//------------------------------//
// Chapter 51 - Homecoming 
// Story: Bad Mondays 
// by Handyman 
//------------------------------//

He had seen the crowd gathered in the courtyard, still milling about and gossiping excitedly at the rarefied company who had just emerged from the dirigible. Handy chewed on the inside of his mouth, biting back a muttered curse. He had been hoping to not immediately push his way through a crowd of easily frightened courtiers, servants, and far too many guards than would ordinarily be warranted. He’d much rather have made his way into the castle unseen and perhaps, if not immediately, make his way to the king, then find a room to rest in until his Majesty was ready for him. Tired and exhausted, a part of him was still not even sure any of this was real. Handy crushed that part under a mountain of determination to not show any sign of wavering. Not to his exhaustion, not to his illness, and certainly not to any paranoia and delusions born of anxiety. Above all else, the one thing holding him back from marching straight into the castle was a very simple, if somewhat selfish concern.
 
Handy did not like being touched, and judging by the reactions of his friends previously, pushing his way through a crowd of disbelieving griffons might lead to a lot of unwanted contact.
 
But his gryphonic friends, if they were aware of this, apparently didn’t give a good God damn. The first, and perhaps most predictable of assailants, was of course Sir Tanismore. Tanis, upon seeing Handy walking off the ramp of the airship onto the largest courtyard of the castle, promptly descended from the ramparts. Everyone else—guards, servants, and various courtiers alike who had come to welcome back the chancellor and who doubtless were enamoured with the surprise arrival of the Firthengarian princess—these people, as one might imagine, had rather sensible reactions to the sight of the beaten and battered spectre emerging from the depths of the airship.
 
Tanismore was not a sensible griffon.
 
In one fell swoop, the aura of dread and ominous intrigue his presence inspired in the surprised gathering of griffons was utterly shattered when a heavily-armoured knight descended from on-high, laughing manically and crashing into the unsuspecting human at an utterly discourteous speed. Some rather confused guards and a younger knight Handy did not recognise and who was wearing armour that was too big for him, had pushed their way through the crowd, uncertain of what they were to do.
 
Especially considering the senior knight they had opted to back up was laughing.
 
“You’re alive!” Tanismore shouted, hopping off Handy with a clatter of armour and pulling him off the ground. “What in damnation!? Where have you been!? What happened to you!?”
 
“Tanis,” Handy greeted with a grunt when his senses had come back to him. He had woken up that day groggy, with his head feeling oddly full in the manner of a head cold. He had hoped the warmth of staying in the belly of a steam-powered airship might help alleviate that, but no such luck. As such, with his guard lowered, exhaustion overcoming him, he had no idea what hit him when the griffon landed. “Good to see you again.”
 
“What happened to your arm?” Handy unconsciously withdrew his bandaged left arm beneath his cloak.
 
“Don’t worry about it.” He looked around at the gathered crowd. He more or less recognised the servants, some of the guards, a few courtiers he knew as the usual rabble of minor nobility present at court to keep their families represented and informed of what happened at the capital. He was vaguely aware that Tanismore, like Ivorybeak before him, was poking him in the armour just to make sure he was there. He idly smacked away his gauntleted claw. “Where is everyone?”
 
“What? Oh. Well, they’re around. Some of us have a job to do, you know.” Tanismore gave Handy a faux, haughty expression with his chest puffed out. Handy snorted.
 
“You? Working? Shocker.” The guards seemed unsure of what exactly was going on, but the younger knight, sensing that his senior had things more or less under control, waved them off. Handy nodded at the young griffon in thanks. “This has happened so often that I barely register it anymore.”
 
“What, flying hugs?”
 
“Spears levelled at my throat.”
 
“Same thing.” Tanismore chuckled, punching Handy in the arm. Handy scowled but decided against doing anything, and merely looked up at the crowd of courtiers who suddenly had second thoughts about lingering outside in the castle garden courtyard.
 
“Let's continue on inside. Hopefully the rest of them will be a little more circumspect in their welcome.”
 

--=--


They were not.
 
He was all but escorted into the castle, with Tanismore going before him, apparently doing a lot of good for the worried onlookers. It was doubtless done purposefully to give the appearance that things were under control and that the apparition of the king’s shadow that everyone had thought long dead was not going to run amok. However, in spite of Handy’s expectations, he was led away from the main hall and taken to the first of the old coterie of royal knights.
 
Godfrey was left blinking rapidly when Tanismore turned the corner with Handy in toe. He had looked from one to the other, raised a claw, beak open as if to speak. Then he thought better of it. He merely nodded his acknowledgment of Handy’s continued existence… and promptly fell in step beside Tanismore. On it went, Frederick, Jeremy, and even Shadowsunder falling into line, with reactions ranging from a yelp of surprise when Jeremy all but ran into Handy when he emerged from one corridor, to Shadowsunder smiling and collecting a few coins from a maid who gave a disgusted sigh.
 
To observers, it appeared as if the royal knights of Gethrenia were merely taking the mysterious human to parts unknown and doubtlessly doing the kingdom a service in some manner. Handy knew better. The first room they found themselves in, Handy was pushed into a chair, and he promptly cursed.
 
“Oh for fuck’s sake, lads would you give over!” he cried as the chattering griffons flitted about the room, clattering armour resounding off the stone walls. It was one of the obscure waiting rooms with decorative paintings, tapestries, and reasonably nice furniture. A few of them actually managed to sit down. One of them, the new knight Handy had not recognised, had left the room, presumably to let more know about this impromptu meeting. Jeremy, the palest of the lot, seemed to be rummaging the cupboards for something. “Aren’t you all on duty?”
 
“Were,” Godfrey replied. “There’s more than enough of us to take up the slack, and most of us have been pulling doubles for months now. Hricce is off to put some of his fellow newbloods on duty.”
 
“Newbloods? Like Shadowsunder and Celebra?”
 
“Not anymore,” Shadowsunder said with a smile, taking a seat near the window and trying to get out of his helmet. “The Royal Knights got expanded.”
 
“How so?”
 
“After the… incident at Firthengart, the king wanted more knights for the personal guard. Most were landed knights who just got promoted as it were, rather than fresh hires or mooks who got kicked upstairs,” Godfrey explained. Handy was silent for a moment.
 
“How many… eh… Who was replaced?”
 
“Replaced? Oh, just Shortbeak.”
 
“What!?”
 
“Yeah, we’re gonna miss her,” Jeremy said, finally finding what looked to be a bottle of red wine—really red, scarlet and translucent. Handy wondered if it was watered down.
 
“Such a shame, an awful fate for anygriffon,” Tanismore agreed.
 
“Wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.” Godfrey nodded sadly. Handy sat back in his seat, completely disbelieving what he was hearing.
 
“Are… So after the dragon attack, Shortbeak… she—?”
 
“Yeah, she’s no longer with us.”
 
“I can’t believe it,” Handy murmured. That any of them were lost in the attack was bad enough, but Shortbeak? She was the best out of all of them! This couldn’t be possible. “She’s gone.”
 
“Gone? Who’s gone?” Celebra asked, followed shortly by Grimtooth, both stopped upon seeing Handy seated on the far side of the table. Grimtooth, an unfortunate name for such an inherently jovial fellow, was eating something that looked vaguely like a carrot. It dropped from his mouth. Handy didn’t really notice them.
 
“Anyone else?” he asked after a moment. “I’m seeing most of you. What about the other four?”
 
“Oh, they’re out on king’s business.” Tanismore passed over a cup. Handy took it to stop it sliding off the table, but didn’t drink. Hricce, the new knight, came back and immediately was grabbed by Grimtooth and Celebra, and seemed to be undergoing some intense interrogation over some matter or other.
 
“How can you be so blasé about this?” Handy asked disbelievingly.
 
“What’s wrong?” Godfrey questioned in confusion.
 
“What’s wrong!? You just told me Shortbeak—Shortbeak out of all knights!—died in Firthengart, and you act like it’s nothing?” There was silence as everyone in the room just stared at their newly retrieved friend. Then, as one, they all broke into raucous laughter. “What? What is it, damn it!?”
 
“You-You think she’s—?” Frederick began, “…Oh All-Maker…”
 
“Okay… Okay, I know how that must have sounded to you, but you got us wrong,” Tanismore explained.
 
“I do?” Handy’s face twisted in confusion under his helm.
 
“Yeah, Shortbeak’s fine.”
 
“But you made it sound like she died or something.”
 
“Well, she did leave the Royal Knights, but only in the same sense that you did.”
 
“But I am still a knight.” At least he assumed so. He had been away for quite a while.
 
“Yes, but you’re no longer in the bodyguard. Shortbeak got lynched up the rookery.” Handy stared blankly at Godfrey. The griffon blinked before comprehension dawned. “She has a new job.”
 
“Oh. Well, what happened to her?” Handy said, relieved.
 
“She’s Marshal now.”
 
“What happened to Lord Condor?”
 
“Resigned,” Frederick interjected as the knights began settling down. There seemed to be a sizeable crowd gathering outside the door. Handy couldn’t make out any details over the tops of his gathering of comrades, but was suddenly keenly aware he was not getting out of this room any time soon. Hricce closed the door. “Apparently he felt he was too old for the position. Did it just before we all left for the festival. What a time to be stepping down…”
 
“Speaking of thinking people were dead,” Tanismore said loudly, “you’re not going anywhere until you tell us exactly where you’ve been.”
 
Handy looked from one griffon to another, each one seeming genuinely pleased he was back. While not ungrateful, he was nonetheless taken aback.
 
“You’re not mad?”
 
“Mad? Handy, we’re ecstatic! We thought you were dead, everygriffon did!” Tanismore affirmed. “Where were you? What happened? Why in Tartarus is there this Firthengarian princess here? Ivorybeak said nothing, just went straight to the king. I almost drew my sword when I saw you come off that ship!”
 
“What even happened back then?” Godfrey now asked. “Last thing I remember, we were chasing some pony through the mists when Tanismore took a bad fall.”
 
“Hey, I was shot down!”
 
“Whatever,” Godfrey said with a roll of his eyes.
 
