//------------------------------// // 3. In the Shadow of Giants: Part 4. A Soot-Covered Queen // Story: The Wanderer of the North // by Alaxsxaq //------------------------------// 3. In the Shadow of Giants: Part 4. A Soot-Covered Queen Cool and calm, the mysterious night endured over the land, its bluish-black shroud enveloping all the land. Distant twinkling of stars and the gaze of the moon caressed the sleeping Earth in a soft silver light, giving reprieve to a world weary from the harsh stare of the sun. Daybreak would see the moon surrendering to her golden twin, resting until she was needed again. Hours remained till then, allowing the Earth to regain its strength for a while yet. Indeed, in days of old, few would ever be awake at this time. The City Watch’s night shift, ne’er-do-wells, and of course a tall midnight blue princess. The latter ages had enabled far more ponies to remain up, spoiling somewhat the pristine calmness and quiet Her Highness delighted in. Their loud noises overtook the chirps of crickets and their lights blotted out the dimmest and seldom-sung stars. Fortunately aggravated ponies shaken from their sleep tempered the “disturbers of the peace”. “How ironic,” the mare thought to herself, her starry sapphire mane waving unaided by any wind. She once cursed how quiet and lifeless her night had been; how everypony slumbered during the most beautiful time of day…her precious gift to Equestria. And that led her along a dark path. But now Princess Luna, the last bit of malice sapped from her soul, relished that very same tranquility. She chuckled to herself, shaking her head, “There’s just no pleasing you, is there?” Perhaps she wanted them to enjoy the night “her way”, however foalish that sounded. But ultimately it did not matter, for her duty was to watch over the night and the Kingdom as it slept. And atop the castle walls, amidst the white crenellations, Princess Luna could observe approaching armies and any disputes in the streets below. Well of course warfare had changed since her youth, and the police now could handle most problems. But even so, Luna still could walk the length of the walls and just…think. When no pressing matters required her attention, she enjoyed whittling away the hours alone in her thoughts. Whatever she had read in a book or document, or seen in a pony’s dream, she’d come up here and reflect over. Appearing absent-minded at times, Princess Luna’s mind was in fact seldom idle. Tonight, what grasped her mind with such force was no matter of state or civil service, but her dear older sister. Beside the tall white tower that was the royal apartment, Luna could discern faint silhouettes backlit by flickers candles. Usually it was only a tall alicorn, her smaller winged unicorn companion sitting below the window. But that mare too would from time to time pop up for a moment. Sighing, Luna paused and stared up at the tower. The blue alicorn wondered where and when Celestia’s tale was taking them. She wanted so badly to join in the fun, listening to the stories her sister oh so loved to tell. Alas, her duty was here, watching the night and the dreams it brought. Still, she remained for a little while longer and thought. When would they get to the part where Taberanyn finally arrived? While Nikóleva wandered about, living out her exciting adventures and exploits, the dark blue mare was living too. The white alicorn had left her and her surrogate father Henarion at their old homestead. Luna was sure Celestia thought all they did was farm in the years of her absence. Sure enough they did farm; they needed to eat. But exciting things happened to Taberanyn, and she had her own adventures with her caretaker. The old farm was now lost to the decay of time, but the ground was still soaked with blood and sweat, as are other hills and plains and vales. When they met after a lifetime of estrangement, Taberanyn told her sister all of what she saw and did, and Nikóleva reciprocated the action, trying to make up for lost time. Twilight was hearing Celestia’s story, not that of Princess Luna. Yet the lunar mare hoped the white queen might sprinkle in a bit of her sister’s life here and there. This book Twilight was writing would be all well and good, but Luna was certain somepony reading might stop and wonder: what became of the beautiful Princess of the Night. She smiled and thought again. They shouldn’t worry too much; there’s a part in that tale where the stories of the two sisters are all but inseparable. And though Princess Luna might not care too much to read how it ends, somepony undoubtedly wished to read that dramatic chronicle of an ancient conflict. The shadow of Celestia disappeared from the window, prompting the nightly sister to turn back from the tower and resume her walk. Naturally a dispatch or other “urgent” affair would spoil her leisure, and recall her back to the chambers of government. Descending down a marble staircase leading into the fortification, Luna gave one last look to the tower. “And now, back to work,” she muttered, annoyance spreading on her face. *――――――――――S――――――――――* Enveloping a stack of thick books in his bright red aura, a beige stallion inspected their spines and then spread his full wings. With the vigor of a far younger pony, he flew up to a high shelf and placed one of this books neatly beside is companions. Turning in midair, the alicorn ran a hoof through his smooth beard and looked around the room. The other alicorn in the room looked up and cocked her head, puzzled. After returning a couple books, the stallion drifted down closer to the floor. He then spoke clearly, still focused on his task, “So…you’re an alicorn, aren’t you?” Nikóleva could only utter a faint sound before being interrupted, “Of course you are; that’s a rhetorical question. Now…,” he set his hooves again on the stony floor and studied the mare once more. “Let us see what we have here…short