The cave was smooth-walled, flat-floored and fairly dry. There were signs that the walls and especially the floor had been smoothed out by past occupants. Dragons often did this to their own lairs, using their claws, capable of gouging and scraping all but the most obdurate minerals, but Fischfootur hadn't been in here long enough for a dragon his size to have done that much work. There was no telling who had done it now, without serious archaeological examination. The Earth was old, and there were and had been many sapient species in its history.
The entrance bent sharply after a short run, and the reflected sunlight which remained was very dim. This was a problem neither for Dragon eyes, or for Luna's own -- which could see much broader electromagnetic spectra than those of normal Ponies, and were equipped with tapetums. Around another corner she saw a glimmer of light, which seemed the wrong color for even indirect sunlight. It was hard to tell through Fischfootur's own dragon musk, but she thought she smelled magic -- metal -- and something familiar, up ahead.
An obviously-squared out apeture was covered by a leather hanging, keeping most of the light from within from reaching outside. This door would be completely invisible from the cave mouth, which itself was difficult to see from the air and difficult to reach from the ground. As concealment, Luna could not fault it -- had Fischfootur not actually gone outside the cave, she doubted that even the perceptive Summer Lightning would have noticed his presence.
The bends in the tunnel would even have masked his scent unless somepony actually landed on the ledge and took a whiff from the cave mouth itself. It also gave an attacker no clear line of fire for even a thrown explosive device from the mouth to the inner chamber, while the bulk of the mountain would protect anyone within from anything save a point-blank sunfire explosion. Luna thoroughly approved of Fischfootur's sense of favorable ground: it increased her estimate of his intelligence.
Luna was, of course, fully aware of the possibilities for treachery inherent in her situation. As Fischfootur swept aside the hanging and stepped into the inner chamber, holding it aside politely to facilitate her own entrance, Luna quietly cast a shielding spell over her eyes and ears which would protect her against any flash-bangs, and readied herself to fight should she be attacked.
She did not really expect an attack, though. There were two reasons why: the first was simply that she was much more powerful than anything likely to be in that cave: if she wanted to, she could bring the mountain down on them and then blast her way out of the collapse, essentially unharmed. The second was much more fundamental, though. She liked Fischfootur, and did not judge him likely to be willing bait for any trap which would require him to violate his own word. Dragons, long-lived and warlike, were quite careful of their honor.
She was not disappointed. But she was surprised.
The cave was not dark at all. There was no source of natural sunlight, but Fischfootur had mounted glowstones on the wall, and he touched the master-stone to bring the light up to a level appropriate for a Pony's eyes. That's polite of him, Luna thought. By this light she could discern the cave's contents.
The chamber was moderately large -- small for a dragonslair, but then Fischfootur was still small for a dragon. The middle of the cave contained exactly what she would expect to see in any lair -- a heap of gold and gems, which bore in its center the impress of her host's body. It would be upon this which he would sleep. A number of large iron-bound wooden boxes along one wall had obviously been used to transport the treasure; and as obviously would be used by Fischfootur to bring it back out again.
There were two more hanging-covered apetures. From one, she tasted fresh air -- this would be the rear entrance that any wise smaller Dragon would have, should his lair be invaded by a foe beyond his power. From another, off to the side, she smelled the familiar scent
Leather, cloth, paper, and old ink. Books, she thought. He's an intellectual.
That could explain a lot. Dragons were highly-intelligent beings. But they were also highly-combative. They respected scholars, but they demanded that their fellow-dragons be able to fight, before all else. The honor-duels common in their society could rob a cowardly dragon of all status, all possessions, even of his life, should he not be able to demonstrate that he was a warrior, first and foremost. For a bookish adolescent, the balance of between body and mind might be difficult to strike. Was that why he had felt driven to challenge her?
