Joachim rapped his talons along the armrest with one claw and rested his face in the palm of the other. Princess Twilight Sparkle of Equestria, Princess of ‘Friendship’ in the Equestrian fashion of titling their alicorns after broad concepts, stood there before him, openly rubbing one foreleg nervously with another. What he could only suppose were her closest confidants and most important members of the Equestrian delegation were lined behind their leader. In between the enthroned griffon and the positively perturbed pretty purple pony princess sat a silently fuming Rainbow Dash, Equestria’s famous speedster.
It was the dead of night and the ponies had just arrived in the city. They were to be welcomed with all the due pleasantries and shown to where they were staying with all the usual diplomatic niceties involved, and Jochim would have welcomed them properly in the morning at the start of court.
As it was, he was roused from his slumber, informed that some pony or another had been arrested earlier that same day in the marketplace for causing a commotion, that said pony was a part of the planned delegation he was to receive and the pony princess present to plea their case simply insisted on trying to settle the matter before the morning came.
Joachim was not pleased.
“So…” Twilight continued after settling the matter and the rather absurd series of events that led to it happening in the first place. She cleared her throat. “This was… all just a huge misunderstanding. I hope this won’t come between our two kingdoms in any way.”
“I should certainly hope so,” Joachim began, taking advantage of the fact his face was covered to roll his eyes. This could have gone south very fast had the ponies not taken the defensive on the matter. Fortunately, Joachim could see a light at the end of the tunnel. He felt a smirk tug at his beak before he enforced a calmer visage. “Be that as it may, I still require far more than a simple apology for an assault on my nobility.”
“What!? Th—” One of the chains magically lifted to stifle her friend.
“Uhm, ahem, of course! Perhaps we could discuss the matter privately?” Twilight offered. To her credit, she only sweated a little bit. Joachim smiled.
“Of course.”
***
Three hours later, Twilight Sparkle kicked open the door to her quarters in the castle and stomped in, her expression a mask of frustration.
“Twilight!”
“Is everything okay!?”
“Are you alright, Sugarcube?”
“Your mane looks positively dreadful, darling, what happened!?”
Twilight stopped and held her hoof up to silence everypony. She lifted a water jug in her magic, poured herself a glass, and downed it, then again, then a third time. She placed the glass down and whisked over the biggest, fluffiest pillow in the room, held it in her hooves, pressed her face against it, and screamed. She screamed loud enough that Rainbow Dash winced and checked to make sure nopony was standing outside the door beyond the pair of stone-faced Equestrian guards who came with them. The scream grew in volume and intensity as she buried herself deeper and deeper into the pillow, her wings extending more and more until she eventually stopped. Her friends had backed off to avoid getting a face full of wing by the time she was done.
She tensed up for but a moment, then let her wings droop to the ground.
“Spike?” she called, head still downcast as she let the pillow fall away from her face. “Take a letter…”
Spike already had his quill and parchment out and grimaced at Dash as Twilight spoke, who winced and rubbed the back of her head as most of the others gave her disapproving looks.
It was a long letter.
--=--
“On. Their. Own?” Luna emphasised, currently lying across several large cushions as she conversed with her sister in one of her study rooms. Celestia’s taste in personal accoutrements was more conservative than her sister’s, so the room was not especially large nor as tastefully arranged and aesthetically-pleasing in comparison to Luna’s. It did, however, make up for the disparity by being immaculately well-organised in a style both functional and luxurious. That was just as well since Luna was certain there wasn’t a spare tile in the room that wasn’t storing its fair share of books, notes, records, and other detritus of state that Celestia was currently pursuing.
Honestly, Luna had once stepped on a tile and the thing had sprung up to reveal a secret compartment with even more scrolls. Once or twice she had overheard her sister complain about Twilight’s obsession with organization and record-keeping, completely unaware that that little obsession was probably her fault by example.
“They will be fine, Luna,” Celestia reassured, scribbling her quill across whatever missive she was currently reading. Luna was too tired to care. She was just glad she didn’t have the entirety of the state’s duties dumped on her withers, of both courts. She now had a new appreciation for her sister’s fortitude and commitment and did not envy her, but for all of that, she could not for the life of her think why she thought sending the Bearers to the griffon lands was a good idea, especially so soon after everything had finally been settled and nopony had to go to war.
“Truly? You can guarantee that, sister?” Luna asked, her tone dismissive.
“I know it may seem a bit too soon, but I impressed upon Twilight the importance of this mission. You know how eager she is to prove herself.”
“It is not that I doubt Magic’s willingness to please or her diligence. I just… Well, there are rather a lot of ponies going with her,” Luna said tentatively.
“It will be fine. There are a few guards I picked myself, and I know why you were concerned about that.” Celestia smiled at her sister while giving her a glance over the rim of her half-spectacles. “I even wrote ahead of time with the king to sort things out. There shouldn’t be anything to be concerned about. You can rest easy, Lulu.”
Luna harrumphed as Celestia stopped to pour herself another cup of coffee. Luna eyed her take out her secret flask and pour a touch into the cup with exasperation. “Is that wise at this hour?”
