Stillness
Proofread by TehSporkBandit
By the time Twilight was settled you had recovered quite a bit. Nevertheless, the pony-powers that be decided you were supposed to rest and recover. In the end, Rarity, Applejack, and Zecora were all still awake while you were fairly certain Rainbow was awake but trying to sleep. The trio kept their voices down, but that hadn't quashed the conversation entirely.
“The potions I make can take some time, but the results are always sublime. If you are not cautious and precise, then the consequence will not be nice.” It is hard to tell if she means that they shouldn’t be pushing for a shortcut or that it was just a generality. She tends to the strange brew, leaving the cluster of creatures in council. You sit between Rarity and Applejack, ostensibly for some more warmth, but it was really more that it’s better to keep those two separated. You are just a nice proxy wall for them, and really, that suited you fine.
While Applejack and Rarity keep quiet, awaiting the Zebra’s return so they could continue the whispered conversation, you get to churn something over in your mind. You pipe up as the Zebra trots back into the alcove, “Zecora. I’ve got a question for you.”
Her muzzle turns into a bright grin, “What is it that you wish? Any answer I will furnish.”
You return the grin and ask, “How exactly did you know that we were coming? I mean, was that bath for you?” It seemed awfully convenient but you certainly weren’t about to question it at the time.
The Zebra just chortles, a short punctuated laugh with a knowing glimmer in her eyes. “You had a friend who had sent word before. That was how I knew, I will say no more.”
“Well, about that potion, just take yer time Zecora, but, uh, not too long, alright? We've got ponies’ lives at stake.” Applejack says clenching her jaws, she must be waiting for something that will placate her. You understand the same fears:
What if it’s some horrid distillation procedure that takes weeks or months?
Zecora shakes her head, jangling the charms hang around her neck and from her pierced ears, “The potion will only be ready when it is done, if you want it to work, I pray you have no objection. What exactly were you hoping to see? Your purpose here is vague and cloudy.”
“Well, uhh… 'bout that.” Applejack just awkwardly scratches the back of her head.
Rarity steps up to the plate, “We were hoping to see something that happened quite some time ago. Then, perhaps, we could understand what led to certain… events.” Rarity’s guarded and stilted speech doesn’t betray any information. The mare's eyes are still downcast as she’s occupied stitching up the rents and tears in your coat. There was nopony better to do that, after all, she'd made it for you. The great gaping wounds in the fabric are slowly and painstakingly being stitched together. The care and attention that goes into repair seems to be drawn out of the mare: the fashionista's mane is a wreck, her coat looks blemished and stained, and her eyes don’t focus on anypony at all. Even if she is absorbed in her world, her lips tremble and her breathing sounds choked.
Zecora glances back, “Oh, that much I can tell, that potion you know quite well. The Alicorn gift of hindsight is a powerful tool. Be careful of what you wish, for it can be harsh and cruel. Remember how it hurt her before? Please reconsider, I must implore.” The Zebra’s voice is firm and clear, but she never pushed too much and she hadn’t refused either.
“We'll be here for 'er, don't you fret.” Applejack looked towards the veiled alcove where Twilight rested with Fluttershy and Pinkie on either side of her.
Slowly, you get to your feet before wrapping the blanket around your shoulders like a shawl. Bare feet against cold floor is making you uncomfortable while the decorative masks hanging on the wall are having a similar discomforting effect on your mind. You try telling yourself that was the reason why sleep seems elusive, but the dreams were disquieting. It isn’t particularly hard getting used to a Zebra, even one that rhymed. “So, hold on, what exactly are we here for?”
The others look a little confused for a second. Rarity clears her throat and starts with a stammer, “W-well, Rightly, darling, it's a long story. It all started-”
She is interrupted by a torpid growl from Rainbow Dash as she flops over with a last huff, “Oh, for pony's sake, it's not that long. Twilight drank a mysterious potion where she saw the past and she had a bit of a breakdown. But she got better and that’s it.” She looks a little irritable as if to say 'was that so hard?' before laying on her stomach and glaring daggers at the group for the late night discussion that’s been keeping her awake. Moments later she rolls onto her side and pulls a blanket over herself while muttering darkly, being only a few feet away doesn’t give much space for peace and quiet.
