//------------------------------// // Home? // Story: Cartography of War // by Daetrin //------------------------------//         Celestia’s Command floated just above the waves off a cove set into the cliffs of Eyrie.  Rose thought the gryphon village there was built of some strange wood until she saw the skull, large enough that it had been turned into a dwelling, with glass in the eye sockets and the front fangs carved into pillars. Only then did it resolve itself into the bones of some unfathomably large beast.  Arawn’s cirein-cròin.         The skull was hemmed in by a magic wall now, as were the rest of the dwellings, a prisoner camp holding hundreds of angry gryphons.  She felt far more exposed walking past them, escorted by a wary guard, than she had on the ship, even when confronting them directly.  The equally angry ponies surrounding her felt more threatening, despite that they were on her side.  But that was almost certainly because she’d insisted Gérard come with her.         He was at the other end of their train, approaching the Command from the beach to appease the grim-faced sentinels guarding the singular entrance.  Though she’d been allowed to keep her singular saddlebag, he only had unicorn-made hobbles.  He barely seemed to notice, still hollow-eyed from the revelation the pegasus had given him. “Break out now!” One of the gryphons shouted from the nearest prison house.  “They treat prisoners without honor!  We surrendered, and they treat us like prey!”         And that neatly captured what was bothering her.  Though it made sense from a pony perspective, every aspect of the capture and the prison camp was an affront to gryphon sensibilities and turned it into a dangerous froth, surrender or no.  “I know you’ve been treated badly,” she called back.  “I’m going to try and fix that.”         The sound of fluent Alce coming from a pony’s lips silenced both ponies and gryphons.  It was enough to drag Gérard, blinking, from his reverie.  “Thank you, Rose.”  His voice was still a touch hoarse, though it had lost the shocked, echoing quality of the few words he’d spoken since they’d left the boat.  “This is three breaths from catastrophe.  If Kree saw this, he would shatter those wards…”         “What are you talking about?”  The pegasus captain asked suspiciously.         “This prison.  It can’t stay like this.”         “Well we can’t just let them out,” he said, exasperated.  “You know what kind of havoc they’d cause.”         “Maybe.”  She considered trying to explain all the condensed reasoning behind convincing the gryphons to behave, at least from a pony perspective, but it was clear he had no more love of gryphons than Kree had of ponies.  And she wasn’t sure she could convince these gryphons nearly as easily as the ones aboard the Windrunner.         One of the royal guards lit his horn, magic flashing over her in a practiced cloudwalking spell.  Her hooves tingled.  “Her Majesty wants to see her,” he told her escort.         “Aye, sir.  This way, ma’am.”  He gestured for her to follow him up the cloud-formed steps leading into the fortress.         “What about Gérard?”  She balked, both at the idea of leaving him behind and at the idea that the Princess wanted to see her.  What she knew about gryphons was important, yes, and she’d expected maybe a long talk with one of the Ministers or perhaps even one of Celestia’s advisors.  But surely the princess herself had greater concerns.         “He stays in a holding cell until Her Majesty or Commander Swiftwing or someone decides where he goes.”  His voice was flat and uncompromising.         “Go on, Rose,” Gérard said, a faint trace of humor returning to his voice.  “I have been in far worse prisons than a cell made of clouds.”         “This way,” the pegasus insisted, and Rose followed with one last glance back at Gérard.  The interior of Celestia’s Command was a swarm of soldiers, mostly unicorns and pegasi but here and there an armored earth pony bulled through on their own errands.         They went deeper, through massive doors woven from pegasus and unicorn magics, the cloudstuff yielding slightly underhoof.  Each layer was quieter, more focused, more watchful and rarefied.  By the time they reached the center it seemed stifling, the cool white walls close and oppressive.         Then the last door opened and Celestia stood there in all her radiant glory.  “And my last little pony returns home,” she said, her voice soft and warm.  “Welcome back, Compass Rose.”         “Your Highness,” Rose managed, blinking against the impression of having looked straight into the sun, though Celestia wasn’t actually glowing.  The rest of the room came into focus and she realized it was not a throne room, but rather an office, and a relatively small one at that.  It was dominated by a large desk, clearly Celestia’s, holding a model of Eyrie that was surrounded by piles of paperwork on all sides.         Nor was Celestia alone.  The four other ponies there were ones she knew at least by reputation, even if she’d only seen the unicorn before.  There was Commander Swiftwing, of course, and Chancellor Ivory she’d met before, if only in passing.  