pink mane, which would obviously get in the way of your work…white coat of varying shades suggesting regular contact with dirt or grime,” the stallions intrusive peering was beginning to make the white alicorn uncomfortable. “Your horn is not quite as long as a mare of your size would lead to believe…and you cover your right eye with hair, yet it’s perfectly intact.” Stroking his beard, the stallion finally lit up, as though he’d found the solution to one of the world’s fundamental problems. “Rhódin! Penance for a past misdeed. I must confess your adherence to ancient tradition is commendable, if…incomplete.” “Do you mind?” Nikóleva asked with her own “rhetorical question”, “I did not come here to be made an object of study.” “Certainly not, but I find it a wonderful mental exercise to make deductions. For instance: you must be that smith the Prince sent for.” “You must be a clever stallion.” The beige pony smiled and gave a soft laugh. “Somewhat, my Dear. Anyway, surely you have some inquiries concerning probably one of the only other alicorns you’ve met beside your family.” “I suppose I could find some,” Nikóleva began, walking slowly into the room, its vastness making her feel rather small. “I shall start with…who are you?” “Alicorns receive three names upon their Umbonaronemë, or the ritual bathing in a river. When I was inducted to my current position, I forsook my old name and assumed another. I am called Delbedasir,” he gave a slight bow, holding himself with knightly chivalry. “Del…Delbasir…Deldeser…” Nikóleva stammered, the pronunciation causing her tongue to become twisted. “Delbedasir. I know it’s long and awkward to say, so most have just contented themselves with calling me “The Librarian”. And it’s been that way for so long I’m not sure how many even know my name.” “If it’s all the same, I’ll follow their lead,” Nikóleva said, breaking off from the stallion to explore the room. “Is sitting here and reading books all you do? Sounds rather dull to me.” “Well, books contain valuable information, information I use to increase my competence in other work. As an alicorn, you might have been exposed to various fragments of our race’s cult. A tad different I think from the traditions of Tulicëai.” The stallion cantered over to the mare and held up her pendant with his magic. Admiring the jewelry, he let it dangle from her neck again. “Wonderful quality that piece is. Mine is so bland and boring; painted wood. But important all the same.” The Librarian cleared his throat before speaking, “Here, in the castle, lies a very small and hidden chapel devoted to only one divinity: Lórian Vysht. I am this chapel’s curator. On top of that, given my…advanced experience, I have found time to devote my life and studies to various disciplines. These include, but are not limited to, mathematics, physics, metaphysics, geography, life science, literature, linguistics, history, and of course theology. In fact, I’ve written a good portion of these books.” The white mare eyed a small desk and looked at the book opened on it. A small bottle of ink rested with a quill beside it. Strange characters covered the pages, but the bottom of the right one was still blank. “My latest passion,” the Librarian said, “’A Comparative Analysis of the Languages of the Southern Locales’. Just something I’ve been working on during my leisure.” Nikóleva took the liberty of gently flipping through the pages, as though somehow she could make herself decipher the writings within. Sighing, she turned from the desk and frowned. “Why did the Prince send me here? I do not wish to sound disrespectful, Librarian, but I’m a smith. I’m afraid a scholar isn’t much use to me,” she said, almost heading back to the door. The Librarian however gave a wry smile and laughed, “How ignorant you are, child.” As though she still were a confused filly, Nikóleva narrowed her gaze and huffed, “I’m not a child.” “You can’t be much more advanced,” he shot, nonchalantly putting objects on the desk back into the drawer. “How old are you?” he then asked bluntly. “Erm…a gentlecolt never asks a lady―“ “But you aren’t a lady, are you? I mean look at you! You’re probably covered in soot half the time! Are you afraid I won’t believe you?” he raised an eyebrow and glowered, compelling the white alicorn to obey, “Out with it!” “Fifty-four,” Nikóleva announced coolly, “And my birthday shall come up very soon.” “I’ll send you a nice basket, little filly. I for one am…now what was it? Oh yes! Two-hundred and ninety-six―seven! So listen to me closely, because I know what I’m talking about.” The Librarian then gestured for the alabaster mare to follow him out of the room and back into the hall. The very old stallion continued down the passageway for a short while before coming to a small door, much smaller than the one that sealed his place of work. “We’ll chat in a more private location. Mercifully I do not have to climb any flights of stairs; my old bones can be brittle at times,” he said, wobbling his left foreleg. Producing a key, the alicorn unlocked the door and opened the latch. He gave a small bow with his head and bade the white pony to go inside first. The chamber was quaint, adequately lit by a couple tall windows and torches mounted into the walls. A large wooden desk sat against one wall, finely varnished and decorated with yet more books and quills. A small oil lamp rested atop a stack of stationary, waiting for its master to light it once again. A simple bed faced opposite the desk, the blanket and pillows neatly arranged and undisturbed. Across the room from the door stood a cool stone fireplace, the grate tightly closed and all the tools placed on their rack. A single log sat in the cradle. As Nikóleva entered the Librarian’s bedroom, a shrill squawk sounded to her left. Perched atop a heavy black iron post was this alicorn’s pet bird. She was stunningly beautiful, with orange-red feathers so