“She actually saw the past? As in, what?” You let your eyes rove around the group but it eventually lands on Rainbow Dash again. After all, she had been the concise one.
Af if sensing your stare, she rolls over with an irritable sigh, “Luna’s banishment to the moon, Discord’s reign, at least that’s what she told us. Anyway, it turned out to be important at the time.” The sentence makes enough sense for you to not question it, thanks to headmistress Sparkle’s history lessons.
Rainbow sighs and chews on her lip in thought. As if coming to the same reasonable conclusion that she isn’t about to get any rest, she lazily rolls to her side then stands with a lithe stretch like a cat. Seeming to amble over towards the group, you miss the initial smirk as she snaps her tail behind your ear like a bullwhip.
In the space of a second you jerk forward with a rattled gasp and look back at her. Now it was her chance to chuckle and wink, “C'mon, old timer. If I’m up, you best stay up, too.” Even as you wrinkle your nose and mutter a curse she wouldn't likely understand you had to admit, the stiff shuffle and the shawl together probably make the image pretty accurate. It was stiffness from laying down on a hard floor, not cold, and certainly not age.
“I am up.” A petulant ‘humph’ ekes from your throat, sounding more childish than you hoped it would. “Well, Zecora, I guess I could try that potion.” You venture that one, really hoping that whatever might be behind almost ritualized decapitations would be hidden from the girls as long as possible.
How could it be any worse than those dreams?
Zecora gives you a smile and even pushes a small wooden gourd your way, “Brave words my interesting friend, your heart and spirit I must commend. But it is for an Alicorn to imbibe, then they alone may those events describe.” Taking a cross-legged seat at the table would have to suffice for now, even if your chin is practically on the surface. It isn’t worth complaining about.
“So it has to be Twilight?” the pause gets a few nods. “She hasn't seemed quite herself lately, has she?”
“She has been a bit snippy.” Applejack admits before looking at the others.
Rarity uncomfortably taps the table top with her hooves and nibbles the ends of her hair. After deliberating for five or six seconds she picked up where Applejack left off, “She did look tired. Though, I never imagined she was so exhausted.” The Unicorn chances a look over towards the veiled bed chamber. “It's absolutely horrid to see her such a state.”
“I thought she was just stressed. You know how she gets, so I was trying to cut her some slack.” It gets a bit of a shrug before Dash yawns and asks, “Got anything else to drink Zecora? Or eat? If I'm up I might as well be up.”
It is a little jarring as you sip the tea and growl, “Oh, come on, Rainbow…” you seethe to keep your voice from waking anypony up. “You're self-concerned but you can see there's something wrong, too.” You expected more from her.
“Hey, chill out, would' ya? Of course I'm worried about Twilight, she's one of my best friends, so if there was something I could actually do then I would. This isn't the first time that pony has stayed up for days with her nose in her books before crashing for a few days after that. Look at it this way: she'll get a whole ton of rest, and by the time she wakes up, we'll have a potion made and ready for her. Like I said, relax. Going hungry, moping, crying, or stressing out over it isn't going to mix a potion any faster is it?” She casts her gaze over to Zecora again, “Sooooo,” there is a silent wink passed between them that few others could have caught, “any chance of a snack?” At the mention of food your stomach rumbles. Her hoof points straight at you as she chortles, “Besides, he sounds hungry, too.” Staring down at your impertinent midriff that betrays your appetite, there was just one word for it, Traitor.
That was surprisingly insightful for a narcissist.
Maybe you don’t give Rainbow her fair due. You have a drink, now it just seems hypocritical as you stare into the drinking vessel. It’s some citrus tinged green tea, though there is something grainy against your teeth. Still, you are warmer, you feel better, and some of the damned itching from the cold is gone, too. Rainbow is right though, you are hungry.
“Consarnit, RD-” Applejack checks herself from her voice getting too loud, shaking her head and even biting her hat rim before muttering darkly, “I'll get'cha some vittles. The host ain't yer personal cook.” As the cowpony stands up, a wide grin etches itself on Rainbow’s face, it’s probably the result the Pegasus wanted all along.