“Oh lighten up, would you? It's only a small amount.” Luna rolled her eyes, but before she could reply, a wisp of smoke pushed open the window and flew into the room, briefly bursting with green fire just in front of Celestia.
Taking the hastily scrawled letter in her magic, her eyes scanned its contents. She seemed to visibly deflate after every single line. Luna, concerned, walked around the desk, and Celestia gave her the letter, shakily raising the cup to her trembling lips. Luna read the letter impassively, rolled it up, placed it on the table, and sat down on the floor, next to the cushion on which her sister sat. She cleared her throat.
“So… Nothing to be worried about, huh?”
Celestia sighed and refilled her cup entirely from the flask.
--=--
“Come with me.” Handy had his hand on the door handle to Hammerstrike’s forge when Shortbeak landed behind him. It was still very early in the day, the sun barely in the sky, but Handy’s new armour was ready and he wanted to look somewhat respectable when he returned to court. Shortbeak accosting him in the middle of the street had not been in the forecast.
“...This is rather unusual. Is something wrong?” Handy asked cautiously. In truth, it was possibly something to do with the pony from the other day, but why would Shortbeak be taking issue with that?
“We’ll see about that. Come on, what you’re doing can wait.” With that, she sauntered off. Handy followed after a moment’s hesitation. The walk was brief and took them towards Old Town, where the city’s largest hospital was located and not much else besides. She led him on through side streets before stopping by a rather unassuming door down one long, narrow street. Shortbeak turned around to face him, the snow falling gently around them.
“...Well?” Handy gestured with an arm. “What do you want to show me?”
“Remember when you first came back to the castle? I caught you before you stormed off from the king?”
“I remember.”
“Your arm, Handy,” Shortbeak said bluntly. Handy did not let anything show on his face.
“What about it?”
“You need to have it looked at.” Her tone brooked no argument.
“My arm is fine, Shortbeak,” Handy retorted, not bothering with formality.
“Then why do you constantly keep it covered?” Handy allowed himself a slight smile.
“In case you haven’t noticed, I do wear an awful lot of clothes. Like I have explained many times before, it's a hum—”
“Handy,” Shortbeak suddenly sounded tired, “you know what I mean. Please, show me your arm.”
“I do not see why I should.” He took a slight step backwards.
“Because I am asking, as a friend. Please.”
Handy contemplated it for a moment, looking off to the side while determining whether it was worth swallowing his pride or not. Finally, he relented and rolled up the sleeve of his left arm, revealing the freshly-woven bandages underneath before pulling those aside as well. Shortbeak studied the grey flesh of the arm and the dark purple, almost black veins running its length for a few moments before shaking her head.
“It’s worse than the king’s.” She turned for the door. That made Handy look up.
“The king?”
“Would you be surprised if I told you that I went to the king after that one sparring match where you healed my wing?” she asked in wry amusement. “I know about the salve. I know what it does to a body. You aren’t the only one who had come to rely on it.”
Handy wasn’t sure what to make of the revelation. He covered his arm again and brushed down his tunic.
“So, I’ve shown you my arm. Is that it then?” he asked, sidestepping the issue. She wouldn’t let him go that easily.
“Not quite. Does it hurt?”
“...From time to time,” he admitted.
“And you haven’t used the salve since...?”
“A few months now. Why?”
“Good. Maybe we can do something for the pain.” She entered the building. Handy raised an eyebrow, gave a quick look over his shoulder, and followed her in. Within was a medium-sized townhouse, though you would not know it to see it from the outside. She led him into the common area where there was a fire already burning and an elderly griffon was stirring a pot of something above it. She hummed some homely tune as the room was thrown in deep oranges and reds and stark shadows, the light of the morning not yet piercing the windows, the smell of vegetable soup rising from her pot. She looked up in surprise, and her face broke into a wide smile at the sight of Shortbeak.
“Oh! Deary, this is a surprise. I wasn’t expecting you until later!” She stood up, oddly tapping with her talons as she walked awkwardly towards where Shortbeak stood. Shortbeak closed the distance and took the griffon into a gentle embrace.
“Hello, Mimae, just thought I’d stop by and see how she is.”
“Oh, she’s wide awake—damn near woke me up with her rooting around up there. The caretakers will be by soon. Now, who's this fellow you have with you?”
Handy cleared his throat briefly, but before he could say anything, Shortbeak spoke for him. “He’s a friend, Mimae. I brought him to see you.” Shortbeak smiled back at Handy. Handy, for his part, looked mildly annoyed at the interruption.
“Whatever for? He sounds healthy enough to me. Smells a bit funny, mind.” Handy had the grace to look mildly indignant at that. Not many opportunities to wash when your house was under construction, and bathing in an inn was a dubious affair at the best of times. Shortbeak looked at Handy pointedly.
“...My arm,” Handy said after a moment.
“Your arm, is it?” the old griffon said, chuckling to herself. “Well, don’t just stand there, all lumbering like, come on over. And you, young miss, go on up, she’ll be glad to see you. Go on, git!”