The earth pony had to be Councillor Stone Hearth, and the stripe-spattered mare was Stripehoof, who didn’t really have a title but had been Celestia’s right hoof during the Nightmare Winter.         None of them looked happy.         “Who did that to you?” Swiftwing snapped, his voice hard enough to make her flinch.         “What?”  It took her a moment to realize he was pointing at her scar.  “Oh, that’s -”         “I’ll make sure whoever it was is held accountable.”  His eyes flashed with righteous anger.         “No, no!” She protested.  “It was a forest fire!”         He narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously, clearly disbelieving.  “A forest fire? On a gryphon boat?” “Peace, Commander,” Celestia chided gently.  “Give her time to sit at least.”  She waved at a padded seat on the other side of the desk and Rose settled in gingerly. “We found your camp a month ago,” she continued, her voice heavy with sorrow.  “But we did not know your fate.” “I...don’t think I knew it myself.”  She closed her eyes against a fresh stab of grief, the images of the slaughter returning after having been so long pushed aside by more immediate concerns.  “It’s been a long trip.  And a hard one.  It’s strange to be back.”  Celestia’s look grew more concerned and Rose reassured her with a smile.   “I’m fine, it’s just...I don’t even know what day it is.” “Truly?”  Celestia raised her eyebrows, regarding Rose for a moment.  “Then you do not know how particularly appropriate it is that you return on this day, the anniversary of your own birth.  Freedom is, after all, a wonderful gift.” “I-” Rose paused, feeling suddenly much older than a single year would suggest. “Alas, there is little enough to celebrate aside from your return.  In truth, it is the first good news we have had in weeks.” “But the war is over, isn’t it?” “Yes,” Swiftwing grunted.  “That hasn’t made the gryphons much more peaceful.  And it’s been getting worse since we got here.  I’d put them all in cages if some ponies would let me.”  He glowered in Stripehoof’s direction. “It’d only make things worse.  And yes, I mean that,” Stripehoof said, her voice flat.  “Even now it’s only a matter of time before somegryph breaks one of Ivory’s cells.” “I saw the cells.  They’re-” “Not nearly good enough, I know.” Skywing grumbled.  “I’m sorry you had to see that but everyone comes in the front door.” Rose was taken aback.  She had expected something more sympathetic from ponies, even from the Commander of the armies, but maybe she was being unfair. Skywing had been on the front lines for the whole war, and he had faced every single day what Rose had only needed to once.  In that much he was not too far from Gérard. “Regardless,” he continued.  “No pony has survived in gryphon custody as long as you did.  So naturally we want to know what exactly happened.  Why did they let you live when they killed everypony else?” She gave him a long look.  There were more than a few things she wanted to say to him, or more properly lecture him on, but not in the middle of an official audience, in front of the princess.  “They...didn’t, actually.  I wasn’t at camp at the time, so I came back to find...that.  And Gérard.  But no other gryphons.” “And Gérard kept you prisoner for over a month,” Swiftwing growled. “Well, he couldn’t fly, and didn’t have maps or compass or anything.  He needed me to get back to the gryphon camp. He -” “Just needed to keep you alive to get home, that makes more sense.” Swiftwing nodded, self-satisfied.  “Same with the ship?  They were having you navigate?” She found herself starting to glare at the Commander.  He was no doubt expert on the battlefield, but here gryphons weren’t simply the enemy.  “Yes, I helped, but it wasn’t just that at all.” He waved a hoof dismissively.  “I’m sure they were at least marginally polite, but it’s fairly clear how lucky you were.  They may be brutes but they’re practical enough to spot a useful skill.” “Gérard was more than polite!” She bristled.  “He’s a wonderful person, and my friend.” There was silence for a moment.  “Oh, honey,” Ivory said.  “He’s a gryphon.  One of the ones who killed your friends, who started this whole war.  He’s not your friend.  Are you sure you’re all right?” “I’m fine!” She shifted her glare to Ivory.  “Just because he’s a gryphon doesn’t mean he’s a bad person.  And he didn’t kill my friends!  He doesn’t want to kill anypony.” The advisors shared a glance.  Celestia raised her eyebrows the slightest fraction, but didn’t rebuke Rose for the outburst. “It’s all right, Compass Rose,” Stone Hearth said soothingly.  “You’re among friends now.  You don’t need to worry about them anymore.  You don’t have to pretend -” “I am not pretending.”  Rose found herself just as furious and just as focused as when she’d faced the gryphons.  “You don’t know Gérard.  You haven’t talked with him, spent time with him, shared meals with him.  Don’t tell me what I know and what I don’t.  I’m not mistaken or wrong or pretending.” Swiftwing’s expression had become hard and set as she spoke and, and when he replied it wasn’t to her.  “Princess, I think she’s been affected by her time with them.  We should-” “I have not,” she snapped.  “You-” “Quiet,” Celestia murmured.         Rose went silent.  Even though Celestia hadn’t raised her voice, there was enough power in that request Rose couldn’t even think of disobeying.  The Princess was regarding her with her sharp violet eyes, and off to the side, Stripehoof’s look was only slightly less piercing.         “Some privacy, everypony.”         There were no protests from her advisors and they filed out, leaving Rose alone with the Princess.  She swallowed.  It wasn’t fear, exactly, but the terrible feeling that she had disappointed Celestia somehow.         ‘Well,” she said.  “Tell me about this Gérard.  Who is he, and why was he down in the Hayseed Swamp, so far from the rest of the war?”         “He is…”  She considered everything she knew about him, and how to express that without hours of explanation.  “He’s a soldier who is more loyal to gryphons and Eyrie than to any particular gryphon.  And Aida trusts him.  But I’m still not sure what he was doing.  All I know is that he was supposed to go to the dragons with a box.”         “The dragons?”  Celestia was startled.  “I don’t see how the gryphons could rouse them from their home.  What could possibly have been in that box?”         “I don’t know.  Gérard never opened it.”         “And where is this box now?”  Celestia’s eyes narrowed at her in surmise.  “Was it captured when the ship was?”         “It’s...in my saddlebags,” Rose said with deep reluctance.  She was betraying Gérard’s trust by telling Celestia about it, but it was her duty.  And that was something he would certainly understand.         “Is it, now?”  Princess Celestia smiled, and it was a satisfied smile that wasn’t quite aimed at Rose.  “How did it end up there?”         “He asked me to hold onto it.”  Celestia didn’t say anything, and while her expression didn’t change something about it made her hasten to explain.  “Because he trusted me more than the other gryphons.  He didn’t think they would follow his orders not to open it.”         “It must be quite important.”  Celestia stood, circling around the desk to her.  “We do need to know what’s inside.  Even a few messages might be instrumental in securing a true peace.”         Rose nodded and lifted the box from her saddlebags.  It was heavy as ever, the oilcloth rumpled and stained, but when she removed it the box was unmarked.  And made of bone.  A month ago that would have bothered her, but now neither that nor the leather strap that held it shut gave her much pause.  She gripped it with her forehooves, horn glowing as she picked apart the tight leather knot and, at last, opened the lid. Light spilled into the room.   It wasn’t a bright light, to illuminate cloud and fur, but rather a dark one that stained everything it touched with the colors of fierce and swift and alert.  It seemed to move in slow motion, a sluggish wave pouring out to puddle in the eye and mind and heart. Her tongue went numb save for frissons of eager purpose, and time itself seemed to have stopped.  There was no movement, no sound, no breath or thought or life. Celestia’s hoof reached out and closed the box.  “That is quite enough of that,” she said firmly. Rose gasped for air, coughing and hacking and feeling as if it had pooled in her lungs, her hooves still tingling.  “What...what was that?” “It is a small fragment of the essence of all gryphons.”  Celestia’s usual serene expression had turned to something more sour.  “A tiny piece of Aquila.” A cold wind blew. It whipped through the room, smelling of snow and high peaks and wild forests and the sea air, all at the same time.  This was no gentle zephyr, but something wild and savage, casually shredding the papers lifted up by its passage and then demolishing the roof with no more effort.  Layer upon layer of dense cloud, labored over by pegasi and enchanted by unicorns until it could resist even dragon claws, dispersed like mere vapor as the wind tore it away, opening the room to the sky. “It is a breath.  A hope.  A promise.  Of these things are we all forged.” Aquila stood before them.  Rose had never seen him, or even heard him described, but she knew it had to be.  His colors were ordinary, just white and dun, but he was bigger than Gérard, bigger than Tarn, bigger, even, than Celestia.  And when he spoke it was not in Equestrian or Alce, but something older and deeper that went straight past her ears and into her mind, battering her with each numbing syllable. “Lord Aquila,” Celestia said, her voice cool and calm.  Disapproving. “Celeste Dawnbringer,” Aquila returned in a low rumble and with a brief tilt of his head. “I thought I would have seen you before now.” “To what point and purpose?”  He stretched lithely, catlike, fixing them each in turn with sharp golden eyes.  Distantly, Rose wondered why none of the guards had burst in to see what had happened, but there was a weight to the air that made everything seem oddly detached. “To discuss the war, of course.”  Celestia’s eyes were narrowed, focused. “What of it?  