The quiet crackle of the fire meets with the slow clop of hooves of a solitary pony darkly muttering as she meanders towards the single preparation table and a myriad of suspicious hanging flasks and bottles. Their contents shine dully in the wavering firelight under the simmering silver cauldron scrubbed and polished until it was almost a perfect mirror finish. “Zecora, there's something else I've been meaning to ask. When it comes to this ritual thing, why a silver pot?” You hope 'because it's magic, don’t ask' isn't the answer.
The Zebra ponders that for a moment. Her hum is accompanied by a light jangle of golden rings around her neck as she tilts her head to the side, “When you see something so pure, then the world is not as obscure. Stare into the bottom and then see what stares back. It could be another face, once you have the knack.”
“How? Wait, are you talking about the pot alone or its potion?” Doubt is slowly beginning to slip into your mind.
You get a cunning smile as the Zebra nods, “They are one in the same, for that I take no blame. An old silver cauldron may seem like a simple tool, but to ignore the reflection would make you a fool. It is attuned to a single individual or location, so it is not just a random aberration. To just follow one means you may miss the second, which would leave you more clueless and mindless than you reckoned.”
“Mindless?” A slight nervous twitch bolts through your hands.
“Like wandering lost in a deep fog. Lost forever, a poor epilogue.”
If Twilight was the only one that could perform this feat, and she doesn't know who or what is ahead of her, then that was a tremendous danger. You clench your hands around the drinking vessel and let them shake as they squeeze the hardened gourd to relieve some of that stress. This might not even work. Who were you targeting? Where were you aiming for? Did anypony know? While Twilight admitted to visiting your world you couldn't be sure she was familiar with it. “Is there any way to change that? You know, make it more precise?”
“What's the problem? Twilight knows pretty much everything about everything in Equestria.” Rainbow Dash's confidence would have been reassuring had that not been exactly what was at issue.
“Rainbow Dash, dear, Rightly is from Saddle Arabia, not Equestria.” Rarity points out and stifled a wide yawn. “Mmmm, pardonnez mois.”
Saddle… ah.
Rarity had inadvertently supported you. The cover returns, but not as swiftly as you'd like. “I'm from the Neighjd region, it's very remote, so it might be a problem.”
“Uh-huh.” If Rainbow is getting suspicious you might have to tell everypony soon enough. They are bound to find out at some point and the urge to tell them everything you knew was rising. It was becoming too complicated. It would have to wait, at least until you told Twilight about everything and could advise you. She would know how her friends would react, How your friends will react, you chide yourself.
“So… how are you getting along, Rightly?” Rarity smiles weakly as fatigue is starting to show. It was almost certainly to put your mind at ease or switch the topic.
Swigging down more of the tea, you can't help but only respond with a shrug before swallowing. “Eh.” You turn away from the table for a second, eyes straying to the slumbering Alicorn. Twilight's odd behaviour is on your mind, you watch her impulsively flailing a forehoof in the air and mumbling with a simper. I wonder if her dreams are any better than mine.
“Worried about Twilight?” Rarity asked.
A bob of your head answers that question. Still, you continue “I haven't seen her like that before. Hmm, I guess it is a little unnerving.” Your eyes rove the airy interior of the Zebra’s home, appreciating some of the exotic taste, except those masks. It isn't just some tribal decor, there was something else cultural, yet pragmatic, in its spartan nature. “But she could be in much worse company than… us…” your voice trails off. Something moves outside the leaded window at the front of Zecora's home. You had seen a vague shadow and caught a waft of an acrid stink.
“Is something wro... ugh, icky swamp. I don't know what that was but it's dreadful.” Rarity shot a glance at Rainbow who lofted a brow back to say 'what?'
The scent is on the tip of your tongue, but it’s not just the odour of methane from a bog. Zecora, though, is stern, looking straight ahead, “The smell after a flash in the sky. It is cold, stale, rank, and very dry.”
Dash looks bored for a second then audibly sniffs, “Oh, burned air. Huh, didn't hear any thunder.” She passes it off as inconsequential, but Zecora is still musing.
“Ozone?” It was that burning stench left after a close lightning strike, Rainbow Dash was right.
What is that doing here?
♣
The iron banded doors were flung open wide with a rattle and a bang. There were the distinct sounds of laughing, clattering clay vessels, and falling metal that skipped over the stone floor. Footprints echoed loudly in the unlit corridor; wall sconces sat unused, half a dozen doors left and right stood unattended. Cobwebs hung from the wooden beams and girders stretched out overhead. It was the light’s invasion of the dark, spilling amidst the sound of raucous jubilation from the crows outside which met and despoiled the solemn peace of the peaceful sanctuary.