Shortbeak allowed herself to be shooed out of the room and gave Handy a reassuring smile as she passed him, walking up the stairs. Mimae walked over to a couch and gestured Handy to sit beside her.
“Now come on over here and let me have a look-see now. Don’t be shy.” Shy was certainly one word for it. Handy liked his personal space at all times, and was loathe to let someone touch him without good cause. Then a slight pang of pain ran through his arm and he reassessed matters. It couldn’t hurt to have a second opinion on it. He walked over to the griffon. Being of the rarer-eared variety of griffons, he noticed her ears twitching with each footfall.
“Are you a doctor?” he asked as he rolled up the sleeve of his arm.
“Oh heavens no, though I was a nurse at one time in my life. Is this a problem requiring a doctor you’re about to show me?”
“I hope not.” He finished rolling up the sleeve and pulling away the fresh linen he had wrapped about the arm when he finally noticed what was so odd about the griffon’s demeanour. It was her eyes, her milky eyes. The griffon was blind. He was so caught up in the revelation that he didn’t react in time before she had already taken his arm in her claws.
She pressed her talons individually, tracing his veins and pressing into the flesh, finding where it was the most stiff and unresponsive, which parts made him hiss in pain and where the skin seemed to flake off. The creepiest part was how her eyes seemed to follow what she was doing as though she could actually see. Perhaps she could. If it wasn’t for the fact that it was Shortbeak who had led him here, Handy would have already reacted violently to the intrusion of his privacy. As it was, he elected to wait and see, trusting in his friend’s judgement. Mimae continued her work uninhibited. If she was surprised to be working on a human’s arm and not a griffon’s foreleg, she did not show it.
“Hmm,” she said at last. “Yes, I’ve seen this like before.” She released the arm, and Handy pulled it back to him much swifter than strictly necessary.
“You have?”
“Oh yes, once, or twice, or twenty times. It’s rare enough, but I’ve been around. It goes away, I’m sure you’ll be glad to know.” Handy’s eyes widened slightly in surprise.
“It does? How long?”
“About forty years.”
“...I can’t wait forty years,” Handy said tonelessly. Mimae laughed.
“Oh, to be young and full of impatience. What is forty years for good health? Bah! Well, truth be told, there’s nothing much for it. You dance by the fire, you’re likely to get burned as they say. That’s the case with you and your abuse of that stuff. Not even sure how you got a hold of it. Haven’t seen it's like in fifty years.”
“You know of the salamander salve?”
“In my time, it had many names but yes, I know of it. Ravaged Eastern Equestria for a good bit. Miracle healing potion! That's what it was advertised as, consequences be damned. I reckon you got suckered into trying it yourself, hmm?” she asked, leaving the couch and returning to stir the pot of soup.
“...Yeah.” Handy thought back to the day he and Joachim had transported the salve from town to town, how they were nearly captured, how they parted on poor terms, and how badly that had affected the griffon back then. “So that’s it then?” he asked, putting the thought aside. “There’s no treatment for it?”
“Nothing that I know of, sonny, but there is one thing I can do for you…” she trailed off, tasting the soup and smacking her beak… somehow. Another wonder of griffon physiology Handy had yet to fully understand. She nodded appreciatively and lifted the pot, placing it on an iron frame aside from the fire before turning towards a set of wooden drawers. “But before I do, mind me asking a question? Indulge a curious old fool, would you, dearie?”
“I guess,” Handy said noncommittally, still lost in thought.
“Why did you rub that stuff on your arm? Any reason?”
“Oh… well… It helped me sleep,” he admitted. “The arm seemed like a nice limited place to put it.”
“Trouble sleeping?” she asked, stopping her rummaging to look back.
“Yes.”
“How badly?”
“Very bad.” The silence dragged between them until it was evident that Handy would not be dragged further into the matter.
“Well, we all have our troubles, now don’t we? There might be something I can do for that as well.” She brought out a mortar and pestle, and a few seeds and plant leaves, as well as a few bottles of what looked like the sort of thing you could buy from a market place vendor. Tonics, spring water, that purple stuff all the kids loved to buy with their spare coins, and a bottle of what Handy swore was raspberry schnapps by the smell of it.
She mixed together a concoction with the flora with a speed and expertise that made Handy seriously doubt she was genuinely blind, no matter how her eyes looked, mixing in a white dusty substance and the spring water until it produced a thick, greyish, pasty substance. She poured it all into a small bottle with a flip lid and handed it to the human.
“Now, this is simple enough. You can find its like in any apothecary worth their salt, but this is my own recipe, mixed for cases just like yours. It’s called Semblance’s Wake.”
“And… what is it for?” She opened the lid and took a portion of the still wet substance and placed it on Handy’s arm, near the wrist.
“It’s for the aches and pains. Rub it in here, here, here, here, and here.” She pointed to his wrist, elbow, bicep, inner elbow, and mid-forearm. “That’s where the numbness is greatest. I can’t undo the degeneration, but I can reawaken the atrophied muscles.”
“But I can move my muscles just fine,” Handy protested.
