//------------------------------//
// 146. Meanwhile 
// Story: Rebirth of the Damned 
// by Borsuq 
//------------------------------//

	His foreleg vibrated as their blades collided. However, his strike was stronger, as his opponent’s weapon was pushed back. He quickly performed the next one, aiming at the chest. His opponent raised his shield and blocked the attack, after which he tried stabbing him. With a flap of the wings, he avoided the enemy weapon, and bringing up his own shield he slammed into his opponent, causing him to fall down on the ground below.
“Alright, that’s enough,” Sir Walter, the master-at-arms of Griffenhalla Keep, called out to them.
Prince John nodded, showing the older griffon that he heard him, and sheathed his sword on his back and strapped his shield over it. He then landed over his sparring partner and best friend, extending a helping talon towards him.
“Are you hurt, Francis?” he asked, concerned.
The other cub nodded as he accepted his outstretched talons. “No worse than usual when you beat me up,” he said as he lifted himself up from the ground with his help.
John looked Francis over to make sure he hadn’t wounded him. Though they were of the same age and related, his friend wasn’t as muscular as him, and had a leaner build. It wouldn’t be the first time that he got too roughed up during their training. However, John couldn’t spot any blood under his armor, nor was he limping as he stood up.
Prince John was relieved. For a griffon like himself, having a friend in Griffenhalla was rare, and he knew that, so he preferred not to accidentally beat him up to much. Although born to the royal family, he lacked any Snowfeather features; his entire colouring was golden, marking him as a Sandstorm griffon. Descendants of the tribe that three millennia ago made their home in deserts were usually laughed upon in the northernmost city of Griffonia; especially if they were of the royal blood.
Unlike him, Francis’ colouring wasn’t pure; which was a common trait, even among nobility. Like most of the citizens of Griffenhalla, the feathers and fur around his head, neck and chest were white (save for purple lines around his eyes) like a Snowfeather, but his torso was brown like a Raggedpelt griffon, making him a Snowpelt. There was one unique trait in Francis’ look that set him apart from other Snowpelts Prince John had seen; his eyes were of two different colors. His right eye was yellow like his sister, but the left one was green. Being a bit of a bookworm, Francis had read up about it and told John that it was because of something called heterochromia, but the Prince forgot the details of it.
Francis quickly gathered his weapons, sheathed them, and waited in attention together with John to for their instructors to join them. “That was nicely done, Your Highness,” the older griffon told him as he walked slowly towards them. Sir Walter then turned to Francis. “Lord Francis, you put too little strength into your strikes, and your reflexes are too slow. You should spend more time here in the training yard rather than in the Royal Library.”
The Snowpelt griffon blushed a bit in embarrassment. John didn’t like to see his friend talked down to like that, but he knew if he’d order Sir Walter to shut up he would get scolded later by his father and sister. He looked around the training yard to focus on something else. The short summer of Griffenhalla had already ended, and the walls around them were covered by a thin layer of snow. The center of the training yard was still warm enough to melt any snow that would fall down here, but not for long.
“I wonder if Father will decide where to send me before the winter will start for good?” Prince John wondered. “It would be nice to not have to wear sweaters and stuff.”
As was traditional for members of the royal family and several other noble houses, around the time a cub reached their twelfth birthday, they would be sent to a faraway land for a few years. There they would be raised by another noble family, staying with them as their ward. This custom was invented in memory of King Adolf the Restorer, who first had been raised in Equestrian court since he was a cub. Then, at the age of twelve, he traveled to Outcast Mountains and lived for two years among Thistleclaw and Breezepelt tribes, gaining their support and friendship. With their help he unified Griffonia, which had been broken after the Sundering and fought over by several warlords. The custom in its current form served to prepare the cubs for their adult lives, as well as enhance the bonds between griffons.
The tradition had been broken by the royal family only a few times over the course of the last two thousand years. John’s brother Richard had been sent to Pomerania on the Lionclaw Island, as ward of Lord Godwin Stormfur, Warden of the West. His sister Victoria had been sent to Aristeas in the Outcasts Mountains, as ward of the young Lady Nymeria Thistleclaw, Warden of the South. It would seem logical, then, that he would be sent as a ward to the Warden of the East, Lord Ivar Heathereyes, on the Refuge Rock. However, whenever John tried asking his sister what their father was planning regarding him, she would give him an evasive answer.
