Griffon the Heave-ho
by CrowMagnon
The morning sun rose slowly, its hesitance matching the mood of the one coaxing it up into the sky. Princess Celestia sighed and took a sip of her morning tea before getting on with it and fully drawing the bright, warm sphere into its place in the heavens. This duty done, the princess stepped back inside, made her way to the washroom, enjoyed a brisk shower, then stood in front of the mirror while she toweled herself off and ran a brush through her mane.
Day by day, this last step was becoming more a matter of habit than of necessity. Most mornings, she would study her reflection and see the lines of age slowly fade from her face, and the life return to her colorful mane. Just the previous morning, she had run the brush through her mane and tail without feeling a single tangle. Whatever aspect of her being which made her hair shimmer and move with an ethereal grace was also amazing enough to prevent knots and split ends.
Unfortunately, the worries of the night before seemed to have caused a bit of regression as the creases on her face seemed slightly more pronounced, and her hairbrush met with some resistence before her mane recovered its life and shimmer. As a result, it took her a few minutes longer than expected to make herself presentable so that she could make her way to the private dining hall where Luna was waiting for her.
Luna and one other, as it turned out.
"And how are you coming along? There must be so much to catch up on."
"Oh, yes, but everypony has been so good about helping me to learn what I have missed. Just the other day, I found Captain Armor reading some poetry by a... Woolliam Sheepsbeard, I think it was. Are you familiar with his work?"
There, sitting at the breakfast table with Luna, was Emperor Buckbeak. Grigori managed to give his casually disarming grin, and without a hint of condescension, replied, "I may have heard the name once or twice. Never pegged Shining Armor for the poetic type, though. Which ones was he reading?"
Luna tilted her head in thought. "Let's see, I don't think he told me the title, but at my request, he read some of it.
In the old age black was not counted fair,
Or if it were, it bore not beauty's name;
But now is black beauty's successive heir,
And beauty slandered with a bastard shame."
Grigori leaned across the table, one eyebrow rising upward. "Oh-ho, the Dark Mare Sonnets? And what did you think of his reading?"
Luna took hold of her drinking glass with her magic and raised it to her lips. "I wish that I could say, but Captain Armor fell feverish soon after he started, and had to retire to his office." After taking a sip of juice, the Princess of the Night noticed Celestia's approach and perked up. "Felicitations, sister! I hope that you don't mind, but I took the liberty of inviting your friend to join our morning repast!"
Celestia was very well-practiced in keeping her emotions to herself when she wished to, so she maintained an entirely neutral expression as she took her seat. "I see. And what of Gertrude? Isn't she joining us this morning?"
Luna shook her head while the servants busied themselves with bringing out the dishes once Princess Celestia had taken her seat. "Neigh, sister. She said that she wished to take the time to make extra preparations for today's negotiations, though she would not elaborate further. I am most overjoyed to hear from Grigori that matters are well in hoof!"
Celestia leveled her stare in the portly griffon's direction. "Indeed? Because I was under the impression that matters were far from settled. It wouldn't do to make assumptions just yet. Some parties may not have thought everything through."
Grigori chuckled and picked up a fork in his talons when the breakfast was placed before him. "If that were directed at me, Princess, I think I would be offended... if it weren't so accurate. Perhaps if I had your famous prescience, I could afford to think things through to their conclusion, but I've never had the knack for my own kind's particular quirks, let alone yours."
Without waiting for his hostess to start, Grigori speared a bit of egg on his fork and held it in front of his face. "I might wield my influence to encourage a chef to accommodate my preferences, but I still can't completely control what gets put on my plate. Nor should I. I'm a horrible cook. I prefer to leave that in the talons of somegriffon I can trust to do things right."
Celestia frowned slightly at that. "Funny that you should say that, when your kitchen has several chefs who are unable to agree on what dish they should be preparing, and each of them believes that you are supporting them. That hardly seems like an environment that fosters trust. Your traveling companions were not particularly quiet or subtle in their argument upon your return, so tell me, Your Eminence... was Senator Snaketail lying when she said that her visit to the Snowheart encampment was at your request?"
Grigori looked down at his plate and took a bite of his breakfast. After chewing the bit of egg for a bit, he swallowed and replied, "Gertrude Snowheart is your friend, and you've just gotten her back after a rather vicious estrangement. I understand why you might take issue with some of Gail's more... stridently vocal opinions, but her presence is something of a necessary evil, forced upon all of us by circumstance."
Luna looked back and forth between her sister and Grigori while the latter spoke. With a pensive expression, she asked, "So... are you saying that you brought the Senator because she is a talented chef? Is that why she is so temperamental?"