“That doesn’t mean they’re in the best of condition. Now, twice a day for seven days, I want you to put it on like I told you. Leave the arm bare, don't cover it—let it be exposed to cool air for at least two hours. You’ll begin feeling your arm again in no time, no more pains.”
“It… really was that simple?” Handy asked, slightly disbelieving. Mimae laughed again.
“Well, if you had bothered to ask anygriffon before you were dragged to see me, you would have found that out a long time ago. Felicia wouldn’t have brought you here otherwise. I take it you’re stubborn.”
“I have been called such, yes.” And worse besides, but that was another matter. “Wait, Felicia?”
“Oh, you probably wouldn’t know her as that. She’s very picky about the whole first name basis thing. Never mind that now, here, eat this.” She held out what looked to be a bundle of long, broad-stemmed grass blades with a curious yellow stripe down the middle.
“What is this?” he asked, idly rubbing the cream into his wrist. It was cool against his skin.
“Tallow’s Ear, grows year round. It’ll help with your sleep,” she explained.
“It puts me to sleep?”
“No, it helps you relax and eases the mind. Slows it down some as well—best taken at night to help you drift off naturally. Any other time and you’re likely to walk into things as you go about your day,” she explained with a chuckle.
“...How much?”
“Oh, no problem at all. Any friend of Felicia’s is welcome here.”
“I insist,” Handy said, not wanting to take such kindness at face value. “And how do you know all these things?”
“Young whippersnapper asks a fifty year veteran nurse how she knows what she knows, hmph! Well if you must know, my husband ran a well-to-do apothecary before he passed. What I did not learn myself, I learned with him. That do ya?”
“Okay, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend.” Handy raised his hands defensively before realising the pointlessness of such a gesture. “It’s just… this is not the first time a kindly old lady helped me…”
“And that didn’t go too well, I take it?” she asked curiously. “Well there’s no accounting for others, but I hold myself to standards I do, and I won’t be hearing none of payment. You go on now, unless you’re staying for soup?”
“No… No thank you, I’ll… That will be all then.” He got up from the couch.
“Suit yourself. You go on up and tell Felicia the soup’s ready. First door as you come up,” she instructed. Handy watched her as she turned to focus back on the soup. The parallels were eerie, but that and the woman’s eccentricities aside, there didn’t seem to be anything off about this place. It was homey, lived in, natural. The complete opposite of that hut at the bottom of the world he had found himself in. Perhaps this grifon was completely unlike the denizen he had found there. He could only hope. She picked up her humming tune from before as she set about working on the soup once more, and he left the room and slowly ascended the dark staircase.
“Shortbeak?” he said, knocking on the door. “Mimae says the soup is ready.” He looked back down the staircase to see the same flickering firelight from before, checking just in case the world might be different if he turned his back on it for a second. He shook the thought when she answered.
“Alright,” she called from behind the door. Handy then turned to leave. “Actually, Handy, could you come in here for a moment?”
Handy paused at the head of the stairs, thinking it odd but entering the room nonetheless. He found her seated at a tall-backed, leather-bound chair, beside a four poster bed with three of the curtains drawn full. The one facing the door was open, and he actually stopped in his tracks at what he saw. It was a griffon, or it had been at one time, who now mostly seemed to be covered in an ashy, rocky substance, or at least the parts of the griffon that were visible from under the blanket. Handy’s mouth opened but words refused to come out.
“Feely,” the girl asked, “who is it?”
“Just a friend,” Shortbeak said, her features soft and loving towards the bed-bound griffon.
“Which one? Is it the weird one? You said you’d bring the weird one someday,” she said happily. Shortbeak chuckled.
“Yes, it’s the weird one.” She looked back at Handy expectantly. He looked at her and then back at the girl in the bed.
“Hello?” he asked, unsure.
“You sound funny,” she said bluntly, but not unkindly. “Where are you from?”
“...A long way away from here. I’m not from Griffonia,” he answered.
“Feely said as much. She says you go on lots of adventures for the king.”
“I do.”
“Can you tell me some?” Handy hesitated and looked to Shortbeak for confirmation. She shook her head.
“Perhaps later. Mimae… she says the soup’s ready.” The griffon looked slightly put out about not getting to hear some new stories, but after a sigh, she responded.
“Oh, alright. But promise me you’ll come back, right? You too, Feely!” she demanded.
“Of course we will, won’t we, Handy?” she asked, looking up at him.
“Yes… of course, I’ll come by to see you again.” She smiled at that, a sight marred by the partial petrification of her beak. Handy waited outside the door while Shortbeak said her goodbyes to the half-petrified griffon and Mimae before joining him outside.
The pair of them walked silently through the fresh snowfall in the streets, Handy in the vague direction of the black smith’s forge, Shortbeak plodding along, seemingly lost in thought.
“What is wrong with her?” he asked after a tense silence.
“It’s called the Ashen plague. Or it was, centuries ago. It was infectious then, killed thousands. Now it's just her. Nogriffon else can get infected by it, but good luck trying to get griffons not to panic if they see it.”
“How did she get like that?” He looked back the way they came.
“It’s… a long story. I just wanted to make a point.”