“Father considers carefully as to whom to entrust you with,” she had told him. As usual, she had been smiling as if she knew more than she let out (which was practically always the case). “Who has the best qualities to raise you, who’s loyalty and friendship should be strengthened; those are all important variables. He had been as thoughtful about choosing where Richard or I would be sent.”
“Yeah, like I will buy that,” John thought bitterly. He clenched his talons, scratching the ground beneath him, before relaxing and returning this attention to his friend and their instructor.
It turned out he hadn’t missed much. “Honestly,” Sir Walter was telling Francis, “it’s hard to understand how you can be a younger brother of a Kingsguard.”
Prince John, beginning to grow more annoyed, was about to open his beak and speak up for Francis, but somegriffon beat him to it. “His sister had simply trained a lot,” said a voice from above.
John had recognized the owner of that voice even before he darted his head up and saw the griffon flying towards them. “Uncle Gerard!” he and Francis exclaimed in unison, happy and surprised.
Sir Walter immediately bowed his head. “Lord Commander,” he greeted him.
“Uncle, what are you doing here?” John asked as the massive, pure-white griffon clad in white plate armor nodded to the Keep’s master-at-arms. “Shouldn’t you be with my sister?”
The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard chuckled. “The remaining Kingsguard present in the capital are with her,” he said. “Victoria is well protected.”
John was aware that despite how peaceful times they might live in may be, the royal family, especially the king and his successor, could always be in danger. The events that had transpired over a decade ago where the best example of that. That’s why they were guarded by eleven of the most elite warriors in all of Griffonia, the Kingsguard. Five of them, counting Gerard, were currently in the capital. When a few days ago his father and brother, together with several other griffons from the court, left for a hunt, they took four other Kingsguards. The remaining two were away on some assignments within the kingdom.
“Not that anygriffon expects any troubles today at court,” his great uncle continued, shrugging.
Beside John, Francis smirked. “The fact that the court is about to open at this time wouldn’t have anything with you being here, right Uncle?”
“Lord Francis,” Sir Walter began, frowning, “you shouldn’t suggest that Lord Commander is shirking away from his duties, even while jesting.”
“Don’t reprimand my grandnephew for being right,” Gerard told him, laughing. “If you had to stand through almost every court session for half a century, you’d also want to get away every now and then.”
John was aware that his great uncle was exaggerating, but not by much. Prince Gerard was the longest serving member of the current Kingsguard, having guarded two kings before King Robert. He was the last living Kingsguard of the first king he swore to protect, his own father, John’s and Francis’ great grandfather, King Cedric the Third, better known as “the Cruel”.
Prince Gerard turned back to the two young griffons. “I’d much rather watch the grandsons of my siblings train in combat. You don’t mind if I take over, Sir Walter?”
Sir Walter bowed. “Of course not, my Lord. Our session was about to end anyway.”
John looked at Francis, excited. Though age had started catching up with him, their great uncle was still considered one of the best warriors in the realm. It wasn’t often they had a chance to spar with him, his duties keeping him busy most of the time. Francis, of course, looked less enthusiastic; unlike most griffons, he didn’t really enjoy fighting.
“Now then,” their great uncle said once Sir Walter flew away, picking up one of the free training swords and equipping his shield, “how about you two show me how much you know about fighting?”





“Lord Commander!”
All three griffons lowered their weapons and turned to look as a messenger flew towards them and landed beside Gerard. John took the chance to massage a fresh bruise below his armor. Despite being their great uncle, Gerard showed them little mercy the past half an hour, treating them the same - if not worse - as Sir Walter would have during their training session, stopping only to give them advice or show them a battle move. And since they already had completed their daily hour with the Griffenhalla’s master-at-arms, John felt really tired.
He glanced at Francis. The other cub hadn’t complained about the prolonged training session, but he could tell that he would welcome the end of it.
John returned his attention to the messenger, who upon landing bowed, first to Gerard, then him, then Francis. “Lord Commander, Princess Victoria summons for you.”
The two cubs exchanged shocked looks, but Gerard remained calm, only a slightly raised brow betrayed his surprise. “Tell Her Highness, I will see her immediately,” he told the messenger. As the griffon jumped back into the air and returned to the Keep, he turned back to his great nephews. “You’re both fine fighters for your age, but you should continue practicing. Prince John, you tend to get too excited when you think you have the upper-talon. Lord Francis, you have to work on your reaction time, you’re too slow in combat.”