"Sorry that I don't have this better arranged," Fischfootur said. "But I just moved in -- and I figured I'd be leaving soon anyway." He walked toward that tantalizing side alcove. "Here," he said, "I want you to see this." He pulled the leather hanging to one side.
The walls of the alcove were lined with bookshelves, about three-quarters full of books.
I thought so. She leaned forward slightly, scanning the titles. There were some classics she remembered from her previous time on Earth, and some newer ones she recognized from her readings since her return. They were from many lands, and the words impressed upon their spines were printed in many tongues. The one thing which surprised her was that the vast majority of them were in Demotic Equestrian, the script now most commonly used for popular publications.
Then she noticed the other contents of the room.
The walls were decorated with pictures obviously obtained from Equestrian sources. There were color-prints of Ponies -- here was a really big one of Celestia performing some public ritual before a crowd in Canterlot in an especially prominent location; there one she recognized as a Wonderbolts promotional poster; and, embarrassingly, one of herself in the form she had taken immediately after the Nightmare had been purged. Was I really that little and fluffy-looking? she wondered, and immediately received humiliating confirmation of this fact from her excellent memory.
There was more. There were maps of Equestria, which looked not so much as military objective maps as tourist maps, probably obtained from travel agencies. Certain locations had been circled: and while some might also have been military objectives, she was pretty certain that the inclusion of places such as Las Pegasus and Neighagra had less to do with any planned invasion than with exactly the purpose for which those maps had been originally intended -- Fischfootur obviously either had or wanted to visit those places for sightseeing.
On some shelves were little model Ponies. She looked at these with wonder -- they were finely detailed, brightly-painted and had been posed with some imagination. Celestia was there, of course, and a figure that was obviously meant to be Nightmare Moon (my teeth were not that large), and Prince Blueblood (Well, there's no accounting for tastes, and the drake's never actually met him) and several others who looked like Ponies of high rank whom she didn't recognize. There was a Star-Swirl the Bearded (Ooh, they put tiny little bells on the hat, very nice).
There was only one conclusion she could draw from all this. And it was one that made her very, very glad she hadn't killed him.
"Thou likest us," she said in wonder, turning toward him. "Thou art a Pony-Friend." That had been an object of her sister's policy, one that she had begun back in the days when she was still unifying the Realm, to exert a cultural influence on other lands and races, to excite admiration and imitation from them. And it had very obviously worked, on at least one Dragon.
"Um, yes," Fischfootur said. "You could call us that. Though those among us Dragons who like your culture -- we mostly call ourselves 'dronies.' For short, you see?" He looked strangely nervous, as if fearing some hostile reaction.
Luna nodded.
"Is this why thou didst come to Equestria?" she asked. "Because thou didst want to see our land?"
"Yes," replied Fischfootur. "I couldn't just visit -- my clan would really ride me if I did that. Calling on to the out-flying, though -- they approved of my enthusiasm." He looked down. "I think some of them were hoping you Ponies killed me."
"Sad if that be true," Luna said. He deserved better honesty than 'Oh, I don't think that they could have wanted that.' From what Luna knew of Dragon culture a thousand years ago, the last thing they would have wanted was an extra mouth at their feasts whom they disfavored, even if he was related to them by blood. "They would be reaved of a brave fighter, and skilled tactician." That was no lie, but she suspected that his clan didn't know it.
"You really think I'm that good?" he asked, slowly lifting his eyes to meet hers.
"Yes," Luna nodded. "Yes, if that had been real war, I would have killed thee, but thou art no more than, what 40?" Late adolescence for a Dragon.
"Heh," Fischfootur said. "I'm only 34. But I'm built kind of solid" He looked at her. "And I knew you were holding back."
"I used only mundane weapons, save for that lightning near the end," she admitted. "But it is not thine own fault that thee could not have endured my gravity lances. Only the oldest and most powerful of thy kind could stand against that, and then only for a short while. Only your High Queen would have much chance of overcoming me in single combat. That is simple truth, Thou didst fight with thy utmost strength and much skill, and this is very much to thy credit, young drake." She gazed deeply into his eyes. "And thou didst do something of even greater merit."