“And that was?”
“You won’t make it far in this world without a little help, Handy.” She halted. “How long would it have taken you to swallow your pride and let somegriffon look at your arm had I not made you?” He didn’t answer. “I thought I could be like that, sort through all of life’s difficulties on my own, without anygriffon’s help. All that did was put the one griffon I care about most in the world into the claws of a beast, using her as leverage to control me.”
“... Alright, you’ve made your point.”
“Have I?” she challenged. Handy held her gaze for a few moments before finally relenting. The memory of the girl stuck in bed still clear in his mind.
“Fine. Fine… Thank you, Shortbeak.” He looked away down the street. “Thanks.”
The pair continued walking in silence for a time, before Handy broke it.
“So really… how did she get the plague?” Shortbeak didn’t answer for a long time.
“There was… something, I don’t know what it was. I had never seen magic like that. It wasn’t just dark, it.... It felt wrong. I’ll tell you tonight. Will you visit her then?”
“Of course.” She nodded.
“Then I’ll see you at court.” She spread her prodigious wings and took flight. Handy had to cover his face as the power of the jump caused tufts of snow to lift up into the air in a flurry before they settled. He watched her go for a moment as the city slowly woke up around him, then he walked on.
--=--
Clank, clank, clank, clank.
If there was one criticism Handy had for Hammerstrike’s handiwork, it was that his new armour was, for some inexplicable reason, much, much noisier than his older suit. Given how his older suit was held together by spit and prayers, that was an impressive achievement.
Clank, clank, clank, clank.
He had been slightly disappointed when he first laid eyes upon it, though he made an effort not to show it. It was… boring. The metal was a dull, dark grey with not even a burnished finish to brighten the thing up. The plates were smooth and featureless, the pauldrons little more than particularly heavy shoulder pads and the helmet a simple conical affair with a movable visor that split and opened out to the side on hinges. The back of the helmet was left bare to maximise neck movement, but also meant if he wanted any kind of protection, he had to wear the chainmail coif, which meant he had to wear padding around his head, which was a pain in the ass. He missed the inlaid padding of his other helmet. The visor, at least, allowed for a good range of vision to his peripheries. The upside to being a human was that his smaller eyes justified a smaller visor in comparison to gryphonic of pony helmets, so at least he had that.
Clank, clank, clank, clank.
The one obscenely obvious advantage it had that he was now endlessly grateful for was that it was so much lighter than his old suit. Very light. It was to the point that if Handy wasn't constantly making noise as he moved a slightest inch, or if his arm movements weren’t being restricted in the manner in which he had become accustomed, he’d probably forget he was wearing a suit of metal and not some particularly heavy clothing. Armour was already manageable as it was when the weight was distributed across the body, but this was ridiculous. His alchemists had done something to the metal while Hammerstrike was at the forge. They had tried to explain it to him, but the most he had gotten out of it was that concoctions of some abominable oils and potions had been used at various stages, particularly in the cooling process as the smith worked. It apparently extended the length of time it took to make the pieces.
The quality of the steel was already such that it was light to begin with, while also being incredibly strong. Handy put this to the test with his own war hammer and was gratified to see that the chest plate did not deform under it. He still didn't plan on taking a hammer to the chest himself any time soon, but he was glad that if he did, it might only fracture a rib and not shatter the entire cage. What really sold him on the armour’s versatility were the proofing shots. Hammerstrike felt the need to do two after the first shot ricocheted and gave everyone a bit of a scare. Handy did not approve of being so close to a gunpowder weapon when his apprentices brought in a few arquebuses, but when the second shot, fired from the far side of the shop, was stopped dead in its tracks by the breastplate, Handy was well pleased. Hammerstrike boasted that the armour would probably stop a shot point blank, but Handy wasn't so confident in the man’s work that he’d bank on those words.
Handy ruminated on how he was going to present himself. It felt weird that the armour didn’t chafe in places, and the comfort was off-putting. He braced himself for the inevitable political fanfare and bullshit the second he entered the royal hall, the inevitable dance and political theatre it would take to maximise the impact of the promised rapprochement between himself and the king. The Equestrians he was not looking forward to having to deal with. He heard there was a princess present, but it wasn’t one of the princesses. Equestria was actually a patchwork of princes and princesses, it seemed, with most falling somewhere on the equivalency of everything from a duke to a vassal king, to use the griffons as a measuring stick. Differentiating between their various statuses was often an art by itself, and it was never immediately obvious, with some being so inconsequential as to be effectively nameless, and others being everything but sovereign rulers in their own right. Only the lower nobility, counts, and other nobodies of the sort had any title or rank that made sense upon the face of it. Fun.
Still, it was something to keep his thoughts busy as he ascended the obscene amount of steps into the higher city that clung to the mountain face below Skymount Castle, and then ascended again to the castle itself. Some people asked Handy why he chose to live in the castle rather than in the city below, as before his recent disgrace, he had no reason to live in his manor house. Handy didn’t know what other men would think, but personally, the thought of ascending and descending those bloody steps every day was more frightening than facing a hydra. Not for the first time, he cursed everyone around him for possessing a pair of wings, but he took solace in the fact that at least some, if not most of the Equestrian delegation, had to suffer the same as he did. Such thoughts warmed the little hole where his heart used to be.