“Yes, Uncle Gerard,” they both replied with respect.
“Also,” he added; his face softened; “you shouldn’t push yourself too hard. Prince John, you are still young; you will become an equal fighter to your brother in a few years. Lord Francis, these aren’t the times of King Friedrich, when everygriffon had to be a warrior. Just knowing how to fight to defend yourself is fine, even for a member of nobility.”
John cringed a bit, hearing his great uncle so flatly state one of his reasons as to why he put so much effort into training. Beside him Francis reacted similarly, though he quickly smiled to the older griffon.
“I need to get going,” Gerard said, flapping his wings. His heavy armor didn’t slow him at all in the air. “I will see you two at court later,” he told them as he flew in the same direction as the messenger had gone to.
As soon as he was out of earshot, John turned to Francis. “When does the court start today?”
His friend glanced at the clock at the edge of the training yard. “It starts in five minutes. Why would your sister summon Uncle Gerard right before the court opens?”
“Something must have happened,” John said, wondering what it could be.
“Could something have happened to Father and Richard?” he wondered, and cold gripped his heart. He quickly dismissed the thought, though. “If that was the case, the summoning would have been more urgent…”
“Think Flori will know what’s that about?” he asked.
Francis raised an eyebrow. “I would call you racist for assuming that a Nightcloud griffon must know what’s going on, but…”
John growled. Outside of battle, Francis was annoyingly quick, especially in regards to his tongue. “She’s probably in the Throne Room already,” he said, not in mood to lose another banter with his friend.
“Hang on, John,” Francis called after him as he spread his wings; he turned back to the other griffon, confused. “We can’t attend the court like this.”
“Oh, right,” John said. It wouldn’t do well for either of them to show up stinking with sweat and carrying dirt. “Meet you in twenty minutes?”
“Sure,” Francis replied, flapping his wings and taking into air.
John followed him part of the way. Both of them lived on the Griffenhalla Keep’s grounds. The Keep was a massive stronghold, part-built and part-sculpted in the side of the Griffenhalla Mountain, looming over the city below it. Taking in the sight of Griffenhalla while in the air, John once again thought how impossible the legend of founding the city seemed. It said that the crater at the side of the mountain, in which the entire city was built, had come from a dragon crash-landing. “I would understand if he was really big, but this hardly looks big enough to let him swallow a griffon whole,” John thought.
He waved to Francis as they parted; his private chambers were in the highest, closest to the mountain-side part of the Keep, along with the rest of the royal family. As he flew, a cold wind blew against him, making him shiver.
“Griffenhalla really isn’t a place for a Sandstorm griffon,” he thought bitterly.





Almost twenty minutes later, John, having left his equipment in his chambers and thoroughly cleaned himself, met up with Francis near a flight window (a place in the castle where griffons could fly in and out) of one of the corridors leading to the Throne Room.
“Let's go through one of the back entrances,” John said; even from this distance, they could see a long line of petitioners. “I wonder how many of them know that they will be asking not their King for help, but his heir?” he wondered out loud.
He knew that some griffons might get confused by it. Even though by now everygiffon in town should have heard that King Robert had left for a hunt. As Warden of the North, Victoria had to take his place in their father’s absence, fulfilling his duties like holding the court and such.
“That reminds me,” Francis began as they walked the halls, “I’ve been meaning to ask: why didn’t you join your father and brother?”
“I wasn’t really in the mood for hunting,” he replied, shrugging. “Besides, I will probably be sent off soon to some other part of Griffonia; I wanted to spend some more time at home.”
He lowered his head as two griffon nobles - whose names escaped John at the moment - passed them in the corridor. Both of them bowed in respect before the Prince, who nodded politely in reply. The two older griffons resumed to walk in the opposite direction, but they hadn’t gotten out of the earshot when one of them whispered: “Yellow Snow.”
John imagined turning back and slicing the throats of both of them.
Whether Francis hadn’t heard them or was trying to divert his attention, he resumed their talk: “Do you think I could be sent with you?”
The Prince looked him, surprised, the overheard insult completely forgotten. “You’d want to? Away from the Royal Library?”
Francis rolled his multi-colored eyes. “As much as it may surprise you, I value our friendship more than books. Plus, wherever you’d be sent, they must have a library there,” he added, sticking his tongue out.
John stared at him in silence for a few seconds. “You just don’t want to have training sessions with Sir Walter anymore,” he finally said.