vibrant and lively they appeared to be on fire! Nikóleva began staring at the bird, mesmerized. The bird merely continued to screech. “Philomena!” the Librarian shouted, his voice hoarse with age, “Hush!” The bird complied, folding her wings back against herself. “What a…marvelous bird,” Nikóleva said, the deep color of Philomena sparkling in her eyes, “Is she…what I think she is? Is she a phoenix? I’ve heard stories about them, but never had the pleasure of actually encountering one.” “An uncommon breed these days. It’s a funny story actually: when I was just a young stallion I wandered into…,” the stallion cleared his throat again, “Well I shan’t wish to bore you with ancient stories.” Nikóleva raised a hoof and gingerly stroked the phoenix’s head, causing the bird to coo with delight. “I think she likes you. Philomena mostly just makes noise at anypony other than the Prince or me,” he laughed and stroked his beloved bird before giving her a tender kiss. Leaving the perch, the Librarian stepped over to his fireplace and shivered a bit, “I think it could stand to be a touch warmer in here, don’t you?” the old pony then summoned a glowing magical red aura from his long beige horn and jolted a spark into the fireplace’s log. A bubble then formed around the spark and dissipated, causing the fire to expand faster than Nikóleva had ever seen before. Immediately the room filled with warmth. “Oh my goodness!” the white mare exclaimed, smiling for an infatuation with fire only she could possess. “How did you do that?” “Well the fire spell is elementary…if you excuse the pun,” he snickered, a snort in his laugh, “but the real trick is the bubble. I’ve created a vacuum with it, only for a moment, and then the differential in pressure causes air to rush in and fuel the fire. However, if you’re not careful, a cavitation bubble can be very dangerous; not a beginner spell.” Staring at the flame, Nikóleva just imagined what she could do with such a power. “You’ll have to teach me how to do that,” she said. “I see this ancient stallion actually can teach a bombastic little mare some new tricks!” the Librarian then laid down a large pillow before the fire, resting his old ragged bones at last. “Now,” he resumed, “I must give my sincerest apologies, Miss, but I’ve completely neglected to take any interest in who you are. What might I call you?” “Oh well…I’ve gone by the name ‘Wintermail’ for quite a while.” “’Wintermail’, eh? Hmmmm…wait! I do recall hearing a passing mention about somepony going by that name. Some so-called ‘Wanderer of the North’ who drifted about and did odd-jobs of heroism for coin. Am I to understand that this wanderer and you are one and the same?” “Yes sir,” the white mare solemnly replied. The Librarian eyed her for a moment and then smirked, “I’d keep that bit a touch private; the Prince isn’t too keen on mercenaries.” Nikóleva’s face turned stern, “I am no mercenary! I helped innocent ponies in need…just…food and shelter isn’t free.” “Hehe I like that attitude. I’m sure you’ve become extremely well-traveled, yes? You must have many riveting tales to spin.” “Not quite…I don’t think going from place to place and warding off brigands for a few decades would be too interesting; actually becomes rather boring and stale after a while. If anypony were to sing a song or tell a story about it…I’d find it dull and tired,” the mare said kicking a hoof. After her altercation with that minotaur, her spirit wasn’t quite up to reliving those “glory days”. “There’s probably one or two fantastic bits,” the stallion chuckled and craned his neck up, “but I won’t pressure you right now. The Prince has sent you to me for a reason. We’ve stalled enough; can you read?” “No,” Nikóleva muttered flatly. “I see. Not even a little? Some symbols you recognize or words somepony taught you?” “Not a bit.” He furrowed his brow and ran a hoof down his thick beard. “Well…I suppose that’s our first step. For starters, I’m going to write your name, and I’ll give you the page to study,” he magically summoned a quill, ink bottle, and a writing mat with paper, “I’ll write it both in Equestrian and Alicorn.” The Librarian etched a line of text that closely resembled the words Greymane had recorded that first day in Canterlot. Blowing the ink dry, the alicorn dipped his quill again and looked back at his new student. “Your birth name, Dear.” The mare gulped, unsure what weight her name held. The Prince seemed to be either disturbed or surprised at its mention. “Nikóleva Maiëlindernasí nor-Solárindilbainuir,” she said, again feeling rather proud. “Alright…Niiiik…ooool…―wait! Your family name…do you know what it means?” Nikóleva shook her head, somewhat embarrassed, “No sir.” The Librarian finished writing out the name, and he glanced at it, stunned in disbelief, “Maiëlindir, eh? He’s your father, yes?” The white alicorn nodded. “Hmm…where have I heard that name before? Ah that’s right! I met him once perhaps a hundred years ago…my goodness…,” he sighed, looking closely at Nikóleva. “You’re his daughter? Of course you are! You have his face…my my...” The mare blinked a few times, not sure what she was hearing, “Wait…you knew my father?? How? When? Why?” “Calm down, Nikóleva. I did not know him well…and it seems he kept a few secrets to himself…anyway, once upon a time, a dark blue stallion and his white lady love came here to Canterlot. They traveled with an orange fellow…bah I forget his name. Those two were young and happy…brought a sense of warmth and purity to my heart,” the Librarian gave a sentimental smile, reflecting upon his own youth oh so many years ago. Nikóleva could not help but reminisce about her parents and herself when she was very young. Back then her family was whole…perfect. “Yes…beautiful couple,” the stallion continued, “They asked me to wed them, and in this castle’s very chapel they were married. Small world, isn’t it?” he said, seeing the emotion