“It was a mess—you should have seen Joachim then. I had never seen him so angry,`” Frederick continued.
 
The questions and personal accounts continued to build up, each griffon giving his own account of what happened that day and how little of Handy any of them had seen after the arena went up in flames. They didn’t see him fighting the dragon. All anyone saw, Gethrenian or otherwise was a blur of silver, and next the dragon was seen falling, later found upon the ground, dead with a pierced heart. They didn’t see him when he fought the warlock. All that was found of him was his ruined shield and not a trace more. He kept quiet as the conversation amongst the griffons died down, and they waited for him to fill in the blanks, as he had not risen to any of their baits.
 
“Handy, what happened that day?” Tanismore asked. Handy looked out the window.
 
“My, well that’d take a lot of explaining. Art thou sure you all have the time for such trifles?” Handy asked, feigning a casual air. Frederick snorted.
 
“You weren’t talking fancy a few minutes ago. We know you can talk normal.”
 
“Yes, but I choose not to. It is ever so much fun.”
 
“You should try listening to it someday,” Tanismore muttered. “Well?”
 
Handy considered his drink for a moment. He had been hoping to not have to talk to anyone other than Joachim about what had happened, at least at first. Quite a bit of what happened concerned the kingdom, such as a certain deal made in a certain forest. Handy warred with himself whether he should remain loyal to his king and friend and let him know just what danger Handy had put the entire kingdom into just to save a race of foreigners. Every other part of him, however, sensible or selfish, told him to live with keeping it secret. He did what he had to do. He had to trust that, come spring, Whirlwind would hold up to his oath.
 
“Well, it’s been a really long journey. I am tired and not doing as well as I could be. Another time perhaps?”
 
“Oh no, drink up, wine’s good for the constitution,” one griffon insisted.
 
“Yeah, and take off that helmet. You’re among friends,” another said. Handy hesitated and took another look at the wine, the image of how Silvertalon reacted fresh in his mind.
 
“I’d really rather not,” he said, taking a breath. “But fine, if you want me to talk, then I guess I have no choice in the matter.”
 

--=--


Three days—that was how long it took to get to Skymount from Firthengart by airship. They had arrived in the morning of the third day. It was sunset by the time Handy was finally let out of that damnable room. The questions, the unending questions! Good God, it was just as well that he never hung around too many of his fellow knights at once. By the time he got to tell the story about the deer and the Lady of the Lake, half of them were drunk. In this way, spinning that tale to the point where his deer companion did some deer magic, and they managed to renegotiate the pact between the Lady and the deer race—de-emphasising Handy’s part quite a bit—was accepted rather easily. The fact that it was a touch more believable than what actually happened helped Handy gloss over that problem considerably.
 
That was just as well, for Handy underestimated just how fascinated people outside the Greenwoods were with the forest, and ate up everything Handy could tell them. ‘What were the deer like? How did they live? Was the forest haunted? Did all that really happen? The trees were how big? You have got to be kidding, was there really an ancient city lost in those woods?’ On and on it went. Handy could probably write a book about what he experienced, fill in the gaps in his knowledge with wild bullshit, and make a small mint for himself, based on the reactions he got. He did have to prove his tale with some of the pitiful deer supplies he still had on his person from his time amongst them. You could hardly blame the griffons’ scepticism.
 
Everything after it, however, Handy had to get creative. He stayed as clear away from how involved he got with changelings as he could, but that proved impossible. Between the scandals with the Equestrians and the Enclavers, he struggled to keep a more important secret: old magic, and his involvement in it. He feigned his ignorance of it, but ultimately had to at least acknowledge that that was what he had been hunting, and why he did not immediately make his way back home. The changelings just raised so many more questions for them. By the end of it, he had to promise to show them the bounty of changeling gold he had gotten for his troubles, just to prove his story.
 
He opted to make it seem as if it was all Ivorybeak’s ingenious doing that solved the shit with the Firthengarians and Celestia. They could go bother him for details about that mess, rather than Handy having to tell them the truth and then answer twenty million more questions. At least that way when the unbelievable truth came out about it, he had Ivorybeak backing up his word. The bird could also take all the credit for himself and save Handy the trouble. Either was good.
 
He also left the entire debacle with Chrysalis to the barest bones of the story possible, because reasons. Still, it was ultimately that admission that gave him his most solid excuse to leave the room. ‘Changeling bullshit’ seemed like a pretty serious security issue to bring to the king’s attention after all. Exiting the room, he was surprised to see a guard had been posted outside, one who was doing an admirable job at trying not to stare. He guessed someone must have gotten tired of all the castle gossips hanging in the hallway.
 
“The king?” he asked the guard. The guard gestured to the western wing of the castle. Handy nodded and went off towards the king’s solar. His iron-shod boots echoed along the stone floor, and the winter twilight, painting the interior of the castle an icy blue, contrasted sharply with the warm light cast by the candles. It all felt so surreal, the corridors now feeling strange and unfamiliar. He kept having to shrug off the feeling that he was alien here, and reminded himself that this was normal. He was meant to be here. Everything was fine.
 
The castle was surprisingly empty, given the hour. The occasional guard, maybe he passed by some clerk hurrying out of an office, but that was it. No one else was about. As a result, he made it to the wing relatively unmolested. He ascended the last couple of steps, crossed the quadrangle and stood before the door. He knocked twice, ignoring the guards as they suddenly stood to attention at his presence.

 
“Enter,” a familiar voice commanded. Handy entered and closed the door behind him.
 
King Johan, the Blackwing of Gethrenia, first of his name, sat calmly behind his writing desk, reading glasses resting on his beak as his quill scratched across a parchment. He did not look up. Handy tried coughing lightly to get his attention.

Johan looked up, smiled slightly, then looked back down to his work.

“Took you longer this time,” he said gently, putting down the quill and taking off the spectacles. “You really need to stop dying. It’s a bad habit.”
 
Handy snorted in response, trying to keep from smiling. “Sorry, I’ll try to be more considerate the next time I’m shuffled off this mortal coil.”
 
“You could write.”
 
“Hey, I tried.”
 
“A disembodied voice of somegriffon I’ve never met doesn’t count. I was questioning my sanity for a good week after that.”
 
“A little introspection never hurt anybody.” Handy smirked, leaning against the wall.
 
“Yes, but too much of a good thing is always a problem.”
 
“What's the matter? Afraid you’ll get a little perspective?”
 
“Just don’t want to become a naval gazing loser.”
 
“Might be an improvement.”
 
“No thanks, it's not one of your better qualities I’d like to emulate,” Joachim said, gesturing to Handy with the folded spectacles.
 
“Aw, thanks, always knew you looked up to me. I mean for reasons other than you being a shortass.” Handy waved a hand at his friend’s relative height level.
 
“Well, it's hard not to be that tall with a head as big as yours, holding up your body. You ever let the gas out? It's unhealthy to be so full of yourself.”
 
“Oh, you wound me. Although you’d probably do better with the spectacles on.”
 
“Why?” the griffon asked.
 
“Because maybe, unlike that time with the diamond dogs, you might be able to hit something if you could see straight.”
 
“Can’t do that now, can I? Then I’d have to contend to see your face in perfect clarity.”
 
“One would think you’d appreciate my courtesy in taking that option away from you.”
 
“Hmm, yes, I suppose that bucket on your head is useful in covering that unsightly mess.”
 
“If only you could respond in kind, it’d be terribly appreciated.”
 
“Ah, but then how else can I make you look good by comparison? You’ve nothing else to offer griffons. Really, it’s a charity.”
 
“Says the man with the wit and charm of a South Harwik guttersnipe,” Handy quipped.
 
“Coming from an elegant and thoroughly respectable gentlegriffon such as yourself, I’ll take that as a compliment,” Joachim riposted.
 
“Fop.”
 
“Dour brute.”
 
“Lush.”
 
“Brigand.”
 
“Bird!”
 
“Ape!” The pair of them looked at each other as the trade of insults degenerated into tense silence. It was Johan who broke first, with a wide smile, holding his forelegs outstretched. “Handy, you miserable bastard, what took you so long?!”
 
“It’s been a long road, Joachim,” Handy said peacefully as his old friend walked out from behind his desk. The movement caused him to frown, taking one step back. “Now, I think it’s only fair to warn you...”
 
“Uh-huh.”
 
“...I will commit regicide if you come near me.”
 
“Sure.”
 
“I’m serious! Don’t think I won’t. I’ve already had enough with griffons— Hey—HEY!” But lo, it was too late to stop him. Handy received an embrace from his oldest friend in this world, and a pat on the back for his troubles. Handy, quite tired of this, by all accounts, promptly shoved the laughing griffon off. “For God’s sake, you know I hate that!”
 
“Yeah, pretty much why I did it.” Joachim laughed and picked himself up off of the floor before brushing down his all-encompassing cloak and tunic.
 
“Cold?” Handy asked.
 
“Not especially, no,” Joachim said with what looked like a pained smile. Handy was about to question further before being interrupted.
 
“And what about you? You look like you were dragged for miles behind a carriage.”
 
“I certainly feel like it.” Handy tapped his fingers in thought along a table. “Can you promise me you won’t freak out?”
 
“Freak out? About what?” Handy took off his helmet. “…W-Well alright then. That’s going to need an explanation.”
 
“It’s a rather long story.” Handy placed the helmet on top of a dresser. “How much has Ivorybeak already told you?”
 
“You mean after getting me to calm down with reassurances that he did not, in fact, kidnap Goldtooth’s daughter? Oh, everything,” Joachim said with a roll of his eyes. “THAT was a particularly nasty surprise, but at least now I have something to assuage the High King with.”
 
“The High King was involved?”
 
“To a point. He’ll be visiting soon. I want him to be in a good mood before he gets here.”
 
“Why?”
 
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because he’s been breathing down my neck over this crisis, and I’d like to have word that everything is sorted before he leaves his perch at Old Mount?” Joachim waved Handy over to the door. “Now, I’m sure what you have to say is very, very fascinating, but you look like Death’s second cousin, twice removed. Off with you.”
 