Two figures entered the deserted hall; the first great figure strode in with complete confidence. Over his arm was cast a cloak of fine sable and ermine. Every inch of him, from bright purple tunic with gold filigree, to the coronet of gold that sat on his brow, glimmered in the crepuscular light. Passing figures, whether the menagerie of guests or guards, walked in front of the single entrance, momentarily blocking the sole source of light. It may have just been their shadows, but that second figure took no chances. Those scuttling shades, crooked and hunched in a mocking parody of man, were almost certainly dangerous in one way or another.
The first burly form called out in a bawd, lilting tone that echoed in the empty hall, “Clover, oh Clooover!” Olaf called into the darkness while Ulf trailed behind his lord. “I demand an audience with my seer!”
The sound of brushed crystal was quiet, and easily lost amongst the hustle and bustle of everyday life, let alone a party, but the further in they trudged, the clearer they could hear. There was a slight burst of sparks at the very end of the hall. A tired voice replied, “My king, what do you have need of?”
“Such formality. Has warm nights and good food shattered your will, my friend?” Olaf's voice boomed out in his mirth. The pair approached the terminal end, looking at the empty hearth, smelling the stagnant scent of accumulating dust, and seeing the dull burst of green sparks. There was a solitary tap of a quill on an ink pot, then the scratching of a nib on parchment.
“Sorry… sorry, Olaf.” The exasperated hiss of the Seer was evident. He didn't look, but the hunched over figure's hood slipped back in a haze of iridescent green that caught at the edge of the light, ears folding back to listen closely. “Is there something you wanted?”
Approaching amidst the quietness, the Unicorn half turned, deep features at home in the comforting embrace of the night and its silent lull with the scent of lilac and dust. Olaf preferred the day, festive and joyful thanks to juniper berries and woodsmoke, “We missed you at dinner.”
“I wasn't particularly hungry.” The Unicorn's voice was hollow.
“And people have been asking about you.” The monarch persisted, though now with traces of faint impatience.
“People always ask questions about me.” Clover seemed dismissive and looked back to his books.
“Gurdrun enquires about you.” By now, Olaf's voice held an edge of irritation to it.
“Send your wife my warm regards.” The quill began to scratch again.
“Hopefully they’re warmer than your chambers and your hospitality, Clover.” Olaf’s grinding teeth and the sound of cracking knuckles reached the Unicorn's ears. Ulf nervously glanced back towards the single source of light and slowly reached for his lord’s cloak in case Olaf took leave of his senses senses.
Silence once more pervaded the chamber and hung on the air like a smothering cloak. There was no scratch of a quill, no echo of footsteps, and someone had closed the door, leaving just a single shaft of light that fell on both ruler and thane alike. Much like the intrusion of the world into Clover's sanctuary, it stretched as a single uninterrupted line ending at Olaf's heel. Where he trod, the light followed in his wake as if constrained by some magic boundary imposed by the warlord king. Clover's chambers held three tables arranged like a horseshoe, a large window in front of him, untouched tallow candles rested as decorations in the corners while dozens of manuscripts and scrolls were placed to the side. Ulf finally hung over his lord's shoulders to look at what the Seer was writing in the dark while discreetly taking hold of Olaf’s cloak.
Clover, the clever seer of seers, counsel to the Lion, sat disinterestedly staring out the window with empty opal eyes. A silent moon lit the equally quiet harbour as if the Unicorn himself had set the world to be as serene as his abode. Trondheim, city of the Lion, was asleep. Masses of ships moored peacefully at theirs docks, the citizenry were abed in their humble homes, and tiny fires burned here and there amongst the hamlets below, yet it would never be noticed by the blind Unicorn. “If this is an invitation to dinner then I think I'll pass, thanks.”
It was respectful, but Olaf's reproach seemed to be hanging over the Unicorns head; it was as if Clover was oblivious to the rumbling growl emanating from the King’s throat. “Hospitality, safety, and purpose. I grant you all of these and you repay me by insulting my guests, my wives? Do not make me believe this negligence is a willful insult!”