in Nikóleva’s eyes. “You haven’t had to walk it,” she quipped. “And I don’t plan to. Tell me, how are they? Have you seen them recently?” Nikóleva opened her mouth but couldn’t say much. Her eyes became glossy and heavy, sinking to the ground. “Not for a long time…,” she muttered, a single tear dripping from her cheek. “Oh…my deepest sympathies.” The Librarian then tried to change the subject; an old pony’s time was too scarce to spend in mourning, “Was that sword your father’s?” “Yes, as it was his father’s and so forth. The Prince knew it by name; I assumed that’s what the symbols along its blade say.” “Might I see it for a moment? I think it can provide me with some answers,” at Nikoleva’s approval, the stallion summoned his magic and pulled the blade from its scabbard. His reaction was brief, but Nikoleva could see his eyes widen―if only for a fraction of a second. “It says 'Der shaideni maihenilím mindara she foneä fadeämon semlái uira, tarsilion rhílion she nohilion hena bhenë (You who holds cause and duty above all else, remain true and draw my power.)' No doubt the Lord of the Castle pounced on the opportunity to examine this one.” “Indeed he did, sir…and he expressed surprise when he saw it, and don’t think I didn’t see you too! I know something’s special about my sword―and my name.” The Librarian smirked and gracefully returned the weapon to its home. He stroked his beard and looked into the fire. “Was it really that obvious?” he began, turning his bright red eyes back to Nikóleva, “I don’t know much about you, nor why you are here. I’d be inclined to think it mere coincidence…but the cleric inside me wishes to believe you were meant to come to Canterlot. About your waist, encumbered by gold and silver and precious stones, rests the black iron of Eónadin’s long blade. Of course you already know its name, but perhaps you’re not aware of exactly what it is. Or who you are.” Nikoleva cocked an eyebrow and scratched her head, “What are you talking about? Am I not myself? Is this a riddle?” “No ma’am; there shall be no puzzles or half-truths or vague words. I shall speak the truth, and nothing but. You’ve gone your entire life ignorant of your heritage, but now I shall shed some light on it,” he sighed and stirred the fire before adjusting himself on his pillow, “Through your veins, Nikóleva, flows the ancient blood of Solárindil, the first Alicorn King of Equestria.” The Librarian allowed his words to sink in. For what felt like several minutes Nikóleva stared at the old pony, doing nothing but occasionally blinking and letting her mouth hang open. “You mean…I…I’m…royalty?” “Well…that alone is not enough to count you as such,” he chuckled, “Solárindil himself was a chaste stallion, devoted solely to his wife…but a few of his descendants had a penchant for siring illegitimate foals,” he then cleared his throat, returning an air of dignity to the conversation, “No, it’s your retention of the name of the Royal House, and the fact you bear his sword. Eónadin was forged an incredibly long time ago for his ancestor, and he acquired it…well it’s a complex story and I think you’d do best to read it on your own―once I teach you to read, of course.” “So…,” Nikóleva stammered, still stunned with revelation, “I have right to the throne?” “Eh…not quite. For that to be the case, there’d have to be a throne to claim. As of the present day, there isn’t. Among the Prince’s pretenses is a claim on the regency of Equestria―a meaningless title in practice. The closest thing we have to a ‘Kingdom’ anymore is a congress of the princedoms that meet astoundingly infrequently. The Prince curiously carries a complete and total devotion to a crown, throne, King, and realm…of which none actually exist.” “Then my ‘birthright’ and a few bits will get me a mug of ale at the local tavern, yes?” Nikóleva sighed, both relieved and disappointed at the irrelevance of this claim. “If that; ale is expensive this time of year,” the two laughed, “But, I don’t yet know what the Prince wants to do with you. Did he leave you with any instructions, comments, offers, or something of the sort?” “Actually, his Lordship did request that I stay here at the castle,” Nikóleva placed a hoof on her chin, looking up at nowhere in particular, “He did not specify for how long.” The Librarian smiled and fetched the top book on the stack sitting upon the desk. He opened the page and began scribbling on the paper. “Three days is the accepted minimum. To leave a host’s domicile before then is simply rude! Might as well…throw their hospitality in their face!” the stallion chuckled, never looking up from his codex. Nikóleva stood up, looking eagerly at the Librarian, “Will you teach me how to read and write, and about arithmetic and science and all the strange and wonderful subjects I’ve heard learned ponies speak of? While I’m here, I mean.” But the old alicorn just clicked his tongue a few times. “I suppose…if I get around to it. There’s a lot on my agenda,” he replied dryly. Sparkles in her eyes, Nikóleva nevertheless maintained her composure, “Thank you, Master Delbedasir.” She then turned to his window and looked out. From his vantage point the white mare could gaze over the cliffs and see the river and valley down below. Painted with the purest of snow the landscape rested silently under a still grey sky. Breathtaking was the only word she could use to describe it. There, inside an old cold room within the mountain fortress, Nikóleva felt as though the valley and the lands beyond all became a bit brighter. She did not fully understand or appreciate her heritage, but she did grasp that whoever her ancestor had been, he was a great ruler. Strength was in her blood, and now the world had set aside a small place for her to write her own chapter. Nikóleva, the Wintermail, the Wanderer of the North, was sired from greatness. And as a wide smile slowly crept across her face, for the sake of