As he was thinking about it, he had removed his helmet, attaching it to the hook by his side under his cloak, and lifted the hood over his head. How one entered a room mattered a great deal, and you weren’t always in control of the circumstances. Handy had opted to forgo his new helmet, which lacked the ostentation of his old one to maximise the impact.
As he was approaching the hall, the two guards on door duty seemed to be smiling happily for some reason. Must have something planned once they get off duty. Nobody smiled when their turn on the rota came up. Nobody. Handy slowed his pace as he drew near the door, hearing a loud commotion coming from within. A lot of voices seemed to be talking all at once, as if everybody at court were having their say. Good God, was it really going so badly in there? Maybe Joachim let slip he was bringing Handy back in from the cold and it went over badly, or the Equestrians fucked up in front of everyone and it was all going tits up.
‘Crap,’ he thought to himself. He had already been prepared for his presence to immediately make things worse, but if things had already gone to hell, then that meant the day was only going to get magnitudes worse. He paused just before the door and took a breath, a hundred or more scenarios playing across his head all at once as he considered every possibility. He was not in the mood for another political shit storm, but he braced himself and nodded to the guards. They moved and pushed open the door and—
Someone blew a party whistle almost right in front of his face, and confetti exploded from balloons. So many fucking balloons. The roof was covered in them, and given the height of the high-vaulted ceilings and the balconies above them in the great hall, that was no mean feat. More seemed to be appearing from little nooks in the great hall in between the clusters of griffons and ponies who were chatting away amiably, laughing.
There was cake as well—everyone seemed to have a plate of the stuff. There were all sorts as well, but he couldn’t see any table where they may have been getting them from. Then there were the fucking party hats, small little conical things with tinsel dangling at their tops. Everyone was wearing one. He spotted Joachim in the crowd by virtue of possessing the biggest and stupidest-looking one. He was laughing alongside the Firthengart princess and some purple pegasus pony. The High King looked ridiculous. He was wearing the smallest one and talking happily to some white-furred pony with blue hair, and a business suit that looked oddly familiar. Nobody seemed to have noticed the fact that he had arrived.
It was too much to take in. There was bunting crisscrossing the entire hall and a huge pink banner that read ‘Thanks for the Welcome Party-Party!’ in bright colourful letters. Handy’s mouth was wide open as he tried to process what he was seeing. He looked around, looking for something, anything with which to ground himself again. He spotted the uptight asshole of a knight that guarded the southern princess from Firthengart. He was standing stoically and still at the wall by the doors. He was covered in glitter, and a small banner that had fallen from where it had been hanging and was now draped unceremoniously across his shoulder. There was no hope coming from that quarter. Handy walked back out into the hall over to a window. He needed a moment. This was… not what he was expecting. He wasn’t prepared for…
What even was happening?
“Hey, how long has… all of that been going on?” Handy asked the guards.
“Oh, the party? That started a while ago,” one said.
“Yeah! The pink one is a great singer!” the other exclaimed. Handy blinked. It couldn’t be…
“Song?” Handy asked. “What song?”
“Oh, she started this game to break the ice, taking a popular song everygriffon knew and had everygriffon sing the next verse. It got faster and faster each song until everygriffon was singing one word each, trying to finish the song before somegriffon messed up. It was a lot of fun.” Well, strike out the magical song phenomenon.
“And they involved you two as well?” Handy asked. Both of them shrugged.
“We were on rota inside the room at the time. Just got moved out here,” one explained. Well that explained the smiles, but for the life of Handy, he could not fathom how the room had become what it now was. Granted, he liked griffons far more than ponies, but as a race there wasn’t that much different between the two in terms of their attitudes, at least broadly speaking, but this was still… rather alarming. He had been at a meeting of Equestrians and the griffons before, and that had been far from a light affair. What in the hell—
“Handy?” A voice drew him out of his reverie. Tanismore appeared in the doorway, wearing a lampshade on his head. “Is Handy here ye— Oh! There you are! The king is looking for you!”
“I…” Handy really did not want to enter the room. It was strange and unexpected. “I, uh…”
“Nope, no excuses.” Tanismore walked over and tugged Handy by his arm.
“Wait, Tanis, stop, hang on a minute.”
“I know you don’t like parties, Handy, but this is kind of an important one.”
“It wasn’t supposed to be a party!” He couldn’t keep the frustration from his voice.
“Well, I’m not complaining.” Tanis chuckled. “Now come on.”
Reluctantly, Handy allowed himself to be led, after shaking off his fellow knight’s grip on his gauntlet. Walking through the great hall in the midst of a celebration was a familiar, if often unwelcome experience during his time at Skymount. But right now? Right now the hall should be arrayed in proper order. He had been expecting a formal reception, hell, a dinner at most, and only an hour or so after all the initial business was taking care of.