"What did I do?" the dragon asked.
"Thou didst keep thy head," Luna explained. "Thou didst not let anger, nor awe at my might, prevent thee from thinking clearly and laying thy plans well. Not one in ten drakes of thy age could have done half so well. So be proud, Fischfootur son of Greattfisch. For I, who have fought many of thy kind, say that thou art a warrior born."
Fischfootur actually blushed at the compliment; Luna could see the flush on his cheeks and throat even through the scales.
"Thou mayest now boast that you have battled me ... and survived. And, should any doubt thy claim ..." She reached back to her chariot with her aura, felt around, drew something back to her around the dogleg. It was a blue towel, embroidered with the initials'LSN' in High Equestrian, for 'Luna Selena Nyx.' She mopped her brow and hair with it, then gave it to Fischfootur.
"Mine own," she said "and bearing mine own scent to prove its provenance to aught who might be so rude as to doubt thine own word on the matter. Thou mayest have it in gift, as souvenir of this day's meeting -- and token of mine own esteem for a valiant foe, whom I do devoutly hope I may one day call mine own friend."
"Wow!" cried Fischfootur, taking the towel, sniffing it, then folding it reverently and placing it upon a shelf. "Thank you, Princess Luna! I ...I don't know what to say! I'm speechless!" He hopped over to a chest, opened it, rummaged around, and withdrew a an old gold torc. "This has been in my line for generations -- Greattbeest the father of Greattfisch my father had it from the sack of Skryhold, twelve hundred years ago. A sage told Greattfisch that it once belonged to the war-captain Monasdrommir, from a thousand years before that and -- is something wrong, Princess?"
Princess Luna gasped, and gazed at the object, examining the detail of the complex metal ornamentation on the front. There was a crescent moon, and old Norse-Runes intertwined with unicorns and pegasi and earth ponies. Her mind plunged far, far back into the past, to a time when she was not a Princess, but rather a wandering adventurer, leading a brave crew of barbarians in a desperate fight by land, sea and air to defeat the monstrous minions of Discord as they strove to conquer the Old East Coast and sever the Crystal Empire's sealanes to the Old Worlds.
She remembered when this had been given to her. She remembered who had given it to her.
Oh, Bjorthugur ...
"Twenty-two centuries," said Luna thickly, her eyes misting over. "Is that ... art thou ...?" She could think of no way to ask.
"Yes," said Fischfootur. "It's for you. You have given me a great treasure. Can I do less than reciprocate?"
She could not bear to speak. She picked the torc up in her aura, sounded it with a focused graviton pulse for flaws.
There were none. It had been well-forged, well-kept.
She put the torc on, above her breastplate.
It sat there as if it had never left her throat.
"How didst thou know?" she asked.
"It kind of reminded me of you," he said simply. "I knew it was of Pony make, and it had your Crescent Moon symbol ... so I figured that it had belonged to somepony from your clan. That's why I brought it here."
So he hadn't really known. But his instincts were sound.
"It ... was mine," she simply said. "I was Monasdrommir."
"Way cool!"
"Thanks to thee again," she said. "Thee hast given me a gift of great price, and great meaning to myself."
"You did too!" he told her. "That towel will always remind me of our duel -- of you." He blushed again. "You know, this is the first really epic moment of my life. You're like something out of an old saga."
"Apt words," she said. "As there have been many old sagas about me. Though most, I suppose, are long forgot." She was briefly saddened as she thought of all the years that had flown by since she had been Monasdrommir, since she had known Bjorthugur.
"Well I'm never going to forget you!" Fischfootur promised. "And Dragons live a long time!"
"That ye do," Luna smiled. "And that thou canst -- if thou dost take some care of thy life." She thought a moment. "Fischfootur," she said, "wouldst thou do a favor for me?"