her forebears, she knew anonymity was not to be her province. Standing tall and triumphant, as though having returned from a great battle, Nikóleva held her breast full and proud. Filled with unfocused resolve, she giggled softly, “All this time I thought I was nothing more than a mere peasant girl…” “You still are, for all intents and purposes,” the Librarian quickly said, “But a peasant with gold or an army doesn’t need to worry about ‘bloodlines’. Yet there is something…intangible to be found here.” Nikóleva looked back at him with a quizzical stare, anticipating clarification. He, ever the fan of head games, was not so accommodating. “It’ll all become clear in time, my Dear. Now, run along and play. I have much work to do, and too few hours to do it,” he shooed her out. “But…I…” “Go frolic about the castle or something of that sort. None of the Prince’s councilors seem to have any competence in accounting or basic mathematics. I’d love to chat more, but I’m falling behind as it is.” Recognizing the futility with arguing, Nikóleva simply bowed her head. “I appreciate then the opportunity to have spoken with you. Shall I see you at dinner?” she asked, taking one last chance to pet the perching phoenix. “I look forward to it, Nikóleva.” And with that, the alicorn mare unlatched the door, and retreated back into the castle halls, hopefully to find something with which to occupy her time. *――――――――――S――――――――――* Nikóleva did, in fact, run into a couple of servants wandering about the halls a few minutes after she was ejected. They did not have much to say, and neither did she. Yet the two unicorns were without task and offered to show the mare around the castle. Of course the alicorn agreed, and excited as a little filly she gleefully followed the servants wherever they led her. Canterlot castle, it turned out, was literally built into the mountainside. A labyrinthine complex of hallways, large chambers, and secret passageways coiled into the rock, carved ages ago. The two servants confessed they had no idea how deep the tunnels ran or exactly where they ended. They had heard stories of the Prince’s secret gem mines miles below the surface, ancient creatures living in the very bowels of the earth, and even terrible demons that gnawed in vain at the roof of Tartarus. When asked whether or not she believed any of these claims, Nikóleva simply shrugged and said, “I’ve seen a lot of strange things in the world.” Along the tour the white pony was shown the great baths of the castle, heated by an intricate series of pipes and magical fire. In the two-story kitchen, talented cooks and aids were crafting from the finest foods available for tonight’s meal, using stone ovens and flavorful woods. Along the balconies and vistas, pegasi fluttered up and down the length of the tall windows with soapy rags, ensuring the vibrant light of the sun could shine through into the castle chambers unspoiled. This tour was all Nikólea could hope for, the stunning architecture and quality of construction almost more than she thought possible. From stained-glass windows, to life-like frescos and statuary, to mosaics certainly taking years to complete, it became no wonder to her why Canterlot had the reputation it did. But one feature of the keep still eluded her. The Librarian had mentioned earlier a small chapel devoted to only one divinity. She inquired where the chapel was; perhaps respects were in order. Unfortunately, both servants merely cocked an eyebrow, glanced at one another, and replied in unison, “I do not know what you are talking about.” A bit disappointed, Nikóleva nevertheless graciously thanked both for showing her around the castle. With all the courtesy endemic to Canterlot’s staff, the servants offered their services anytime they were needed and then disappeared down the halls for the next job. It was at this time another staff member galloped through the halls, looking quite anxious. Dressed in a fine silken blue vest, the unicorn stallion caught Nikóleva completely by surprise, and he accidentally bumped into the tall mare, causing her to stumble and fall. Immediately he turned around and yanked the poor alicorn off the floor. Brushing her off, the stallion apologized profusely and explained he was running late for dinner. Nikóleva’s stomach began to growl, and she followed the pony into the dining hall. As the two crept inside, the stallion said his goodbyes and scampered off to aid the rest of the staff. Nikóleva was then left to marvel at the chamber, its décor no less beautiful than the rest of the castle. Rich tapestries and portraits adorned the walls, with giant candelabras filling the spaces in between. Along the length of the room a massive table was draped with a pure white cloth. All across its length the Prince’s courtiers and councilors sat in great wooden chairs, eagerly waiting for when the Lord of Canterlot declared the meal open. And at the far end of the table, the Prince himself sat in the largest chair. He no longer wore his crown or cloak, probably finding them too cumbersome for dinner. On his right side sat his young son, and his beloved wife on the left. Upon seeing Nikóleva enter, the Prince stood up smiled brightly “Ah Nikóleva! I was just about to send somepony out to find you! We’ve saved a seat for you,” he gestured towards the much larger chair between his son and that old beige alicorn. The Librarian gave the mare a smirk as she took her seat. It was then that the Prince bade everypony to silently utter a prayer of thanks, and when that was over he proclaimed the meal to have officially begun. The servants brought out silver trays and chalices, the spread rich with golden potatoes, steamed vegetables, the sweetest fruits, and the finest wine Nikóleva had ever tasted. The poor mare was torn between not being greedy with the food and not accepting hospitalities. The Prince must have noticed this, because not far