“What?”
 
“I said go. Get some rest, the world will still be here tomorrow,” Joachim said. “And you stink.”
 
“I have a legitimately good excuse for reeking like the devil.”
 
“Yes, but you no longer have an excuse to continue smelling like a week old dead rat.” Joachim grinned. “You can use the private dining room. I’d imagine you’d like some privacy for dinner. I’ll have the kitchens cook something up for you.”
 
“This is… unexpected,” Handy confessed. Joachim smiled.
 
“There’s a time and a place for all things. Right now I have a friend back from the dead to welcome in from the cold. We’ll worry about everything else later. Like that stowaway.” Handy blinked.
 
“Stowaway?”
 
“Yes. Not long after you emerged from that ship of yours, two ponies followed. A guard recognised one as the head of your alchemist guild. However, the one behind her was a suspicious-looking rake of a pony who, upon being challenged by the guards and not being recognised by your pilot, was subsequently detained.” Handy rubbed the bridge of his nose, sighing.
 
“Yeah, that’s Jacques; he’s a friend. Can you let him out?” He paused. “In maybe an hour or so?”
 
“Really? He looks like a thief.”
 
“He is.”
 
“...You really need to stop bringing questionable ponies home with you, Handy.”
 
“What can I say? They’re like stray cats.”
 
“Evidently,” Johan said dryly before sighing. “But you really ought to get yourself seen to. I’m serious.”
 
“Why the concern?”
 
“Have you looked in a mirror recently? I don’t know much about humans, but you cannot be all that well.”
 
“I’m fine,” Handy insisted, more out of pride than anything. Joachim ignored him as he sat behind his desk.
 
“I have already said what I will. I don’t want to see you until tomorrow morning. Am I clear?”
 
“Joachim, look this is importa—” He paused at the severe look his friend was giving him. He didn’t like being looked after, for it felt patronizing, even if his stomach growled and his legs struggled not to sway. To fight the matter would merely result in fruitlessness. “Fine. Just one more favour, if you could indulge me?”
 
“Of course.”
 
“Do you have any of your salve left?” Joachim’s quill broke on the parchment at the question. He looked up at Handy, his face an implacable mask. Handy was suddenly very concerned he had upset Joachim somehow. The griffon coughed as he disposed of the now useless quill.
 
“I think… you are very aware of why that is probably not a good idea.”
 
“I was—”
 
“Good night, Handy,” Joachim said with finality. “We’ll speak more of this later. I have some unpleasant business to share with you, and I’d rather you be rested and well before we get to it.”
 
Handy gave his friend an odd look, bewildered at the sudden hostility in Johan’s voice. He opened his mouth to speak, but thinking better of it, he decided to simply pick up his helm and be on his way without another word.
 
Not all welcomes were unconditionally warm, it seemed.
 

--=--


Joachim was as good as his word, as far as the food was concerned at least. Handy had taken liberty of the invitation to use the private dining room, the one the king himself often took himself, and the one where he and the knights on many a days would be invited to join him. The room had seemed so small on those days. Now it felt cavernous, empty, and strange.

The tapestries were the same: the furnishings, the walls, the windows—everything. Yet it all seemed so strange and alien to Handy now, more unfamiliar to him than it had been when they were new to him. Thankfully, he was roused from these melancholic thoughts by the intrusion of what could only be referred to as the most glorious roast meal Handy had seen in years.
 
He had to stop himself from simply wolfing the whole thing down, the strange meats from strange animals making the act of self-discipline exceeding difficult given how delicious they were. He had to keep reminding himself he could take his time; he did not need to rush and was not going anywhere. He had the option to savour a full, uninterrupted warm meal for the first time in months, one where he did not have to compromise for the sensibilities of the ponies he was surrounded by, with broths and soups and keeping strictly to the vegetables he knew were safe to eat through trial and error. How did he know? Well, after new and exciting adventures in culinary exploits, if he didn’t end up throwing up and finding undigested chunks of a certain something he didn’t recognise from Earth, he’d put it on the ‘possibly consumable’ mental checklist.
 
He knew his physics more than his chemistry… or was that biology? Well, not being a total idiot, he knew some things. Raw vegetables meant cellulose; cellulose meant bad times for your digestion if you ate a vegetable raw. Thankfully, most ponies were sane and preferred all their food cooked to some degree, but that didn’t help everything. Some plants just did nothing for his system even if they passed through without a problem. Take hay for example. Did you know ponies have over six hundred and fifty different kinds of hay, some of which they developed themselves? Handy didn’t. Did you know some of them, probably due to the fact they were not in fact hay but something else entirely, were digestible to humans and were actually quite delicious? Handy did.
 
But how much do you want to bet he could tell the difference at a glance?
 
Now? Now here he was, seated in a warm castle, far away from anything that could possibly harm him… on purpose anyway. Before him sat a tray full of sweet meats, sauces, gravies, and many other wonderful and glorious things Handy had all but forgotten were a thing. It was in the midst of this little apotheosis of a feast that a bedraggled Jacques, sans rapier, stomped into the room.
 
“Glad to see somepony’s enjoying themselves.”
 
“Jacques!” Handy said with welcome. “How are you enjoying your stay in Skymount so far?”
 
“Oh, just WONDERFUL! Why, I just got treated to an exclusive and detailed tour of the castle’s dungeons.”
 
“That’s nice. Did you enjoy yourself?”
 
“I could barely contain my enthusiasm,” Jacques said through clenched jaws. He then sat up at the table and purposefully yanked the wine jug out of Handy’s reach when he went to pour the pony a cup. Jacques put down his hat and magically poured himself a generous portion. “I take it you got me out?”
 
“Just had to convince the king.”
 
“You told him I’m not a thief, right?”
 
“Something like that. Hungry?” Jacques looked at the carnivorous dinner before Handy for a long moment.
 
“No thanks, I prefer to remain civilized.”
 
“Suit yourself, grass-munching barbarian.”
 
“What was that?”
 
“Just thinking where I’m going to put you up for the foreseeable future.”
 
“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Jacques said, scratching his short beard. “I’m going to go out on a limb and assume you can’t let me stay here?”
 
“Not on your life. Can’t even keep Crimson up here, and unlike you, she works for a living.”
 
“Hey!”
 
“Hey, truth hurts.” Handy pointed a fork at the unicorn. “But that does raise another matter I wanted to speak to you about.”
 
“...And that is?”
 
“You had to have other options than me if things didn’t work out for you in the Enclave. In fact, if I were you, I’d probably have buggered off to the nearest bolt hole before making my way there, instead of sticking beside me. You had no reason to keep following me.” Jacques’ face remained impassive, though Handy noticed his right ear twitching just a tad. “So, not that I want to judge, but I am afraid I need to know, here and now, why was it you wanted your safety guaranteed here in Griffonia. Specifically so far north. No games, Jacques. I have actionable power here.”
 
Jacques contemplated the question for some time, his eyes wandering over the tapestries depicting Gethrenian history. He took a drink of his wine before responding.
 
“I’m looking for something in particular.”
 
“Care to share what that would be?”

“No, I don’t believe I do.” Handy gave him a warning look. “I’ll swear whatever oath you want that it has nothing to do with your precious Gethrenia. I just know all roads point to the north.”

Handy put his knife and fork down, sat back in his chair and sighed, rubbing his face. He then gave Jacques a level but not unkind look.
 
“I am not doing this to be an asshole, Jacques. I have actual authority in this kingdom, and real responsibilities. Now, I can’t help you if I don’t know what your reason for being here is. If you don’t want me involved, fine. I couldn’t be happier to leave well enough alone. But I have to know.”
 
His jaw set in place, and Handy could tell he was thinking it over. Jacques tapped his hooves idly on the side of the table as he leant on his chair at an odd angle.
 
“It's a family matter,” he said eventually. Handy couldn’t tell what he was feeling. He was using that old trick of his, hiding his emotions in the manner of changelings and leaving Handy to guess by body language alone what was going on in his head. He briefly wondered if he could teach that to Sunderclaw. It would be a useful asset to the kingdom.
 
“You have family in Griffonia?” Handy asked.
 
“It was where they were last sighted. Troubadour families don’t often venture too far into griffon lands. Too hard to get out of them.”
 
“Why?”
 
“As in physically hard. Griffonia is surrounded on two sides by massive mountain ranges to the west and north, a sea to the east, and the Greenwoods to the south. There’s only a few options in terms of crossing into another country overland without the possibility of running into a batch of wild monsters.”
 
“As opposed to what? Domesticated monsters?”
 
“Funny. Troubadours don’t like the idea of being stuck somewhere when, say, wars break out.”
 
“Ah. So your family hasn’t been seen since?”
 
Jacques shrugged.
 
“Nopony has seen neither hide nor hair of them, une telle honte…” Jacques got up from the seat. “Anyway, it's a long story. I’d appreciate it if you’d leave it at that.”
 
“I may have a few questions.”
 
“Then they’ll do ‘til later. I’ll be in town.”
 
“Head to the Black Hare,” Handy spoke up before he could exit the room.
 
“Why?”
 
“It's one of my properties. Tell the innkeeper you’re now listed under Klipwing’s expense. The barkeep will give you a room. Or if you want try the tavern across the road run by his brother, I own that one too. Has nicer beds.”
 
“Well... thanks, I guess. Crimson already left; said something about alchemy.”
 
“Oh God,” Handy groaned. “Yeah, it's probably for the best she went and took stock of what the damage is.” Jacques smiled and shook his head. He drained the cup and began moving for the door.
 
“Oh, one more thing. Who do I have to murder to get my sword back?”
 
“Ask for a knight named Tanismore.”
 
“Is he in charge of confiscating weapons?”
 
“I don’t like him.”
 
“Good enough,” Jacques said with a chuckle before leaving. “Bonsoir.”
 
Handy went back to his food after the unicorn left, contemplating what he had been told. If Jacques was being level with him, he’d have no issue with him doing what he wanted. However, that was a rather large if. He certainly didn’t seem to be lying, but he was holding his cards close to his chest. Handy could only wonder what he was afraid of. He considered the issue for a few minutes, chewing on his food, before his thoughts drifted to more personal concerns, particularly what exactly this ‘unpleasant business’ Joachim had mentioned was about.