"What do you wish, Princess?" His eyes were full of eagerness.
"Take care of thy life," Luna said. "Oh, I know thou must duel from time to time to gain thy place -- I expect thou wilst fight a few against fools who name thee liar when thou tellest them of our meeting this day -- but do not challenge one as powerful as mine own self again, unless thou hast truly good cause. Canst thou promise me that?"
"I could," said Fischfootur, a stubborn look coming into his eye, "but wouldn't that be cowardly of me? To back down before greater strength?"
"No," said Luna. "Thou art no coward, as I have seen plainly today. But to avoid a fight one cannot win, the better to build thy strength up and come back later, when the advantage is thine own -- that is simply wisdom."
"Should I then love life before honor?" Fischfootur asked. "I have always heard that you never backed down ..."
"Oh, Fischfootur," Luna said. "I am an Alicorn -- I have always been powerful beyond most compare, I am touched not by age nor sickness, and I can heal any hurt that does not slay me outright. Thou art a Dragon: great in power, but still mortal. Death will find thee in time -- why wouldst thou court his untimely kiss? Even I -- who can die, though only by great force -- I do not seek out mine own destruction.
"I do not tell thee to be craven," Luna continued, gazing earnestly into his eyes. "I tell thee to be wary. Use the same bright mind I have seen thee use in tactics, and apply it to strategy -- I tell thee to pick thy fights. Build up thy strength, of body and mind and following. Thou hath the seeds of a great wyrd in thee. Throw not thyself to any lesser doom. Dost thou ken?"
"I ...Yes, I do," breathed Fischfootur, enrapt by her words. "I promise, Princess Luna," he said firmly. "I will not throw my life away on a foolish quarrel."
"I am glad," said Luna. "For in my many centuries in this flesh, the one thing I most hate is to lose my friends."
They conversed at length upon other things, profound and silly, her life and his. She told him some tales of Monasdrommir and the old wars against Discord. He told her of his life in the Northern Isles, of his clan and family and friends, of the group that called themselves the "Dronies."
His interest in Pony civilization had begun when he had first learned, as a child, of the existence of other kinds of Ponies than the Earth Ponies who dwelt in farming and fishing villages in the North Islands, forming the local peasantry. The Ponies of the North Islands were simple folk, but when he journeyed to Klakskreek, the main trading town for the archipelago, he met the sophisticated Earth Ponies from Equestrian merchant vessels, Pegasus seaponies, and even some Unicorns. He had become fascinated by Pony biology, and then culture.
He had established a regular trade contact: an Earth Pony factor for a firm which exported lizard-meat from Silverland and carried it all the way to the Old Worlds in ice-lined cargo holds. She sold him many of the artifacts in the special chamber of Fischfootur's hoard, and more which he had not brought to Equestria.
He showed Luna a color picture, which he kept in a locket and sometimes wore around his neck. The picture was that of a youngish, rather heavy-built and masculine-looking pale tan mare with rough-cut straw-colored mane, and determined-looking blue eyes.
Luna thought it odd that the adolescent Dragon would keep the picture of a mere business contact in such a sentimental manner, and his words when she asked him the mare's name confirmed her suspicions.
"She's Meatpacker," he sighed, smiling and looking at the picture. "Isn't she beautiful?"
There was no way for Luna to explain to him that -- by Pony standards -- Meatpacker was quite plain. Or even rather alarming. But then, Fischfootur was a Dragon. And Luna, herself, was not one to be either overly atrracted or repelled by mere physical appearances, as she had memories of past Aspects in which her concepts of physical beauty had been very different indeed.
She understood the more important implication, though.
"Thou lovest her?" she asked. Such love, between Dragons and Ponies, was rare and often unhappy -- but it was not unknown. The two races were similar enough in their basic emotions for it to be possible, particularly between an especially generous and kind Dragon, and an especially ambitious and prudent Pony.