into the meal he commented how there was enough for everypony. Wonderful. Nikóleva was sure whatever wasn’t eaten would be given to the poor, because she felt that’s just something a stallion like the Prince would do. Should she go with less so they could have some? Thankfully, the Prince distracted her by asking the mare to tell them all about the “Wintermail”. She preferred to remain silent, but after everypony’s encouragements, she agreed. And so she filled the meal with her stories and tales of Wintermail’s adventures throughout Equestria and beyond. There were of course some sensitive and…private bits she opted to leave out, but for the most part she repeated the same odyssey she had told to countless others who cared enough to ask. She talked about all the places, peoples, creatures, cultures…all the fantastical and mundane things she’d seen on her journeys. Many courtiers were on the edge of their seats, never having thought about what excitement the world held. Nikóleva was sure a few of them wanted to leave right then and go on their own travels! But perhaps the most enamored with the stories was a little blue colt. The Lord Vale sat with his eyes glued on the mare, eyes as wide as saucers. The romances of the brave warriors etched in stone around the castle suddenly became things of reality, because the alicorn before him had actually lived them! The colt became full of energy, eliciting a groan from his mother who lamented that tonight he’d never go to sleep. The Prince himself meanwhile kept a cool and even visage, periodically sipping his cup. Nikóleva observed him from time to time, and he never seemed to lose his calm demeanor. He rarely spoke, and never during one of the mare’s stories, instead preferring to wait and listen to what others had to say. The two could both tell each was reading the other, deciding what kind of pony he or she was. Whether or not the Prince truly approved of the alicorn, however, the blue unicorn’s face never did betray. Nikóleva’s impression of the Lord of Canterlot was fairly good. He was eloquent when he needed to be, and listened when others had things to say. He was kind and courteous, always volunteering to pass dishes and pitchers to anypony who requested them. The affections he showed to his wife and colt were nothing if not genuine, and never once was a servant berated or yelled at, even if a couple did in truth deserve a stern talking to. Nikóleva found that he held himself with all the dignity the Princeship required, but at heart was very down-to-earth and humble. If he meant to deceive his court, it had worked astoundingly well on the alicorn. When dessert had been served and eaten, Nikóleva especially devouring as much cake as was physically possible, the Prince waved a hoof and allowed everypony to excuse themselves for the evening. The Princess and her son were among the first to do so, little Vale needing to wash up for bed. As they picked their teeth and let their food settle, more and more courtiers departed, the Prince’s own councilors soon to follow. The Prince obliged himself to remain until everypony was gone. The Librarian bade goodnight to his liege and turned to leave. Before his exit, he faced Nikóleva and bowed his head, “Come by tomorrow in the morning and I’ll let you feed Philomena, if it pleases you.” Nikóleva nodded, and the old alicorn left the hall. Yawning, the white pony pushed her chair back and stood up. “How could I be so rude!” the Prince exclaimed, “One of my staff will show you to your room. Somepony will come by in the morning to call you for breakfast. Sleep well, Nikóleva.” Remembering her manners, the mare craned her neck down, “You are too kind, my Lord. I cannot thank you enough for this honor.” The Prince did nothing but smile, and gestured for her to follow the servant who had just arrived. As the mare passed through the double doors, the Prince left in the opposite direction. Quietly under his breath he muttered, “It is the least you deserve, Your Majesty.” Nikóleva and her guide eventually came to a secluded section of the castle, a simple long hall tucked somewhere within the further cliffside. The moonlight shimmered through the windows upon several small doors, all leading to the various guest apartments within the castle. The servant held out her hoof, motioning towards one of the doors. “Your accommodations, Miss,” she said. As Nikóleva unlatched the lock and crept inside, the servant bowed her head and left. The alicorn wished the mare pleasant dreams and then shut the door. Inside, dimly lit by flickering candles and a warm fire was a main room with a central table and several cushioned seats. Off to the side were two door frames, one leading to a privy, and the other to a bedroom. Feeling her eyelids becoming heavy, Nikóleva stepped inside the room and admired for a few seconds the canopy bed. Shrouded with luxurious silk curtains, the bed was covered with a thick down comforter. Perfectly-fluffed pillows rested against the headboard, warmly inviting the mare to lie down. Dropping her sword and bags beside the bed, Nikóleva then climbed in, positively enthralled that it was large enough to accommodate her. Overpowered with divine comfort, the mare could not fight back the urge to rest her head on the pillow, close her eyes,…and…drift off…to sleep. *――――――――――S――――――――――* A light flurry of snow brushed against the bannister, the icy wind almost painful on his exposed ears. His hot breath puffed into the air before dissipating into the bluish-black sky. A thick red cloak blanketed his shoulders, keeping the rest of him warm, thankfully enough. The Prince of Canterlot, high up in his personal tower, admired the job he had done with the stars and moon. It wasn’t perfect, but this was to be expected from him. All through his life he was taught to believe everypony possessed a special talent―a place to call their own. Everypony had a part