It got a sigh as Clover finally turned and put the quill down with a flick. “Olaf, you’re drunk. I like you, I trust you, and I do my best to help you every day that I'm here. But, I'm not some attraction for your court; there's plenty of more interesting ‘things’ than me and I do not do simple magic tricks. Letting them poison a drink then having me unpoison it isn't just a parlour trick. Not to mention it's humiliating. Since you banned witchcraft in your realm, I don't even know why I'm here!” The longer he continued, the more his narrow chest heaved and nostrils audibly flared in suppressed indignation.
It wasn't the manner one spoke to a king, it was how a distraught friend spoke to another. That may have saved him, or it may have made Olaf listen. Extending a hand he patted the Unicorn on the withers and looked back at the door. The King's good humours had seemed so close to being banished and now they returned, laden with sympathy for his guide. “You are more than a performing fool, you are no ‘thing’, and you are no witch, but a true soothsayer and purveyor of dreams, interpreter of portents sent by God. Sometimes, people need to be shown signs to reinforce their faith, Clover.”
Such a proclamation drew a sigh, “Yes, I'm well aware of the difference between charlatans and the truly gifted. But what can be spoken to an axe in desperation might very well pass with spit during times of peace.”
“What are you getting at, Clover?” Olaf stroked his own beard and tried to sort through the Seer’s words.
“I'm saying I know about Raud, I know that you shoved a snake down his throat while burning said snake with a hot branding iron. I know you raided Jarl Hakon's lands. I know you've been backsliding on your own religious views Olaf. And more than that, I know that you're still so eager to have a unified people who you're willing to skip the part where they want to actually convert, to follow you, and be one in some grand blissful existence. What happened to mercy and tolerance? Those are the very ideals that your own faith kept as tenets!”
“Clover, all around you is proof that it works. In four years how much of this country believes as I do? How many acres of land have we settled and how many envoys of peace have we sent? Where are the raids to the Isles and beyond? As a king, I can't allow the same laxness to spread as when I was just a Jarl, I simply can't afford it.” He spread his arm wide, though the gesture was grand and well-meaning, it had no impact on a seer who couldn't appreciate the gesture at all.
“You know that lips will say many things to save the rest of the head! As a king, you can afford it more than anyone else in your lands, Olaf!” The shout of outrage died with a long and deflated sigh as the stallion finally spun to face his liege. Lines of anger etched across Clover’s face quickly softened and melted into resignation.
He continued moments later in a far more consoling way, “Yes, you've made significant strides. I just… I just don't want to see you undo everything. Look, there is more to unity than what you say aloud. Keeping your oaths are important but that's not the only measure. You're still not grasping the most important lessons. I'm not saying for you to be a great king you need to be good, I'm saying you need to be a good king to be truly great.” The Unicorn laid his hoof on Olaf's thigh and nodded before slowly rising to all fours and heading toward the light.
“Now,” he continued, forcing a smile, “I suppose I could take a break from writing.”
“Aaaah, now that's the spirit I was hoping for! I don't believe you've met my new wife, Tyra, yet, have you?” He spread his hand towards the door in a sweeping gesture before catching up in a few long strides.
“I'm telling you, she's trouble, Olaf.” The Seer grumbled as they got closer and closer to the hustle and bustle of a still packed royal hall. The pleasing sound of lyres, horns, and pipes were all heard with a drum beating a jaunty tattoo of a reel.
“She's a woman, that's what they do.” The thick-set king seemed to smile with utter confidence while Clover just hissed and brought his hoof to his forehead. The choleric warlord broke into a laugh and patted the Unicorn on the back to guide him to the door, “Come now, there's many things to eat. I ensured that there would be many things you would like, too, my friend.”
Ulf glanced back at the open book and quickly studied the lettering that he could see. Though it was just a glance, he caught some of the text:
…Her hope for the world is not yet gone and I sincerely hope it never shall be. A wish may be a wish, but her power is still here and so are we. What is left of us, anyway. Olaf is a recidivist at times, but he has potential, as do his people. Perhaps one day he might wish to see a place of peace and plenty. It is still too early to tell him.
“Come along, Ulf!” Olaf’s bass call echoes in the stone chambers as the doors were left ajar just enough to let him stumble back towards the light. All the while, he glanced back at that book.