I let my children make their own mistakes and grasp their own successes.  I am their judge and arbiter, not their ruler and protector.  I do not measure their lives with each turning of the glass.” “But...you gave Gérard that box.”  Compared to Celestia and Aquila, Rose’s voice sounded small and faint.  But Aquila fixed on her with a sharpness and suddenness that was the clear progenitor of Gérard’s own habit. “Yes,” he said, rolling the word.  “He asked, and knew what he was asking.  I obliged.”  Oddly, he seemed to accord her more attention than Celestia.  At the very least there was a subtly different edge to his voice. Celestia’s eyebrows raised.  “You let a single gryphon take something so precious and dangerous...because he asked?” “There is only room for one claw on the fulcrum of history,” Aquila replied, unruffled.  “It will never be mine.  Why not someone wholly committed to the gryphon race?” “Yet it is still a gamble,” Celestia pointed out.  “And in the end, one that didn’t quite work.” “I cannot be certain of that,” Aquila demurred.  “I know him.  He is alive, and so he has not given up.” Rose found herself smiling at the note of pride in Aquila’s voice.  She had only seen the edges of the despair that had once shattered Gérard entirely, but if he knew his own god regarded him highly it might do something to ease that wound. Then his sharp eyes moved to her and seemed to pierce all the way through.  “You know his scent, too.  You have tasted of his soul, a meal taken with meat and salt.” “If Compass Rose agrees, then I believe you that this Gérard is still hoping to do something.”  Celestia shook her head slowly.  “But the gryphons have lost.  There is little he can do to change that.” “He was never trying to win,” Rose told her, meeting those violet eyes as best she could.  “He was trying to save the gryphons from being destroyed.” Celestia’s gaze narrowed, in some distant ghost of the predator’s focus.  Aquila caught it, and clicked his beak softly. “Tch.” “So that’s why you’re here now.”  Celestia turned back to Aquila, ruffling her wings.  “To bargain for them.” “I do not bargain.  I judge.” His ears flicked, back and then forward again.  “But I have someone here to bargain for me.”  One claw pointed, slow and deliberately, at Rose. “You may not be a protector, but I am,” Celestia said coldly.  “You cannot simply claim my ponies for yourself.” “Oh, I certainly would not try.”  Aquila’s tail flicked lazily.  “Though both your child and mine have wandered so far I do not think they will ever truly be ours again.” “Princess,” Rose dared, and Celestia looked at her.  It was not surprise in those eyes, but surmise.  “I don’t know about bargain, but...I know how hard it is for gryphons and ponies to get along.  Or even understand each other.  I know Gérard, and I understand gryphons, at least a little.  And Gérard knows me, and understands ponies, at least a little.  I want to show that gryphons aren’t monsters, and ponies aren’t prey.”  “Ah.”  Celestia’s eyes flashed, though with what emotion Rose couldn’t tell.  “That is not a simple thing you ask, Compass Rose.  It is not a single decision, to be made by me or by Lord Aquila or by anyone else.  It is a responsibility for lives.  Thousands, or millions, spread out over years.  And it is risk.  Even with the imprimatur of my approval, there are those who will shun you.  Those who will hate you.” “But it is her duty,” Aquila rumbled, pacing closer.  “An obligation, to fulfill her honor.” “It’s the right thing to do,” she corrected. “That is what I said.”  Rose couldn’t tell whether or not he was joking. “It is a right thing to do.”  Celestia tilted her head back, ever so slightly.  “But I have been at a loss for any since the surrender.  The gryphons have grown more restless, more fractious, more violent, not less.  I will not allow them to be a threat to my children.  I will not have any more Scarlet Shimmers or Mercy Whites or Sky Shadows or Golden Glimmers or Sharp Eyes.  But I could see no way that did not end up creating monsters.  But if there is another way...find me that path, Compass Rose.” “So, you know your duty,” Aquila said, soft and low. “Yes,” she said to both of them. “Then there is a judgement close to talon.”  Aquila’s head lifted as he looked upward to the sky.  “I will tell Aida.  She has been waiting as long as I for this decision.” “It has been a long month,” Celestia agreed. “Oh, no. This particular judgement has been waiting for eight years.”  There was a peculiar, anticipatory tone to Aquila’s voice, as if he were looking forward to a particularly savory meal. Then the wind blew, and he was gone. The walls sighed, relaxing from the presence of Aquila, and other sounds returned.  Shouts, metallic bangs.  Stripehoof skidded into the room, ignoring the pegasi and unicorn guards that suddenly swarmed about them, and sniffed the air.  “He was here.” “Yes,” Celestia said, and silenced the hubbub by lifting her hoof.  The motion swirled to a stop, focused on Celestia.  She, in turn, looked to Rose.  “Start,” she said.  “As you mean to go on.” “Well.”  Rose looked up at the Princess.  “First, I need Gérard.”