in this great cosmic play. And somepony out there, he knew not exactly who, was meant to arrange the stars into intricate and beautiful patterns; somepony who’s great passion would revolve around the ethereal glory of distance objects suspended within the firmament of creation. And until this pony stepped forward to take their rightful place, the Prince would do the best job he could. Satisfied with his work, the noble returned back inside his apartment, closing the doors to keep in the warmth. A crackling fire and some candles provided enough light and heat to suffice for the rest of the night. He reviewed some pieces of paper on his desk, arranging them neatly into a stack when he was finished. Next he gazed at an expertly-painted map set along his wall. It was map of Equestria and a few lands beyond, created by only the finest cartographers within the Kingdom. Fantastical animals adorned the margins of the map, while thousands of castles, cities, towns, and villages were individually drawn and labeled. It was a wonderful thing to behold―perfect if not for one small defect: The whole of Equestria had been fractured. Ever since the fall of Thunderhoof the Valiant and the subsequent collapse of Equestria, it has been the dream of every Prince of Canterlot to rebuild the fallen realm. Not by the sword, and not with themselves as her Kings…but as a duty to her people. The Prince was weaned on tales about the glory of Ancient Equestria, the coming of the Alicorns, and the great marriage between the two. Under the Alicorn dynasty, his country prospered. Law and Justice ruled, and ponies could travel and work unmolested by raiders and bandits. Every nation on this continent trembled before the might of Equestria and her armies. It was a time when the alicorns could redeem themselves and the Tulicëai come into their own. The wonder that was Equestria was something everypony dreamed of in these dark and disunited times. Nostalgia for this brighter age was a chronic condition for the Prince; every year it become more and more of a fantasy. Yet today a faint shimmer pierced its way through. Long did the Prince dream to see that map have many of its borders erased. And now the prospect looked a little more promising. Cracking a smile, the Prince was suddenly shaken from his dreams by a knock. Trotting over to the oak door, his Lordship opened it, revealing a tall beige stallion with a magnificent white beard. He gave a slight bow. “Delbedasir,” the Prince said, staying by the Librarian’s side in case he fell, “My sincerest apologies! I lost track of time―I meant to meet you at your chambers.” The Librarian gave a wheezy laugh, “It is quite alright, my Lord. I’m not as frail as I look.” “You’re not getting any younger. Your services are far too important to me to risk a fall,” the Prince chuckled. “Don’t fret about me, lad. Today I’ve been feeling a real skip in my step. I feel two-hundred again!” The Prince grinned and shook his head. Summoning his magic, he poured some hot apple cider into two porcelain cups and delicately set a cinnamon stick into each one. He then offered one of the cups to the Librarian, who took over the burden of holding it. “A hot cup of cider on a cold night like this is simply…divine. Wouldn’t you agree, Delbedasir?” “Thank you very much, my Lord. I was feeling a bit thirsty,” the alicorn replied, sipping carefully from the boiling cup. Admiring the sweet and spicy flavor, he then set the cup back on its saucer before clearing his throat, “But you know I’m not one to dwell on pleasantries. How may I be of service to Canterlot?” The Prince wiped his mouth and set the cider down, “Yes of course. I wish to speak with you about our esteemed guest. What do you think about the alicorn mare?” Delbedasir took another sip. “Nice girl, no real complaints. Capable of spinning a good tale, I think. Tall, pretty, strong…what more could a stallion want?” he said, his tone too ambiguous to tell whether he was sincere or not. The Prince turned to the window, a feeling of great happiness overcoming him. “I cannot believe it. Perhaps the sole remaining heir of Solárindil…is alive! And she has veritably fallen right into our laps! Oh thank Lórian above…,” he turned back towards his councilor, tears almost coming from his eyes, “Do you have any idea what this means?” Eyes half-open and with a emotionless visage, the Librarian simply took another sip, “I know what you want it to mean. But there are considerable pragmatic obstacles. Don’t let your wide-eyed idealism cloud your perception of reality―my Lord.” The blue unicorn stared into the fire, “But I’ve seen it, in my dreams… Visions of a bright sun…and―and a white warrior charging with a thousand banners beside her! Shouts of praise went to the pony…” Delbedasir rolled his eyes and smirked, “Are you going to tell me another one your ‘visions from on high’?” “For a stallion of the cloth, you can be awfully cynical…,” the Prince sighed. “What can I say, my Lord? I always like to think nothing should go without questioning. But you do have an ability to see what things could be. So Peter, what exactly do you have on your mind?” “She must become Queen! I can feel it…I can feel the strength within her. She has the capability to reunite our once glorious nation. She will rescue us from this blighted age of poverty and darkness. Delbedasir shifted his countenance from sarcastic to compassionate. He crept closer to his Lord and dear friend, placing a hoof on his shoulder. “We got a chance to talk with the girl, Peter. She may be the heir to the throne…but she is no queen…,” he fumbled with his words for a moment, “We aren’t even sure if she’s telling the truth or not.” “Do you think she’s telling the truth?” “…I cannot say, my Lord. But as it happens this is not the first time the Exilarch has chanced upon us. Once, a very long time ago, it seems I met her parents. This was before your grandparents