As it was, everybody was eating cake, drinking cheap fizzling something or other out of equally cheap-looking glasses, wearing stupid party hats as if he had walked in on someone’s eighth birthday party, and not the rapprochement between two great powers on the international stage. What in the ever-loving fuck had happened while he had been getting ready in town?
There was a strange energy about the place—warm, fuzzy almost, like the atmosphere you’d get at a great party when it struck its high points, but more muted. A kind of tense energy that made you itch to dance as if you were on your best day, and your favourite tune had come on right at that moment. It was the inclination to make you turn to your neighbour on the barstools and strike up conversation for no other reason than because they were there, to buy a round out of the blue, to sing one more song before calling it a night.
It was strange; Handy wasn't sure what to make of it. It wasn’t unwelcome, nor was it intrusive, and somehow it felt… oddly familiar. He looked around; nobody else seemed to look concerned. Hell, there was even a griffon mage in the background in the most stereotypical wizard get-up Handy had ever seen, and he seemed quite relaxed.
“Ah, Handy,” a familiar voice called out to him, Handy paused, though Tanismore continued on through the crowd of ponies and griffons, oblivious to whether or not Handy was still following him. A familiar white pony with a well-coiffed blue mane and understated blue moustache approached him. Handy’s eyes widened in recognition as his memory dredged up just where he had seen the pony before, and why he had seemed so familiar when he saw him talk to the High King.
“You,” he said flatly.
“So you do remember me. I’m flattered,” Fancy Pants replied, his tone pleasant, conversational, and friendly with genuine warmth. Handy had no intention of reciprocating.
“Your little errand ended up costing me quite a great deal,” Handy said lowly. He was aware people would be listening in, so he chose his words carefully.
“And you have my deepest apologies for that… and my thanks,” Fancy Pants continued, bowing his head slightly. Handy raised a brow at him.
“For?”
“Well, for looking after my friend’s nephew of course. And for the, oh how shall we say, the tip you gave me while you were abroad?”
Handy was confused for a moment before the penny dropped. “Ah, so I take it you were able to accommodate your house guests?” he asked.
“At such short notice as well! I’m glad you got word to me when you did. Never would have prepared in time.” Handy mused on his response. So it seemed Chrysalis, or some other changeling potentate, followed through on paying a ‘visit’ to Fancy Pants after Handy mentioned him to her in the forest. Ah well, no skin off his nose he supposed. Unless…
“I trust you can be discreet on the matter? I would rather not be known to be the sort who spoils surprises.” Fancy Pants smiled.
“Oh, of course not. Why, I would be remiss if I did not return the favour sometime. If you are ever near Canterlot again, do drop by, won’t you? My wife and I would love to have you to visit.” That got Handy’s attention.
“I am… afraid it might not be best if I return to your lovely city. At least for some time.” Fancy Pants nodded in understanding.
“Oh yes, sad business that. Well, do let me know when you are next in the country, nonetheless. It would be good to hear some more of your stories. I’m afraid life has been rather dull for me as of late. Besides a recent investment in salamander conservation, it has been a slow few months.” Handy’s eyes widened at the implications. He couldn’t possibly mean what he thought he meant, could he? Before he could ask, another snow-white unicorn approached them, one with a ridiculous spiralling mane style and a mark of three diamonds or gems or whatever they were on her flank. Was this his wife? No, wait, that was the mare with the pink hair and the fleur-de-lis on her flank, wasn’t it? She was taller.
“Oh, there you are, Fancy Pants, darling. I’m so glad I got a chance to speak to you again,” the mare said airily. Fancy Pants beamed at her.
“Rarity dear! Good to see you! Terrible sorry about not making the effort to speak to you on the train ride.”
“Quite alright, darling, I assure you.” She flicked her mane and briefly looked over Handy with a scrutinizing expression. “Oh, I’m terribly sorry. Am I interrupting you two?”
“Not at all. Ah, Handy, my good stallion, may I introduce the lovely Miss Rarity.” Fancy Pants gestured to the mare. Handy nodded to her.
“Lady,” he said politely. “A pleasure.”
“Quite, darling,” the mare replied coolly. She smiled but seemed off somehow, a touch standoffish. Handy chalked it up to standard pony reactions to him. She was likely just trying to be polite while at the same time grabbing Fancy Pants’ attention. Handy resisted the urge to grab and shake the stallion by the shoulders, so he kept up a brave face and tried to be as polite as he could be.
“We were actually just discussing business relations.” If Fancy Pants was caught off guard by that, he did not show it.
“Business? I didn’t know you—” Rarity raised her hoof to her chest in surprise as she looked at Fancy Pants.
“Oh yes, I do occasionally dabble in international trade. Baron Handy here and I have had a mutually profitable arrangement in the past, and we were merely discussing the possibility of further enterprise,” Fancy Pants explained coolly, not letting any more slip about whatever the hell that salamander thing was.
“Really?” Rarity looked aside for a moment. “I would never have guessed.”
“Quite. Oh yes, Handy, Rarity here is an entrepreneur herself. Runs a successful little empire.”
“Oh stop.” Rarity batted at Fancy Pants playfully.
