chin was lifted by a hoof when she tried to look away. “I know you can’t sense it, but neither are gone, they are just bound and hidden.”

Tyr didn’t respond, ignoring the firm assurance, treating it with suspicion and doubt. She had to escape and find a way home. But first, Tyr had to make herself whole again. If her mother, her real mother, saw her like this, maimed and broken, Tyr had little doubt that she’d be struck dead on the spot. The best outcome would be exile to the outer wastes, or abandoned on Ioka. She had to find a way to break the curse laid on her.

“I know,” Tyr intoned in a dull, defeated voice, secret plans already beginning to formulate.

She’d play the defeated foal, for now. Tyr could never fully trust these ponies. They were as bad as the Olympians, and nothing, nothing, like her own family. Hemera and the others may at times have been firm, but they never resorted to trickery or underhooved tactics like laying curses on a sleeping foal.

No, Tyr would never belong among the alicorns of Ioka.