were even born. But that stallion never betrayed any indication of his heritage, and Nikóleva appeared utterly ignorant of whom she was. And I even made it clear how useless a claim as hers would be in today’s world.” The Prince broke into a wide smile, his optimistic disposition once again overtaking his mood, “Then until I see any evidence to the contrary, this Nikóleva is truly of Solárindil’s house, and therefore my lawful liege.” “I will never understand this devotion you possess…,” the Librarian muttered before acquiring a more professional countenance, “Shall we call upon the Congress?” “Such an act wouldn’t accomplish much. Nikóleva is unfortunately not somepony any of the Princes or other lords of the realm would follow; she’s in no condition to be presented as the heiress. Not to mention it’s winter, and our food stores are low as it is. We cannot take on a pack of gluttonous nobles.” The Prince shifted his focus to Canterlot, now looking back out his window, “We probably have enough food to last, especially with the gracious charity of ponies like Greymane feeding the less-fortunate. There will be no major starvations, thank Lórian.” “It is expected by Marshal Helmred that this problem will not happen next year.” “We can only hope. It’s those damned raiders!” He pointed at various regions on his map, “Nests of diamond dogs in the woods are turning up every day, and mustangs are migrating eastwards, plundering everything in their wake. I’ve even heard tales about…batponies coming down from the mountains. And that’s not even mentioning the Minotaurs!” he lashed out at the region beneath Equestria labeled “Minotaurica”, “Reports are saying one of their chieftains has manage to unite enough of the tribes to call himself ‘King’. It’s but a matter of time; the southern cities and kingdoms could only hold off a unified Minotaur army for so long.” “We certainly have our work cut out for us,” Delbedasir leaned in closer, lowering his voice, “And there have been…whispers and rumors…of something urging them on. Captives mutter something about a ‘Dark God’.” The Prince shook his head, his face in pure horror, “No…it cannot be.” The Librarian licked his lips, “It can only mean Dis―“ “Silence!” the unicorn shot, showing an uncharacteristic rage…or fear, “I will not have that name spoken in my presence.” “Forgive my brashness, my Lord.” “No need…,” the Prince sighed, “I apologize for losing my temper. But if all these are true, and indeed they are machinations with intelligent purpose…this will become a very large problem for us all.” As he stared at the map on the wall, an idea suddenly struck the Prince, “But perhaps…we could use this to our advantage.” “What do you mean, my Lord?” “How would you evaluate this mare? She needs to be a leader.” The beige stallion thought for a moment, “Hmmm…well…from what she’s told us about herself, she’s probably a capable fighter―not masterful but considering all her exploits she’s not dead. She’s a smith so rather strong with a steady hoof and an eye for detail. A bit of a polyglot as well; always a good trait for a diplomat. She strikes me as rather honest, honorable, just, but a bit proud at times. She could be playing us a fool, however.” “What sort of faults did you pick up? A stallion as old as you can read another like a book,” the Prince quipped. “You are too kind, my Lord,” the alicorn blushed, “But she probably has a bit of a temper; a youthful hot-headedness. I suffered from it quite a bit in my younger days. She possesses immense potential as a warrior, commander, diplomat, leader,…and maybe even ‘Queen’. But for all her talent, she remains unfocused and largely unrealized. I’m not sure she can even perform anything more advanced than rudimentary spells.” The Prince levitated up a piece of paper and begun jotting down the points his councilor was making. “Excellent! Delbedasir, I’m placing you in charge of her education.” “But my Lord…wouldn’t this interfere with my other tasks?” “I will delegate any duties you cannot perform to the utmost to others; the more mundane ones. We have a very important project on our hooves. Teach her to read, teach her a bit of every discipline you involve yourself in. Teach her the holy texts and the histories. I will locate for her a sword master, and enroll her in a position to give her experience. She’ll first learn to follow, then to command,” the Prince put up the finished cups and teapot, “We shall groom her to lead, to be worthy of the throne of Equestria. And we won’t have much time to do it. I do not even know exactly how much, or what happens when we run out.” He turned back to his Librarian, keeping an imperious look, “We start tomorrow, and we will present of Queen before the Congress when the time comes. Mark my words.” “Consider them marked, Peter. But this won’t be easy.” “Nothing worth doing ever is. Now, Delbedasir, you are free to retire for the night.” The alicorn gave a noticeable yawn, smacking his lips afterwards, “I thought you’d never say that.” He then made his way to the door and took the first step down the stairs. “If you need any help, Delbedasir, I can―“ “I don’t need any ‘able-bodied’ colts telling me I’m too brittle to go down a staircase!” he laughed and bowed his head, “Good night, Peter.” The Prince bowed in kind, “Likewise, my friend.” The faint sound of hoofsteps became more distant as the Prince shut his doors and stepped back towards the balcony. Outside, once again in the moon and starlight, he looked up and closed his eyes. He’d go to sleep in a few minutes, but for the moment he wished to reflect on what door had been opened. A warmth in his heart fought off the chill, and never before had he felt so at peace. “Thank you…we shall not squander your gift again…,” he said. As he spoke, there was no indication or sign that anything heard his prayer, swallowed into the black of night. But he knew deep down, something did.