The thought concerned him for a time, but he shook his head and put it to one side before it ruined his meal.
 

--=--


“Jesus.”
 
Handy was wearing fresh clothes, and that was the most amazing thing ever.
 
You disagree? Have you ever worn the same fraying clothes for months on end, with few if any opportunities to wash them? Under heavy, ill fitting, and occasionally broken armour? There was simply no comparison to actually having something decent to wear for the first time in so long. Handy honestly felt strange walking about his chambers in the castle, unarmoured and with fresh clothes. For some reason he felt naked and constantly looked over himself.
 
Fortunately he wasn’t naked—he’d rather not be reminded of himself after he did an honest inspection in the mirror. The scars were still there, the ones from before his vampirism and the ones he had gained after. The little gift of a stab wound the Archon thoughtfully left him had made a rather nice, oblong-shaped white splotch on his lower abdomen. Apart from the little collection that he knew of, he had lots of tiny, new, and exciting little additions to the tapestry. You see, despite her best efforts, Heat Source simply did not know humans, and his armour had never fit quite right. Nothing new there. That was the case for pretty much the majority of warriors everywhere, ever. But he routinely had to deal with constant cramps and nicks and, increasingly as time wore on, cuts whenever he moved in his armour. The more his chainmail fell apart, the less it was able to mitigate this effect, and as a result, Handy’s body had a fascinating collection of little scabs and minor cuts all over it.
 
Oh, and he also had this large, crescent-shaped scar on his back running under his shoulder blade, just an inch away from the gift he received from the dragon’s axe a while back. For the life of him, he could not remember how he had gotten that one.
 
An actual bath later—considering for some damnable reason the castle had plumbing, but no one bothered to install showers in the damn place like the common folk in the city below—and he was considerably cleaner and feeling better than he had in weeks. A quick shave wiped his face clean of that unsightly mess he had been growing, being very careful not to cut himself again, along with a thorough brush of his teeth, and he was feeling considerably more human. Now that he had a good look in the mirror, he could see precisely why Joachim was so concerned about him.
 
He was very pale. Of course, being an Irishman, he was paler than snow on a good day without a farmer’s tan to make up for it, but this was the sickly, greyish pale of someone who frankly should not be up out of bed. Rings hung under his eyes so deeply that it only emphasised his growing exhaustion. His cheekbones had started to stick out, signifying a level of malnutrition that alarmed him. Up until now, he had been attributing his drastic weight loss to much more comfortable causes. Now he was faced with the unpleasant reality of having to carefully manage what he ate from now on.
 
Well, that or consist entirely off the blood of the living and nothing else, but let’s not get crazy.
 
Joachim was right, and Handy could feel it as he leaned over on the washbasin, trying to prevent himself from swaying on his feet. Now that he had actually achieved his objective, his grim determination left him, and he could no longer deny how very badly he was in need of rest.
 
He walked out of the bathroom with some effort, every foot fall feeling more leaden than the last. He made his way over to the bed and stood to the side of it, his eyes unfocused as he gazed down at the covers. Without a word, he collapsed into its embrace. Months of sleeping rough and his own swirling unceasing thoughts conspired against him finding any comfort, let alone sleep. Such was his exhaustion and such was his relief at finally being back at his adoptive home, he found he could no longer move his body after landing upon the soft, welcoming surface of the bed. For once, without argument, he felt himself drift off silently into oblivion once more.
 

--=--


There was a crater where the Alchemist Guild used to be.

Crimson was relatively certain this was not the case when she was last here. She was standing at the crater’s edge, just where the hill leading up to it crested. Oh, there were parts of it still around. The east wing, for example, was just over there… and over there… and waaaaay over there.
 
She actually stood there, trying to process what she was looking at for a full minute before her twitching ears picked up something drifting on the wind.
 
“—Told you there was too much arsenic.”
 
“I’m not the one who got the reagent balance so wrong!” Crimson cast her weary gaze to her left, spying a blue tarp covering up the ruins of one of the still intact sections of the east wing, just beyond the far lip of the shallow crater. She strolled in that general direction, listening to the various voices as she went, pinpointing each to a particular mad bird under her master’s employ.
 
“No, but you were in charge of the circles!”
 
“And whose fault was it that the phials were unwashed? All-Maker knows what was in those glasses!”
 
“Look, all we need to do is get enough money together before Klipwing finds out.”
 
“How can he not find out!? The entire city saw the place go up in flames!”
 
“Yes, but Klipwing didn’t.”
 
“How can you tell?”
 
“For starters, he isn’t here stringing us up by our necks.”
 
“No.” Crimson managed to keep her calm by means of entertaining all sorts of wonderful things she could do to the alchemists under her charge. “But I’m here, so maybe that can be arranged.”
 
The entirety of the Skymount Alchemists Guild, foremost in their field in all of Griffonia and largest collection of alchemists in the western High Kingdom, stopped what they were doing and stared. The black-cloaked, snow-specked, blood-red unicorn pony gave them an appraising look as she lowered the tarpaulin after herself and scanned the room. It was actually what remained of the ground floor and floor above it, with the griffons, twenty five in all, clustered in with various parts with broken equipment, bags of reagents, and in various states of singed feathers and fur.
 
Crimson tried, very hard, not to react immediately. Master wouldn’t like that; he would expect her to at least have the story straight first. To that effect, she cleared her throat.
 
“Explain,” she demanded, her voice cool and level.
 
“A-Ah…” an alchemist began. His feathers were a pinkish hue—Featherbrain, that was what his name was. She remembered him. “Miss Shade! We… weren’t expecting you.”
 
“I gathered.”
 
“Well, I uh, you see—” He looked around for support, but none was forthcoming. “We had a little bit of an accident during one of our… more ambitious experiments. Aheh.”
 
“Go on.” She walked over to a half-burnt table and some very cracked and complicated alchemical glasswork. She eyed a bucket in one corner. The alchemists around her tried their best not to whimper but failed.
 
“Ah well, as you can see… the results speak for itself. It was something of a failure. But nogriffon was hurt!”
 
“Mmhm, and the guild records?”
 
“...Up in flames.”
 
“I see.” She sounded almost bored. “And our ability to supply the local hospitals with regular shipments?”
 
“Err… somewhat… lessened as of late.” A rather shoddy stool collapsed under the weight of a bag of reagents, spilling its contents on the ground.
 
“Hm,” she said thoughtfully. “Nopony was hurt, were they?”
 
“Uh… no. Thankfully not, ma’am,” Featherbrain replied, tapping his claws together.
 
“Good.” She placed the flask back on the structurally unsound table. “In that case, we can get back to work with full strength. We have a lot to do to get this place back in working order.”
 
At that, the alchemists all looked at each other questioningly.
 
“Uhm…” another griffon began, “you’re… You’re not mad?”
 
“Oh no.” Crimson moved to the nearest intact window. “I have never been more calm in my life. We’ll need level heads if we are to come back from this.”
 
“H-How?” one asked. Crimson gave them all a gentle smile, the kind you saw on vipers. She dragged the lone wooden bucket over to her and placed a hoof to her chin thoughtfully.
 
“Well.” She looked up at them all pointedly. There was no remorse to be found in her gaze. “We’re going to need an awful lot of buckets.”
 
The collective look of horror on the alchemists’ faces would have instilled sympathy in even the most black-hearted of brigands.
 

--=--


He was not well.

He had slept for an entire night and a day, waking up only once to use the restroom before almost crawling back to his bed. After that, he had elected to not leave his room for at least a week, only being interrupted in his convalescence once or twice by castle servants sent to make sure all was well. The few Handy recognised fared best, but some of the newer staff were scared to death and opened the door only far enough that they could be sure he could hear them clearly.

During that entire time, Handy neither knew nor cared what went on in the outside world. It was only him, his darkened chambers, and the welcoming comfort of his bed the entire while. He quickly lost track of time, sometimes waking up in the middle of the night, blinking and then wondering why it was it was suddenly daylight outside.
 
He had initially refused any offers for medical help. Having not been keen on doctors back in Equestria way back when, he sure as hell did not want anything to do with gryphonic doctors that were apparently not as up to scratch, judging by appearances. That, and a stubborn part of him was determined to just sweat it out. He managed to put up with it when traveling; he could manage it on his own now.
 
Let it never be said that Handy did not occasionally make incredibly stupid decisions.
 
He made only one concession, however. Towards the end of the week, when a certain hunger grew to such a point he couldn't ignore it, he had a message sent. And that’s when Klipwing finally paid a visit to his erstwhile employer.
 
The meeting was brief. Klipwing, having seemingly been informed of Handy’s return, had managed to conduct himself with a degree of confidence and professionalism Handy had found strange but not unwelcome. Seemed that the king had held Handy’s holding and titles in trust rather than dissolving them, which meant Klipwing still had a useful job.
 
Handy was glad to see the young bird, although he might not have appeared so. From Klipwing’s perspective, the entire conversation took place in a dark room. His lord had been this formless pile of shadows in one corner, barely illuminated by the candlelight from the hall outside, whose only discerning features were two glowing pinpricks of light from his eyes and speaking in a hoarse, broken voice that sounded like Death itself. Then again, if you worked for Handy, one just had to get used to accidental horror, so he bore it well.
 
Handy had been surprised that his belongings, long forgotten, had been recovered from the ruined mess of the festival grounds. Those had included his beloved blood containers. Klipwing had often been his go-between when it came from collecting animal blood from the local butcheries, so he had little trouble getting the half dozen or so Handy possessed cleaned out and refilled.
 
Crises averted, Handy thanked him and asked how his various businesses were doing, upon which Klipwing had adopted an odd expression on his face. Handy was too out of it to interpret it, but the griffon had assured him that everything was well in claw and he could worry about his affairs and duties once he had recovered. Handy felt weird about that, but given his current state, he hadn’t pressed the matter. He thanked Klipwing for his continued service, dismissed him and choked down one of his little blood capsules.
 