"Yes," said Fischfootur, in a tone which bespoke complete certainity. He stared at her as if he expected opposition.
"Dost she love thee?" Luna asked.
"I ... I don't know," he said. "I think so ... we've spent days together, just talking about things and telling each other our hopes and dreams ... but I've never spoken to her about love. I ... I don't think she has anyone else. Most Ponies think she's not feminine enough. I can't see why -- she has this cute nose, and the way her hair streams in the wind, and the light in her eyes ..." he sighed. "I wish we could be mates."
"I see," said Luna. He had it bad. What was more, he was obviously on the verge of lifebonding with her. Dragons did not love easily, and sometimes they just mated instead, but when they did love, they were very monogamous. More so than most Ponies, and most Ponies were far from wanton.
Luna, who herself was far from wanton, could understand how Fischfootur felt. She felt the very same way every time she thought of Dusk Skyshine. And to a lesser degree when she thought of several other stallions, all of whom were long-dead, and one of whom she wished was long-dead, but whom she feared was only sleeping.
This let to the one point she had to mention to Fischfootur, one problem that she had faced many times before, but which he may not have fully considered.
"Thou dost know that most Ponies are quite mortal," she said, slowly. "And short-lived, by Dragon standards. Thou wilt still be in thy prime when she's -- gone."
"I know," said Fischfootur, firming his jaw. "But -- if she'll have me -- I'll face that with her when the time comes. She's not even twenty-four yet -- she can live for many more decades."
Luna could not condemn him for this sentiment: to do so would have made her the worst sort of moral hypocrite. This was exactly the way her own thoughts went every time she made a friend, or fell in love. This was the way her thoughts were going now, as she befriended Fischfootur, the very reason she had urged caution upon him. When one is immortal, all whom one cares about become hostages to fortune, hostages one knows Time will inevitably execute. Her only other option would have been to alienate herself from all other life, and then she would truly have become the callous inequine monster that Crimson had named her, at the last, terrible termination of their love and friendship.
"Very well," said Luna. "Then you must follow your heart."
His expression brightened.
"But remember," she warned. "She may not return thy love. And if that is how she feels, thou must accept her choosing. Thou must neither try to force her love, nor punish her for her refusal."
"I would never do that!" Fischfootur said, sounding genuinely shocked.
"Then I approve thy suit," Luna said, smiling. "Mark this, good Dragon," she continued, "I likest thee well. Thou must quit this land now, with thy hoard, but when Equestria's relations with thy Islands be better, thou art welcome to come to Canterlot, to visit as mine own guest. Thou must be careful in thy Pony-Friendship to not appear as traitor to thine own kind ..."
"I would never do that either!" Fischfootur insisted. "I would fight you again if I had to for my clan!"
"I know that, dear friend," Luna said. "Thou art loyal and true to thy clan. But thou must be careful that thy clan not deem thee false. That be easy -- tell them much of our battle, but little of our talk after. Then, in some months or years, I may send thee formal invitation, mayhap by way of thy friend Meatpacker. She too will be welcome at my Court, for any friend of thine is friend of mine." Luna knew that a mare from a merchant family would be pleased with any such invitation. "Thou shalt see -- it shalt go well. I --"
Suddenly Luna froze, looking in at one of the walls. Her ears instinctively perked up, though what she heard was on a sub-spatial, rather than acoustic, channel. It came on a frequency and in a code instinctive to the Cosmics.
It was a foal, bawling in distress!
She turned back to Fischfootur.
"Forgive me, friend. The need is dire -- I must leave you now. Fare thee well, until we meet again."
He looked at her in confusion, then nodded.
And with that she darted out of the chamber, flying so fast that the coins rattled in the wake of her passage.
She burst from the cave, and cried out to her Night Guards:
"Follow me as best you can! Some one needs help, and now!
Then she beat her wings hard, her flightfield glowing bright blue-violet as she streaked off in a straight line to the north-northwest.