“Hm, maybe?” the other griffon replied with a straight face. “I don’t mind training all that much, but I could do without being compared to my sister every time.”
John had to agree that it was annoying. As they reached the doors leading to one of the balconies overlooking the Throne Room, he pondered how much easier it would be for him to live someplace else for a few years with a friend.
“Since Francis is a noble himself, there shouldn’t be a problem… heck, his sister was sent off to live with ponies, and only recently came back. I should ask Victoria what she thinks of it,” he thought, entering through the doors.
Ancestors apparently blessed his choice of the balcony, as there was only one griffon on it, one he had hoped to find.
“Hey Flori,” he said as he and Francis joined her.
Florica Nightcloud, who was sitting on the balcony railing, hidden in the shadow of the adorning it sculpture, glanced at them. Though roughly the same size as them, their friend was actually at least two years older than them. Like all pureblood Nightclouds, along with their black colouring she had also inherited their small size. The biggest Nightcloud griffons were usually a head shorter than other griffons.
“Sir Walter was annoyed that you had again missed on the training,” Francis told her as they leaned against the railing, looking down.
“I was busy,” replied Flori, smirking, before also looking back down.
John rolled his eyes hearing her reply. She was very often “busy”. With what exactly, neither he nor Francis knew, except that it was usually something Victoria wanted from her. Though by the time his sister had met the homeless orphan thief in Lativa, she had been too young herself to take on a ward (not to mention that tradition and various rules would forbid a princess and king’s heir to take somegriffon of such a low birth as a ward), she had convinced the Master of Crows, Bran Nightcloud, to take her in. Griffonia’s head of spies not only assured she’d have a home, but also had taught Flori in the arts that were stereotypically associated with their breed of griffons; of stealth, gathering information, and other similar things. Flori had always remembered that she owed everything to Victoria, and was eager to do whatever she’d ask of her.
It sometimes annoyed John that his sister, in turn, seemed to confide in Flori; at least, to a greater amount than in him. It made him a bit jealous of her, but he tried to not dwell too much on it. When she wasn’t busy with doing things for Victoria, she’d often spend time with him and Francis. Flori was his second best friend, almost ever since she came to live in the Keep.
As of late, however, John had noticed that… he felt strange around her from time to time. He had caught himself sweating once when talking with her and looking into her violet eyes, and his wings felt stiff when he was looking at her body (and some parts of his body also felt weird). Being a member of the royal family, he had known for some time how one exactly ensures his family grows bigger, so he eventually figured out what was happening to him. Which only served to make him look forward to being sent away more.
He was a prince. That meant that, even if he was a Sandstorm griffon, whether he liked it or not, he would be expected to someday marry a griffon of noble birth. Even if chances of him fathering a Snowfeather cub were small, it was important to ensure the royal blood would spread. Florica Nightcloud was of too low a birth to be his future wife, even if he himself could never be a king.
Not that he wanted to. Unlike Richard, who, as Victoria had told him, used to be jealous of her when they were younger, he had always found being just a prince too tiresome.
“I’m sure gonna miss her,” he thought, glancing at her briefly. “Even though I could do without some… thoughts regarding her. Being away for a few years will be good for us.”
The worst part of those thoughts was that she knew. John had no doubt about it. Though she had never said anything, he knew her to be too smart to not realize it. In their little group, he was the one with strength, Francis was the one with knowledge, and Flori was too damn cunning. And even without knowing how shrewd she was, or that she was well on her way to being a spy, there were these things she would do. Brushing against John, briefly intervening his tail with hers… or like right now, tapping his chest with it.
As John swatted it away, he caught a glimmer in her eyes. She loved to do this to him.
Annoyed, and wanting to focus on something else, John looked around the Throne Room below them. There were many petitioners inside, waiting for their turn, some noble born, some low born. The one who currently stepped forward and kneeled before the Dragon Throne was a merchant from the city below that John had seen a few times. Some nobles who weren’t there on a business other than their entertainment (like them) were whispering in groups between themselves. Several guards were posted around the the walls of the Throne Room, with two guarding the door.
The Kingsguard, however, stood in attention around the Dragon Throne. The big pale seat, fashioned - according to legend - from the skull of Ancalagon, the dragon that rampaged through the Snowfeather Tribe lands (thanks to ponies) before being slain by their warriors and crashing into the Griffenstone Mountain. Sitting on it was John’s sister, Princess Victoria “Blizzardborn” Snowfeather, Warden of the North.