The animal blood was as disgusting as always, did nothing for his illness, and he was pretty sure he spilled a little on the sheets, but it got the job done. He proceeded to put his little vampiric stockpile into one corner, where the enchanted runes glowed a soft, ominous red upon their wooden surfaces, and he promptly went back to sleep.
 

--=--

 
Well, he tried to at least. After a simply wonderful surprise visit from Sunderclaw and the following, oh so enjoyable conversation Handy had with him about kingdom security and threats thereof, he figured he had enough of the castle for the time being. To that effect, he elected to finally emerge from his little den of suffering and misery. It was time to find out how everything was going without him being around to help. You know, aside from Joachim nearly provoking a war. Therefore he went to see his friend and perhaps finally find out what this ‘unpleasant business’ he had hinted at was about.

This was a mistake.
 
“It’s not that funny,” Handy said, fuming. He sat there, red-faced and staring down at his cup of wine, muttering obscenities while Joachim rocked back and forth on his chair, sometimes running out of breath from laughing too hard.
 
See, Joachim always seemed to have a preternatural knack for telling when Handy was not being entirely truthful with him. As a result, Handy had no choice but to be much more revealing about exactly what went on in his adventures than he had been with his knightly peers. Naturally he wanted to skimp on a few select details, the shenanigans with the Lady of the Lake being one of them. Joachim was able to pick on this and leaned on Handy to give him all of the details.
 
So, after some creative wrangling, Handy managed to dodge the one thing he really couldn’t discuss and… told Joachim things he didn’t want to discuss instead.

“Oh All-Maker, I can’t breathe!”
 
“It's not that funny!” Handy repeated, a bit more heatedly.
 
“S-So then she just… suddenly turns round on you— Oh wow, and then you ran out of there—”
 
“Joachim, I swear, if you tell anyone—”
 
“And you kept the horn!”
 
“It was meant to piss her off! Nothing more! I got rid of it the first oppor—”
 
“YOU EVEN THREATENED TO BITE!”
 
“Can we just move on!?” Handy pleaded. “Please? It was horrifying enough to live through once.”
 
“Ok… okay just… ahem, tell me again about the giant toad thing?”
 
“Oh God, the toad thing. Look, I was lost in the forest for God knows how long. Fishing is about as good at surviving in the wilderness as I can get.”
 
“Last time I checked, the purpose of fishing was to eat what you caught, not the other way around.”
 
“Oh go fuck yourself, Johan, as if you could do any better.”
 
“I’ll have you know that my father made damn sure I could survive in the wilderness if I ever got stuck there.” Johan inclined his head regally.
 
“Really?” Handy asked skeptically.
 
“Quite. I often went hunting with him, then alone,” Joachim continued, pausing to take a drink. “It was just such an excursion that I eventually met Shortbeak!”
 
“Shortbeak hunts?”
 
“Well, she was when I first met her, at any rate. The point of the matter is—”
 
“See, way I heard it was that you got tangled in your own traps.” Handy leaned back leisurely as Johan spluttered. “I see Tanismore isn’t always full of shit. Good to know.”
 
“I never tol— How in the blazes—!?”
 
“So, what was that about giving me shit about fishing?”
 
“Look, you’re missing the point.” The king had a pained look on his face at the direction the conversation had turned.
 
“No, I don’t think I am.”
 
“Okay, in all seriousness, Handy.” Johan sighed. “I’m glad you’re alive, even if I am not entirely happy with what you did.”
 
“...I did what I had to do,” Handy said, his grip tightening on his cup. Johan put up a placating claw.

“I am not judging you, Handy. I know… I was not exactly as reasonable as I could be, given your condition and what you did at the festival with it.” He put up a single talon to silence Handy’s objection. “You have to understand, it's not necessarily that you do it that’s the problem.”
 
“Then what is?” Handy asked pointedly.
 
“It’s that it’s unprecedented. Thestrals are a known element, humans are not. That in itself is not the problem. The problem is that this transformation happened to you and only you in all the history of thestral interaction with other races. Who’s to say that it was something in your human physiology that's responsible for the change?”
 
“That’s not possible.” Internally, Handy bristled at the insinuation.
 
“Maybe, but you don’t know that for sure now, do you?” Handy remained silent. “I had to be careful, had to warn you. What if there is a chance, however slim, that you bit somegriffon and they underwent the same transformation you did? Or something worse? I trust you, Handy, but I had to be as strict as I was.”
 
“...And now?”
 
“And now…” Johan sighed, “I think… it's been long enough that something would’ve happened if that was the case. And frankly, we’ve got bigger problems to worry about. Why didn’t you come to me about this old magic problem?”
 
“I wanted to know more about it before I did,” Handy said, recalling his little spiel involving a full confession about the real reason he was insistent on Crimson coming to Griffonia with them. Needless to say, Johan had not been pleased to learn the true story behind that relationship. “This Mistress is the reason I am in this world in the first place.”
 
“Yes, about that, you still haven’t told me much about what your home is really like.”
 
“Don’t worry about it,” Handy said dismissively. “It’d take far too long in any case. All you need to really know is that it is damn hard to get back to.”
 
“Mm, so I take it in good faith that you’ll be a bit more cooperative when it comes to this little problem of yours?”
 
“Joachim, I just crossed half a goddamn continent to get back here. Do you honestly think I’m in any position to say no?” Handy deadpanned.
 
“I’m sorry, Handy, it's just… If what you’ve told me is true, there is a secret cabal of deadly magic practitioners that literally nogriffon has been aware of for All-Maker knows how long. On top of that, they’re interested in esoteric magical artefacts and willing to do some drastic things to acquire them. Oh, and summoning horrible, ugly, monstrous—”
 
“Thanks, really.”
 
“—Creatures from alien worlds for who knows what purpose?” The barest hint of smile played on Johan’s face. “Seriously, Handy, this is dangerous.”
 
“Oh really? I hadn’t noticed when two warlocks caused massive property damage in two different cities.”
 
“And those warlocks?”
 
“In the custody of the Equestrians and the Enclavers respectively.” Recalling the nations’ responses to his actions, Handy could go without their ‘gratitude’.
 
“And they don’t know anything more about this than we do?”
 
“Certainly didn’t seem like it when Celestia drilled me for information on the matter.” That was an experience Handy could do without ever again.
 
“This before or after you gave her your girlfriend’s horn?”
 
“Oh go fuck yourself, Joach.”
 
“I’m only kidding around, Handy. It's just too easy to rile you up with that.”
 
“Yeah well, let’s see how you react when a changeling comes onto you.”
 
“About that.” Joachim looked more serious now. “I take your word on everything you said about your interactions with the changelings on good faith.”
 
“I have never lied to you about that before.” Handy idly wondered if this conversation would have better been suited inside an interrogation room within the dungeons.
 
“I know, that’s why I’m taking your word, Handy: the blackmail, the geas, your account of what happened in the Badlands, all of it. But I need you to tell me honestly, in your own words, do you think they are a threat now?”
 
 Handy was silent for a moment as he thought about it. “Honestly? I don’t know. I didn’t exactly leave them united when I left that hole in the ground.”
 
“But you put Chrysalis back on her throne.”
 
“It’s more hideously complicated than that. They were more united under that Archon character, less so under Chrysalis.”
 
“Then what is the state of things?”
 
“All I did was take a situation and stir it up, and put the one currently benefiting most from the situation in my debt. I was happy enough to leave well enough alone and let the woman just die in her cell.”
 
“But?”
 
“But I think a situation where the changeling potentates are constantly infighting rather than united is better for literally everyone involved. I don’t know the histories or the stories. I don’t care.”
 
“But the implications point that the changelings are everywhere,” Joachim said uneasily.
 
“Aye, that’s my impression too. Seems they have carved up different territories for themselves, countries within countries as it were, hiding just beneath the skin of society.”
 
“A decade ago, nogriffon even knew they existed.” Joachim rubbed a claw back over his head.
 
“Truly? I somehow doubt that.”
 
“What do you mean?”
 
“At least one of the alicorn princesses had been in long term contact with the Archon. The thief I brought with me? That guy has been long involved in the underworld of the Enclave, and even among that bottom-feeding scum, no one was really aware of them. However, he was, intimate even.”
 
“...And you trust him?”
 
“Enough to keep him under watch at least,” Handy confirmed. “My point is, maybe most of the world wasn’t really aware of them, or their extent. However, at least some powerful people are.”
 
“And Chrysalis is fine with you just sharing this information?”
 
“I am of the opinion that Chrysalis is not in any damn position to have a say in the matter,” Handy said sternly, refilling his cup. “‘Sides, you couldn’t find that city without a changeling guide. Crimson learned from experience; my guide had a shortcut. They’re in no danger unless anyone feels like, I don’t know, sending several armies to scour the entire Badlands looking for them.”

“Okay… Now can you explain your new tricks to me again? I mean, given the way your eyes are…”
 
“Right, the eyes. Yeah, that's new. Bit a queen.” Johan blinked.
 
“You mean you actually followed thro—?”
 
“A different queen!” Handy interrupted. “Look, it was the heat of the moment. I was busy trying not to die, and low and behold, some stuck-up changeling decided she was being clever.”
 
“And the eyes?”
 
“Look, I picked up a few things when I drink,” Handy confessed. “I don’t pretend to understand it, but I get powers from the people I bite. The more I drink, the more permanent the powers become. I’ve… bitten quite a few changelings in the intervening time.”
 
“Can’t say I’m entirely sorry to hear that.”
 
“Funny. The glowing eyes are new though; still trying to figure how I can turn them off.”
 
“You can disable your powers?”
 
“No, just… make them less active. For example, ever since I drank the queen’s blood, I no longer have headaches when I uh, do certain things.”
 
“Like what?” Johan pressed.
 
“Like knowing the exact position of the two guards currently slacking off exactly fifteen feet below your window.” Johan raised a brow. “Go ahead and check if you don’t believe me.” Johan pushed off from the table and padded over to the window, opening it and looking straight down. Sure enough, a pair of guards were busy having a conversation on the thin rampart, hidden from sight. Johan rolled his eyes, dumped the contents of his cup on their heads, and closed the window.
 