At that, Grigori snorted so hard that he spent the next minute or so coughing bits of egg out of his lungs.
-----
Meanwhile, in her private tent in the Snowheart clan's camp, Gertrude flipped through the pages of the book that Pinkamena had given her. She had put off sleeping all through the night in order to do so, but while the urge to sleep still came to her as it did any mortal creature, she felt that spending the time preparing herself and gleaning what insights she could gather from the text might far outweigh the nagging sensation of a missed night's slumber.
All in all, she had found the author to be rather astute in his observations, though it seemed that many of his assumptions and impressions of certain historical figures cast them in a quite different light than her own memories. Her feathers ruffled at the depiction of the capricorns as a race of swaggering bullies who treated death and murder as a casual amusement. Whatever disagreements she and her friends may have had with Lord Tydal, the grizzled old warrior and his followers had fought to the last to slow Arlok's advance, and paid for it in currency that no creature should have ever had to pay.
Regarding more contemporary matters, however, Gertrude could sense a far greater level of thoughtfulness and understanding in Fuzzy Thinker's work. In point of fact, it was his analysis of her own people which captured her attention.
In stark contrast to the ponies of Equestria, where those who undergo metamorphosis into alicorns are celebrated and typically granted a position of honorary royalty, the so-called "Winterborn" of griffonkind are ostracized by their brethren. To understand why this is, one must first understand what it means for a griffon to be considered Winterborn.
It is not enough to simply have a talent for working with snow and ice, as such things are natural weather patterns which fall under the purview of any griffon's innate storm-shaping magic. What differentiates one of the Winterborn from a common storm-shaper is that in the former case, the ice is not drawn from the surrounding atmospheric conditions, but created directly by the griffon themselves.
This specially crafted ice has numerous properties which differentiate it from its natural counterpart. As it is created by the wielder's magic, it is an extension of its creator's will, and can thus act as a medium for enchantments. Even as unusual as most griffons find this ability, this alone is not nearly enough to explain griffonkind's antipathy toward those who exhibit this unique gift. Indeed, the Winterborn would likely be celebrated in the Griffon Empire if not for the circumstances which gave rise to the Empire's creation.
Upon the fall of Gertrude Snowheart, numerous warlords rose up claiming to be the rightful successor to Queen Snowheart's throne, despite their brand of brutal tyranny being the antithesis of all that she stood for. As the warlords would soon discover, however, once generations of griffons had been raised in unity and freedom, they were not inclined to let it go so easily. While the larger, more powerful warrior clans sought to rule over all others, the smaller clans which had prospered under a unified banner created an alliance which would come to prove itself stronger than any opposition, and lay the foundation upon which the modern Griffon Empire would be built.
In the Empire's zeal to separate itself from those it fought against, however, the founders soundly denounced anygriffon and everygriffon who sought to make a rallying symbol out of the late queen or her clan. Even as they pursued revolutionary social changes which continued what Queen Snowheart began, the Empire publicly tarnished her name and made outcasts of any who claimed connection to her. As a direct result, even those who had no desire for political or personal power were decried as cursed if they demonstrated an affinity for the magic of the Snowheart clan.
Due to this prejudice which can trace its roots back to the very formation of their society, there is a peculiar blind spot in the griffon psyche. Considering themselves a proud and competitive people, they will rally to deny their Winterborn brethren an opportunity to prove their worth. It is a culture where strength of all types is respected, unless that strength comes from one particular source. Lay out the hypocrisy of this stance, however, and you will be met by stubborn denial by the masses who are the product of centuries of normalized prejudice.
Gertrude's eyes lingered a while longer on the pages before she shut the book and glanced at the date of publication. As she understood the modern dating system, it had been written over two decades ago, but those passages which she had read about the state of the Empire rang true with what she had seen thus far.
Still, she could feel that there was more to it than what was written in the collection of passages that she had spent the night ruminating over. That a relative of the Emperor whom he seemed rather close to should have the same power that their society called "cursed" certainly played a part.
Gertrude shook her head, and pushed such thoughts out of her mind. Last night, Gunther had helped her regain her focus. Returning to Canterlot and looking at the faces of the griffons who looked up to her had brought it all back into crystal clarity. Whatever the Emperor and his retinue wanted was nothing but a distraction. The only thing that mattered to her today was that she stand for her clan's interests above all others.
Even as she set the book down, Gunther would be preparing the knights to make their move with Rainbow Dash's help and support. Soon, it would be time to show the Empire that despite the vast difference in size, the Snowheart clan's strength of will was more than equal to the task of overcoming any adversary.
And if she was lucky, Celestia would forgive her for the battle that was about to be waged within her city.