Victoria was widely considered to be the most beautiful griffon alive. Out of all five living Snowfeathers, her colouring was the purest white and her eyes the bluest. Wherever she walked or flew, she moved with grace, whenever she talked, she captivated anygriffon’s attention. And she was kind and wise, too.
As if she had sensed him looking at her, Victoria glanced briefly at their balcony. John noticed she smiled, before she returned her attention to the petitioner and told him to rise.
John’s attention, however, wasn’t on his sister, or the petitioner. Rather, it was on the Kingsguard. Closest to Victoria was Francis’s sister, the newest member of the royal bodyguards. The others were all Kingsguard since before John had been born.
And there were only three of them.
“Where’s my uncle?” John asked Flori in a hushed voice, his eyes on the four Kingsguards.
“Your sister sent him to your father,” Flori replied; as always, she knew of things he didn’t; John wondered if she had been told by Victoria or found out herself. “Something has happened that requires His Majesty’s attention.”
“What is it?” John asked, curious.
Flori glanced at him. “I don’t know exactly, but before your sister sent for the Lord Commander, she had received a letter from Griffonia’s ambassador in Equestria.”
“From Equestria?” John and Francis asked in unison. When Flori nodded, John asked: “What could it be about?”
        Over the last two years, Equestria has often been brought up in Griffenhalla as a topic of conversation. First the day lasted several hours longer, and when their Princess finally fixed it, Griffonia had learned that her sister had returned. Then, about a year ago, some sort of “chaos spirit”, that supposedly ruled that land at one point, escaped its magical prison in Equestria, but it was recaptured before it could do any lasting harm. Several months ago, an equestrian princess was getting married, and due to some threat they hadn’t invited John’s father, which would be a common courtesy. It turned out the the threat was real, as they had been invaded by changelings. Then a month later, an empire of ponies from over a thousand years ago returned, and the same princess that had gotten married became its ruler.
“What are those crazy ponies up to now?” John wondered.
“About something that happened there yesterday,” Flori replied to his question, shrugging.
John deadpanned at her. “Gee, I wouldn’t think-”
“Wait, yesterday?” Francis spoke up, interrupting him. “How come you know that it was yesterday that… whatever happened happened?”
“Because Master Bran had delivered an urgent report to Victoria yesterday.”
Hearing that, John once again peered down, looking for the spymaster. He was in the crowd, discussing something with a noble who had recently joined the court, named… Katrana Stormcloud, if he remembered correctly. He didn’t know too much about her, other than she was quickly gaining friends in high places. Her colouring was interesting; being a mix of Stormfur and Nightcloud breeds, she inherited their respective pale gray and black colors that mashed together, rather than occur on only half of body like in Francis’s case. Her head was gray, aside from the feathers atop her head and the back of the neck, which were black. her wings and tail were also black. As for the rest of her body, the dress she wore made it impossible to make out. Such patterns weren’t uncommon, but were rarer than usual colourings.
He frowned and turned back to Flori. “If my sister knew about it since yesterday, why did she send for my father now?”
“She probably came to the conclusion that it would be best to wait for official information before reacting; Equestria is bound to have their informants here. Though of course, whether that was the best course of action depends on the gravity of the matter. Also, she could have wanted to have the full picture of whatever this is.”
John frowned, then nodded. That did sound like his sister’s reasoning.
“Which reminds me,” Flori spoke up, pulling him out of his thoughts. “Princess Victoria wanted me to tell you two that she will probably be unable to join you for supper with Queen Dowager Nimue. Once His Majesty returns, she plans to call in a council meeting.”
“A council meeting over something happening in Equestria?” John said. That must have meant that it was something really serious. “And of course we’re not going to learn anything about it? Ugh, I wish they would tell me more,” he groaned quietly, placing his head on his talons.
His words made Flori chuckle and jump down, joining him and Francis. “Oh, don’t worry my Prince,” she said in a servile tone; John hated when she talked like that. She stepped closer to him so that their bodies were brushing, and her tail intertwined with his. “Based on what your sister had told me, whatever it is, she plans to tell you soon,” she whispered.
“R-really?” John asked. He was so surprised that he forgot to about getting flustered. “When? What did she exactly say?”
“Hm…” Flori hummed; it was clear she was having fun. “As for when, I believe she plans to tell you after discussing this matter with His Majesty. As for what she said… I believe she said something about ‘light’.”