“Ok, interesting, so you can basically tell where everyone is?”
 
“Within a certain range, yes. At my furthest extent, I can pretty much pinpoint every single living person in this castle in relation to me, and roughly their relative state of distress. Used to give me a wicked migraine when I extended it farther than five feet however, until I bit Queenie. Can’t tell the difference between any of them though. At least not yet.”
 
“Anything else?” Joachim asked, scribbling something down on a piece of parchment. Handy frowned but said nothing about it. He took a look at his drink again and grimaced in thought.
 
“...Promise you won’t freak out?”
 
“Oh, that’s a promising start.”
 
“Just indulge me. Close your eyes,” Handy insisted. Joachim looked sceptical but nonetheless acquiesced. “Right, open them.”
 
King Johan, the Blackwing of Gethrenia, was looking at himself.
 
With an avian squawk of alarm, Johan fell off his chair in shock. Handy roared in laughter as his friend slowly pulled himself up to glance, wide-eyed, over the edge of the table. Handy slapped the armrests several times, trying to get his laughter under control.
 
“Your face! Oh God!” he managed. “Oh, that was worth it!”
 
“...Handy?” Joachim asked carefully, blinking rapidly.
 
“Oh calm down, it's still me.”
 
“...How can I be sure?”
 
“So how is Peach Marigold these days, mister Lady Killer?” Handy asked, with a wide, shit-eating grin. With that, Joachim went from silent shock to groaning in an instant, and slammed his face down on the table in defeat.
 
“Yeah, it's you alright. I can’t believe you still remember her name.”

“Oh come on, that was hilarious! How could I forget?” Handy asked.

“You sold me out,” Johan accused his doppelganger, waving with a full cup.
 
“Hey, at the time, I thought you were playing with multiple women's hearts on the same day. My opinion of you was pretty low.”
 
“And that justified it in your eyes?”
 
“Probably not, but it felt good to screw you over at the time.” Johan shook his head in exasperation.
 
“Right, yeah, it’s you alright. I forgot how much of… Hey, how extensive is that disguise?”
 
“What? Oh, worse than paper thin. It’s not even the same as a changeling’s.”
 
“What’s the difference?”
 
“Remember Charity Bell, from way back when? The one who kidnapped me to visit the changelings the first time around?”
 
“Yes, you told me about her as Thorax,” Joachim answered.
 
“Right. When a changeling transforms, on some level it’s not an actual physical transformation, sort of. The changelings don’t like talking about it much. At the end of the day, when they become a pony, it certainly feels like they have fur, or that their wings are feathered instead of you know, insectoid.”
 
“Get to the point.”
 
“The point is that I haven’t transformed at all. See all this?” Handy gestured to himself. “It's all perception. You think my face is down here,” he pointed at his ‘face’, “because that's where you perceive my face to be. In actuality, it's still up here,” he said, pointing to a blank space above his ‘head’. Strangely enough, when Handy pointed that out, Joachim could just about make out some sort of wrongness about the patch of air. It was as if something was there that his mind refused to recognise. “Now focus—you know there’s something there. Hold onto that and concentrate,” Handy instructed. Joachim frowned up at him as he got back into his seat. He rubbed his eyes a few times, blinking before opening his mouth in surprise.
 
“Oh. There you are.”
 
“See? No need to fret,” Handy said, taking a drink, then spilled some of it when Johan chucked a piece of bread at his head. “Hey!”
 
“Just making sure,” Joachim said with the hint of a smile.
 
“This is a new tunic!”
 
“It's hardly new.”
 
“Well, it's newer than the rags I have been wearing,” Handy grumbled.
 
“Right. So what is it? An illusion?”
 
“Unless illusions can be dispelled just by force of will, I doubt it. It's just perception as far as I can tell. You’ve shrugged it off, but for as long as I care to put up with it, someone else could just walk in that door and see two King Johans.”
 
“That’s… fascinating.” Joachim began to scratch down more notes. Handy sighed in exasperation.
 
“Really, Joachim? What am I, a science project?”
 
“What? Oh this, never mind, I just had to make note of this. This is remarkably useful.”
 
“You have no idea.”
 
“Is there anything else? After we get this cleared up, there’s something I need to talk to you about.” There it was, the thing Handy had been dreading. Handy hesitated for a minute, honestly considering whether he should let his friend know of the one other trick he had gained, or pass over it and simply get to the meat of the matter.
 
“Well… I can kind of make people—” Just then, the door to the dining room opened and, much to Handy’s surprise, Shortbeak walked in, wearing a ridiculous hat.
 
“Your Highness, sorry for interrupting your meal, but I just got back and wanted to discuss—” Shortbeak paused, beak agape as she looked at the two very kingly-looking griffons at the table. Handy and Johan looked at each other briefly. Johan cleared his throat and placed his cup to one side.
 
“Ah, Lady Shortbeak, I’m glad you’re back,” he said chirpily, gesturing to Handy. “This… is not what it looks like.” Her eyes travelled from the king to the still disguised Handy, who had the good graces to at least look a tad embarrassed by the circumstances.
 
“Hello, Shortbeak,” he said in his distinctive accent.

Now, never let it be said that Shortbeak allowed her new position to dull her blade. Handy found that out the hard way when, in the blink of an eye, Shortbeak had crossed the room in a pounce, with her dagger already drawn. A very confused and caught off-guard Handy was thrown from his seat and pinned to the ground, one arm behind his back and a blade pressed against the side of his neck.

An awful lot of shouting ensued.

“Shortbeak, stop!” Joachim yelled.

“Guards, secure the king!” Shortbeak commanded, ignoring her king. A pair of guards immediately entered the dining hall. They looked slightly confused, but did as they were ordered and surrounded the king. “Alright, changeling, what’s your game!?”

“I am not a damned changeling, you blithering fool! It’s me! Get off!” Handy shouted. Shortbeak, it seemed, was not listening. Handy let out a disgusted noise. “Johan, for God’s sakes, call her off!”

“Shortbeak, will you kindly get off of Sir Handy?” Joachim asked politely, crossing his forelegs and rubbing the bridge of his beak. Shortbeak didn’t let up her hold but looked up at the king.

“...What?”

“Hi, Shortbeak,” Handy said with mock pleasantry. His disguised dropped, and she now looked down on the human she was currently threatening the life of. Needless to say, she was very confused. “Long time no see. So glad thou art just as fast as ever. Can you kindly get your blade away from my neck? I’d appreciate it.”

Shortbeak looked back at Johan for confirmation before very slowly letting Handy go. He pushed himself back to his feet and brushed himself down. Shortbeak wouldn’t stop staring at him.

“You’re… alive,” she said quietly. Handy merely cleared his throat.

“Yes, well, there’s a long story behind that. I see you have moved up in the world. Good for you. I’m so glad you didn’t share the information of my continued existence with the inner council, my king.”

“Your message told me not to tell anygriffon,” Johan said with a shrug and a smile.

“You knew?” Shortbeak shot suddenly. Johan frowned for a moment at the accusatory tone but dismissed it.

“It turns out there was quite a lot involved in maintaining the deception of Sir Handy’s death,” Johan said. “And… given recent events, I am afraid that means there is something unpleasant I need to tell you, Handy.”

“What?” Handy asked, suddenly not liking the look on his friend’s face. Johan dismissed the by now very confused guards. Johan waited for the door to click shut before speaking.

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to strip you of your title.”

The room was silent for a long moment before Handy broke it with his voice barely above a whisper.

“What?”

“...Sit down, Handy.”

“I must not have heard you right.”

“Handy—”

“I went through hell to get back here! I stopped a war from happening which you nearly caused, and you elect to repay my service by stripping me of my office!?”

“It’s more complicated than that.” Johan had the wisdom to at least avoid the rage-filled eyes of his vassal.

“I did not even ask for anything in recompense! Nothing! And this is what you give to me? Disgrace!?” Handy had to bite down on the inside of his cheeks to keep from simply screaming.

“Handy, that’s enough!” Johan slammed his claws on the table. Shortbeak, very much feeling like a third wheel in the argument, elected to take a step back from the table while her brain tried to process the number of revelations currently going through it. “I had to do something. You’d have done the same.”

“The same what, Johan!? What have I done to earn such a disgrace!?” Handy demanded

“Nothing. And that’s the biggest problem,” he admitted. The pair were quiet for a moment before Johan rubbed a claw down his face. “I have to make it appear you’re… you’re under control.”

“Under control!? The hell are you talking about, man!?” A small part of his mind wondered how this conversation had taken such a drastic turn in such a small space of time. Perhaps Johan had simply been trying to put Handy at ease before giving his decision. He had failed superbly.

“Handy, you up and disappeared after a major attack on a peaceful kingdom! You were thought dead! You were involved in two more violent attacks on the cities of two other kingdoms! You have so many damn stories floating around about all of your monstrous traits, and misdeeds, and All-Maker knows what else. People are seriously panicking! Never mind how many of those stories actually have some truth to them!”

“Truth?” Shortbeak asked, but was ignored.

“They either think I’ve gone mad and set loose a monster on the world, wreaking havoc wherever he goes, or worse, that you’re doing it of your own accord and I have no control whatsoever!” Joachim continued. “I have half a dozen rulers demanding I take account of your actions, and now that you have actually returned home, I have no choice but to do something. That’s especially so with the High King himself due to arrive any day now. If it were not for the fact that I have TANGIBLE PROOF from no less a personage than Celestia herself that you are not a threat to Griffonia and in fact, operate in our interests, I’d have no choice but to take even more drastic action.”

“This is bullshit!” Handy retorted.

“What would you have me do, hmm?!” Joachim challenged. “It was your idea to purport to be this shadowy monster under my control. What would you have me do instead? What would you do to me if our roles were reversed? Have me exiled? Or reward me with honours and look as if you extorted half the world with fear and just piled glory unto a crony?”

Handy simply looked down at the table, his jaw set. He looked up at his supposed friend with fire in his eyes.

“Yes… I suppose I would, wouldn’t I?” he said icily. “I would probably do the same.”

“Handy, I’m just doing this to help protect you.” Johan adopted a quieter tone, knowing that his friend would not take kindly to being shouted at. 

“Sure,” he said, his voice flat. “I understand. I understand perfectly. Good to know where we stand.”

“I am only removing your authority as Sword. You didn’t want the office anyway.”

“You know that's not the point, Johan!” Handy slammed the table with the flat of his hands. “I have been loyal, and my payment is public disgrace.”

“Your loyalty was never in question—”

“Wasn’t it!?” Handy demanded, “Then why all the questions as if I were... As I were some kind of…” He trailed off, looking off to the side as he gathered his thoughts.

“...Look, Handy,” Joachim began, sitting down in his chair. “You know, I wouldn’t do this to you without a good reason. You do know that, right?”

“Yeah.” Handy’s gaze was unsettled, unable to fixate on one thing. “You always do need a good reason to screw someone over, don’t you?”

“Calm. Down,” Joachim said slowly. “For All-Maker’s sake, keep that temper of yours in check long enough to think clearly.”

“Oh, I am calm.” Handy gripped his bandaged arm to forestall another shaking fit as pain suddenly shot through it for the third time that day. This did not go unnoticed. “I can understand why you are doing this. I just can’t understand why you couldn’t think of a better way than by betraying me.”

Johan looked shocked at the accusation, but kept quiet, looking down. Handy sat there, breathing deeply once through his nose, before rising at once and storming from the room. Shortbeak quickly took one last look at the king before following after. Joachim let her go without a word, staring morosely into his cup.

“Handy, wait,” she called after him. He didn’t reply and simply continued walking through the halls, turning a corner to head deeper into the bowels of the castle. “Wait, just stop!”

She grabbed him by the arm, and he shook her off, her talons accidentally cutting through the bandages. He turned and glared at her, eyes furious and shining in the shade of the corridor.

“What?” he demanded. She hesitated for a moment, unsure of what exactly she should say.

“I… I’m glad you’re alive. How did—”

“I think,” Handy began, wrapping the torn bandages over his exposed arm. Shortbeak stole a glance at the ruined flesh beneath, and her eyes widened slightly. “You had better ask the king. I am in no mood for another interrogation.”

“I didn’t mean— I mean, that's not what I was…” She paused, thinking, taking her feathered cap off with an idle claw. “I’m just relieved you’re alive. Have… Have you spoken to the others yet?”

“I have, before I had a chance to speak to the king in fact,” Handy said, somewhat more calm than before. He took a breath. “I am sorry for snapping. It's good to see you alive and well, all of you. Some better than most.”

“Yes.” She looked down at her hat for a moment, “It's funny, I uh, I’m actually… at a loss.” Handy said nothing for a moment, waiting for her to continue. “I just… Is it true? You wanted everygriffon to think you were dead?”

“Yes.”

“Why would you do that?” Handy raised an eyebrow. The question was asked normally, but there was something… off about Shortbeak. He could feel it.

“I had to. It was in the kingdom’s best interests for me to remain as dead for as long as I could.”

“But surely you could’ve said or done something to let us know.”

“I did. If the king felt it necessary to tell anyone, he would’ve went over my suggestion and spoke of it.”

“...Right,” she said, unconvinced. The silence lingered to the point that it was getting to be awkward. She looked over her shoulder and then spoke, changing the topic. “Listen, the king… He’s not betraying you.”

“I said I understood the reasons why,” Handy said sternly, rebuke in his tone. “That does not excuse how he goes about it. I know he is my king, and he needs to do what he has to. I had thought he was my friend.”

“He still is!”

“Maybe. But not today.” Handy said simply and with a note of finality. He pulled his cloak tighter to fight the chill that was permeating the castle from the winter’s day. “It was good to see you again, Shortbeak.”

And with that, he left her there, turning and walking off at a more sedate pace than he had been before. Far from easing her mind, the talk had only left her far more troubled, especially after what she had seen of his arm. She wanted to follow after him, to ensure all was well, but she knew far too little and didn’t want to jump to conclusions. She went back to the king. If nothing else, she still had her duties to perform to take her mind off of it for at least a few minutes.

Maybe then she could broach the topic, and confirm whether what she had seen was the same thing that the king was now hiding under his tunic.
 

--=--


Leaving Jacques on his own had been a mistake. He didn’t set anything on fire, get arrested, murder someone, or defraud half the city, oh no. He did something far worse than that.

He became best friends with Sir Tanismore.

“Oh, oh, do Godfrey! Do Godfrey!” Tanismore exclaimed. Handy glared at him

“I should’ve known he wouldn’t keep a lid on it,” Handy grumbled, giving an evil glare to the smiling Jacques.

“Oh, don’t look at me, mon ami. I didn’t say anything.” Handy narrowed his eyes. “Honest.”
 
“Yeah, the king told us,” Tanismore confirmed.
 
“Oh for God’s sake…” Handy whined as he slunk down lower in his seat. After the… eventful reunion with Shortbeak that he’d rather not remember, considering most of it involved shouting, accusations of changeling infiltrators, a murderous Shortbeak, and pure, unadulterated, and utter terror on Handy’s part, he had hoped word of his ability wouldn’t go much farther.
 
He was wrong.
 
The three of them were currently walking through Skymount. Handy, after all, had some business he needed to take care of, Klipwing be damned, and he needed to be out of the castle for a while. He regarded the alarmed and fearful looks of a populace used to the idea that he was dead with cheerful disdain. He pulled his hood tighter as his boots crunched through the layer of snow on the street.
 
“What’s got your withers in a bunch?” Jacques asked, noticing the surly expression on his friend being distinctly more unpleasant than normal.
 
“Nothing. Just politics.”
 
“Politics?” Tanismore asked.
 
“You’ll find out when it happens. I’d rather be away from the castle for a while,” Handy said cryptically. Tanismore and Jacques looked at each other for a moment, the latter shrugging. Handy led them through the winding streets, occasionally stopping and double checking with Tanismore that he had gotten the right street names, before finally making his way to a certain blacksmith.
 
Henri Hammerstrike, the grizzled old blacksmith, whose once failing business Handy now owned, was now the second wealthiest blacksmith in the entirety of Skymount. Once he had taken Handy’s advice to put his art to one side and focus on making simple, everyday metal goods people would actually want to buy, his business had taken off. He had now had three apprentices taking care of the menial work, allowing Henri himself to focus on the more intricate and expensive custom orders.
 
The griffon was ludicrously skilled, everything from ironmongering, silverworking, and the odd bit of jewellery on the side. Everything from roughhewn armour to the frames for stained glass windows to decorative silverwork ornaments was all within his skill set. He was no Heat Source, but Handy would have to make do.
 
Walking into the front of the shop was like walking into an oven, but it was a welcome change from the cold outside. Handy’s skin bristled at the thought of being so close to a lit forge, but he quashed the thought. It was out of sight, so it was out of mind. The three young griffons in protective wear on their claws and hides looked up in surprise.
 
“Is your master here?” Handy asked without preamble. Before any of the apprentices could talk, another griffon’s head, this one hidden behind a metal visor, poked its head from around the corner leading into the forge.
 
“Was’sat? Somegriffon called for me?”
 
“I should think so,” Handy greeted, shifting the weight of the bag from his back. “Good to see you’re still keeping busy.”
 
Henri flipped the face guard up and blinked at his landlord. He then beamed.
 
“Ah! Sir, it’s good to see you alive and well! I heard all sorts of rot, but I never paid them no mind, no sir!”
 
“Did you not?”
 
“Not one whit! Now come, come, what can I help you with?” Henri beckoned Handy into the forge room. Handy hesitated for just a second before swallowing slightly and following into the room of burning hot molten death. Jacques and Tanismore meanwhile hung back in the shop, talking to the apprentices and browsing wares respectively. “So good to see you, sir, you’re looking… Well, I wouldn’t say well.”
 
“It’s quite alright, Henri. I have been under the weather as of late. However, I have actually come seeking your services.”
 
“Oh? Splendid! What do you need?” Handy dumped the armour pieces out on a table. “...I’d be lying if I said I’d seen worse off of a battlefield.”
 
“I just need some repairs.”
 
“You need more than repairs, milord!” Henri took individual pieces of armour and looked them over. “I mean, a griffon of lesser means would have to put up with it, but I don’t see why you are not taking the time in investing in some new armour!”
 
“It has its uses. I just need the rents sealed, some new sections to the chainmail—”
 
“The hauberk is in three different parts!” Henri protested. Handy scratched the back of his neck and continued.
 
“—Fix the interior padding. The helmet needs seeing to as well, there’s a large—”
 
“Enough! Milord, I’m afraid I can’t let you continue on like this.”
 
“Excuse me?”
 
“Look, I may not have worked on humans before, but even I can tell that this-!” He held the breastplate to Handy’s face, then gestured to Handy’s chest with a free claw. “Doesn’t match up to that exactly!”
 
“...Well, it does chafe a little.”
 
“And constantly going around in badly damaged armour, especially a set that has been repaired as many times as this one has, is just asking for trouble. How old is this set?”
 
“Less than a year—”
 
“A year!?”
 
“Listen, I don’t want new armour. This set is enchanted; it is incredibly useful. I just need it mended,” Handy insisted. Henri merely shook his head.
 
“I’m afraid if you honestly want me to repair this until it is in workable order, whatever parts of the armour that are still enchanted will be so miniscule as to be next to worthless.” Handy’s fist hit the table, and the griffon jumped briefly.
 
“Listen, this has saved my life on more than one occasion, from things that ordinary armour cannot stop. I can’t just throw this away.” Henri tapped his claws thoughtfully before sighing.
 
“I’ll see what I can do, milord. But I must insist that I reinforce it. It will take me quite a while.”
 
“Do what you must.”
 
“In the meantime, I must insist you have another suit for yourself. Can’t very well have you go performing your duties to the king in nothing but your tunic,” Henri said, head held high. Handy snorted.
 
“Right. Duties, sure,” he said with a hint of bitterness. He chewed on the proposition for a moment. It would be good to have some armour that didn’t come with a couple hundred scabs free of charge. And it would be good to have something that didn’t look so ragged and ratty. “Right, fine. I’ll think about another set.”
 
“You’ll think or you’ll have?”
 
“...Just get the measures. I won’t lie, it’d feel good to have something different weighing me down for a change.” Handy then went to the door separating the forge from the shop, thankful Henri had the blasted thing covered so the only thing he really needed to deal with was the unfathomable, dry heat. “Jacques, Tanis, you two can go on. I’m going to be here a while.”
 
“You sure?” Tanismore asked, currently comparing different short swords. “We can hang around if you’d like.”
 
“No no, I think it’s fine. I’ll find my own way back in due course. I won’t be too long.”
 
“I can wait,” Jacques said as one of the apprentices was currently looking over his rapier. Handy shrugged.
 
“Suit yourselves.” He turned around as Henri produced a measure tape and a few pieces of parchments. He was already taking notes on Handy’s old armour, so if nothing else, the form couldn’t fit any worse. “Well, it won’t be ready in time for the ceremony, but it’s better than nothing.”


--=--


“You alright there, buddy?”
 
“I’m fine,” Handy answered, finally emerging from the blacksmith and trying not to be too stunned by the sudden temperature drop outside. He had squirreled away a copy of the measurements Henri took. It’d be useful for when he found a discrete tailor in the city. He looked down at the pair that was busy, of all things, drinking coffee from two disposable clay cups. Handy had always boggled trying to understand exactly where in the hell the people of this world imported their coffee from in such abundance to be relatively cheap, but he was in no mood for economics.
 
“You don’t sound fine, mon ami,” Jacques commented, now sporting a new scarf. Handy hated it.
 
“When do I ever?” he snarked. “You guys didn’t have to wait.”
 
“Oh, I think we did,” Tanismore said. “Look, Handy, it’s been a while. You can relax.”
 
“Yes, come with us. We were just going to go get some drinks,” Jacques continued. Handy looked from one to the other as they gave him their most winning smiles and immediately decided:
 
“No thanks. One at a time is bad enough. I’m going to go distract myself by seeing how Klipwing is doing.”
 
“Woah, woah, wait up!” Tanismore said hurriedly, getting in his way. “You’ll only be putting more on your mind!”
 
“I agree, come with us!” Jacques piped up.
 
“I assure you I am alright,” Handy insisted. The two looked at each other before Jacques looked up at him with a grimace.
 
“Handy, no you’re not. I’ve known you long enough to know that something is seriously getting to you. Come with us, take a load off.”
 
“Yeah, come on, man. Last time we drank, I thought you died.” Tanismore chuckled at the memory. “Just come on, it’ll be fun, I promise.”
 
Handy looked up at the castle which was partially obscured by the light snowfall, before looking up and down the street, chewing on it. He could do with not having to think about his worries for a while… even if it was with these two.
 
“Alright,” he conceded, holding up a finger. “But only one drink.”
 

--=--


He had considerably more than one drink.

Handy wasn’t sure where they were. It wasn’t one of his taverns, but the beer was good, so he guessed it didn’t matter. Tanismore was… somewhere in the background, singing some terrible song or other. Handy continued nursing his drink in one corner to separate himself from the majority of the tavern patrons. It seemed to do the job well enough that they had stopped worrying about him being present. He didn’t know how long he was there, but it sure as hell was dark outside.

“Right.” Jacques levitated several more wooden tankards over to the table. The ale here was fantastic, so he made sure to get a couple for both of them on his round. “Tha’ should… should keep us for a bit. Wha’ were we talking about?”

“Uh…” Handy managed, fumbling to pull his drink over to him. Well, one of them anyway. “Something… I dunno. Wha, what's the deal… with you?”

“With me?”

“Yeah, with you. You and that… the thing with the… Thorax and all that.”

“What about her?” Jacques asked, suddenly frowning, a bit of froth covering his upper lip, Handy fought hard not to snort.

“I was jus… I was just thinking and well, everything that happened aside, I have to ask… why?”

“What why? When what?”

“Nonono, no I mean, like, what even?”

“What even Thorax?” Jacques asked.

“Yeah,”

“Well it's just… I dunno like.” He paused, looking at Handy for a moment. “Why do you wanna know? You don’t even like the whole... not your species thing.”

“Aye, but... it's just strange. I mean, even if I were okay with it, she’s still a... a y’know.”

“Yeah?”

“And that’s terrible,” Handy said intelligently

“Hey!”

“Hey hey, hey… I judge you, but that’s okay. I just… want to know why even. I mean… y’know?”

“Look, look, sshhh, taire l'enfer! Look, let me get… get some water for a bit,” Jacques said before dutifully getting some water to help clear their heads so that they were marginally more clear-headed. Marginally. “Right, it's like this: I think... she’s attractive.”

“See, that’s what I don’t get. How could you think that?”

“Well—” Jacques began with a smile, Handy stopped him.

“Nope, nope, wrong choice of words. Look, I get she’s vaguely pony-shaped and all, but she is literally a parasite on your kind. How could anyone, let alone you, find that attractive?” Handy asked with sincerity. Jacques sighed.

“Look, it was part circumstances and…”

“And?”

“Well, I’ve dealt with them more than most ponies, and after a while you just… kinda stop looking at them as the ‘other’, you know? Look past all that. In a way, it's actually kind of exotic.”

“Right, and Thorax in particular?”

“Well I… I just… it’s kind of personal.”

“Hasn’t stopped you before,” Handy said with challenge, leaning back in his chair. Jacques sighed.

“Look, Handy, I’ve thought about what you said and… I guess I kind have fallen for her. Just a bit.”

“A bit? I recall you were willing to stay down there with the very real possibility of dying.” Handy snorted at the stupidity of it all.

“Like I said, I’ve given it a lot of thought. And in truth, I don’t think there’s any trickery involved. My feelings for her are genuine.”

“But she’s still a c— what she is,” Handy insisted.

“I know that.” Jacques gave a glance over his shoulder. “Look, why so interested anyway?”

“I just can’t get my head around it. I mean, knowing you and all, I didn’t think you for a one woman man,” Handy said, “Just... being attracted to something that feeds on you, I just don’t get it.”

“It's not one way if I can control it, if that's what you mean. ‘Sides, not gonna lie, the sense of danger adds a bit to it.” Handy thought back to the memory of the changeling queen and tried not to shiver at the thought.

“Right, fine, so it's not love then,” he said, moving swiftly along from that disaster of a conversation path.

“What? Yes it is.”

“You just said—”

“I admitted to certain things yes, but… that’s not what it's about. I could find plenty of mares to keep me warm at night based on attraction alone, but I already told you before, I’m not that kind of stallion.”

“So just over time the two of you got to know each other, and that more or less cemented it?”

“In a way, yes,” Jacques said, apparently not keen on divulging much more. Handy shrugged.

“Whatever.” Handy returned to his drink. “So, that all aside, what was this you were saying about Trottingham?”


--=--


Tanismore was snoring on the counter, Handy and a wobbly Jacques beside him, nursing their last glasses of the night. Most of the tavern had cleared out, and the landlord was already cleaning tables and putting up stools. Handy put up the coin for them to stay the night. Like hell were they going to be getting anywhere in the state they were in.

“I’m… I’m just saying, it's one of my regrets you know?”

“What?” Handy asked, fiddling with the expensive brick, vaguely surprised the drunk pony was talking to him. “Thought… Thought you were asleep.”

“My dad… didn’t get to know him as well as I did. Might never now.”

“Oh… right, dads.”

“You got any regrets?” Jacques asked. Handy’s face darkened momentarily.

“A few.”

“I miss mine. My family I mean. I just… just want to make amends.”

“Is that why you’re… why you’re here?” Handy managed, dropping the broken phone on the counter and looking at it indignantly.

“Yeah… Hey, you don’t... don’t talk about your family much.”

“...No, I suppose I don’t.”

“Miss ‘em?”

“Yeah…” Handy said, looking ahead, trying to make out his reflection in the mirror behind the bar.

“What’s they like?”

“I dunno, I don’t… I don’t really want to remember,” Handy began, thoughts coming unbidden to him of better times. “My dad, he…”

“He was a giant,” he continued after a few minutes silence, punctuated only by Tanismore’s snores. “Worked like nobody’s business, but never forgot us, me and ma. He was always smiling, even when he was being stern, always patient with me.

“Nothing I could do would ever live up to him or his example. I was always ashamed. The fact that he was never disappointed in me only made my shame worse. I could never work as hard, or give as much as myself to anything I did as he could. That was always my shame, and what makes it worse is I know he’d... he’d never give a damn if I couldn’t.

“I think… I keep thinking about what he would say now and… I dunno. I dunno what he’d think, what he’d say. I don’t know what I’d do if I could know. I’m… I’m not proud of what I’ve done, of who I am. I’m nothing like him.” He stared off into space, at a time and place long gone, before cracking the shadow of a smile, “Heh, it's funny, you know? I stood head and shoulders over him, but I’ll never be one tenth of a man he was. Mice have no business in the presence of titans, you know?”

There was no answer. He looked over and saw that Jacques had his head between his hooves on the counter, sleeping quietly under his feathered hat. Handy looked at him accusingly for a moment before shaking his head and taking the last gulp of his drink.

“Good talk,” he said before looking down at his phone. “Hey.”

The expensive brick didn’t answer.

“Play a song,” Handy said tiredly, poking the phone. “Play it. Play anything, I don’t care.”

The expensive brick continued not doing anything. He even pressed the button to get the screen light to come on.

“Come on, of all the times I actually want you to play something, you don’t? What is the deal with this thing.” He picked it up and lightly smacked it with his free hand, shaking it and putting it down, leaning on the counter. “Come on, just… just play anything. Just play anything… something from home.”

The expensive brick was silent and still. It remained so for the remainder of the night, long after Handy had given up on trying to coax music out of it and had drifted off to the embrace of oblivion.