“No really, her clothes are the finest in all of Equestria. Anypony who's anypony will always be found with at least one or two ensembles from her little boutique.”
“Really.” Handy tried his damnedest not to sound too unenthused.
“Oh yes, I know with your own taste in clothes, I thought you might be interested,” Fancy Pants explained.
“Oh well, I can’t quite find the room to boast, but I am sure you wouldn’t be interested in my wares. I mean, I don't really have something that might suit your… unique tastes.” Rarity smiled sweetly. Handy blinked. Did a pony just diss his clothes? Was that what was happening right now? He didn’t have time for this. As he was about to retort in order to push the mare away and try to squeeze more information out of Fancy Pants, another familiar face made its appearance.
“Hello,” said a dull, monotone voice, sotto voce.
“Oh, Maud! I thought you had to go prepare your samples,” Rarity said as the grey-furred mare, in the same plain smock Handy remembered her wearing back on the train, came up from behind them. Handy genuinely smiled when he saw her.
“I did.” Maud simply looked at Rarity, blinking slowly and then turning to Fancy Pants, “They’re ready. Just need to be signed off.”
“Splendid. Oh yes, Miss Maud, this is—”
“We’ve met,” Handy interjected, nodding to Maud. “A pleasure to meet you again, Miss Maud.”
“Hello,” she said in acknowledge, then turned to Fancy Pants. “The sign off?”
“Oh yes. Well, I had better see to that and all. All for the trade off and all. It was simply a pleasure meeting you again, Sir Handy. We really must do this again, and you as well, Miss Rarity, as lovely as ever. I’m afraid I must rush off now. Goodbye.” Fancy Pants walked off through the crowd with Maud in toe. Handy almost took a step forward to stop them before Rarity, very deliberately, stepped in his way.
“You know Maud Pie?” she all but demanded, eyes searching. Handy frowned down at her.
“Yes, we met on a train once. Please, excuse me.” He tried to sidestep her. Rarity met him pace for pace.
“Where? When? She never mentioned anything,” Rarity insisted.
“Yes, well, that's something you’d need to ask her about, now isn't it? Now if you’d please—”
“Handy?” Tanismore approached the pair of them. Music was playing from somewhere, but Handy couldn’t see a band. He bit back a curse as Tanismore all but ensured he wouldn’t catch Fancy Pants in time. “The king is waiting.”
“Just a moment, darling.” Rarity rubbernecked around Handy and waved at the knight before looking back up at Handy sternly. “How do you know Maud Pie?”
“Look,” Handy said, his temper straining at its leash, “we met on a train and shared a cabin. We talked a bit.”
“You talked to her,” Rarity said, more as a statement than a question. “What of?”
“Rocks.”
“Rocks. Really?” She blinked.
“Yes, I learned a lot. The pony knows her stuff, and unlike most ponies I’ve had the misfortune of meeting, she is actually quite the conversationalist.”
“What.”
“Now if you’ll excuse me,” Handy said before turning to be led off by Tanismore. He looked back out over the crowded hall and spotted Fancy Pants as he left. He cursed and planned to find him later. Provided he stayed long enough for him to do so, which was an open question.
Joachim saw him coming and broke off from his conversation and walked up to the dais at the end of the hall. Handy smiled. Well, if nothing else, then at least Joachim seemed to intend on keeping up his end of the bargain. He spotted the pony princess off to the side who had turned to look at him with an odd expression on her face. Katherine, making herself useful for once, drew her attention away. Handy looked back to Joachim.
“Ah, Baron Handy, we are glad you came,” Joachim began, a touch informal but suitable to the circumstances.
“My lord,” Handy replied, bowing from the shoulders, before speaking just loud enough to be overheard as people began paying attention. “You requested my presence?”
“Yes, I find myself requiring your services. You are to be welcomed back into my court,” he said easily, although there was some shocked murmuring coming from the griffons of the court. Princess Katherine even briefly stopped her conversation with Twilight to watch the scene with interest. “I trust you’ll accept our invitation back into active service as a knight of Gethrenia.”
“My lord, I would be happy to give my service,” Handy replied, bowing again. He couldn’t pick out which voices behind him sounded the most alarmed. He noticed Desunt’s voice behind him, but he didn't sound too outraged at least. He made a note of that. He rose back up, and Joachim extended his forelegs forward. It was tradition that when someone was to be welcomed back into fold, whether they were exiled, or had taken leave for one reason or another, innocent or shameful, they had to be literally welcomed back into the fold. In this case, it meant a hug. Handy had forgotten about this part.
Joachim all but had a shit-eating grin on his face, knowing full well how much Handy hated contact. Handy, for his part, grimaced, but knew there was no way out of it. He swallowed his pride, took a step up onto the dais, and embraced Joachim.
“You are a shit,” Handy whispered into his ear as they hugged.
“Yeah, well, learned from the best,” Joachim riposted as they separated. Handy bowed again out of protocol as he descended back down the steps. The pony princess looked thoroughly confused at what had transpired. She turned to talk to Katherine again as the hall returned to the high level of murmur that pervaded it, this time with new topics to discuss. Joachim descended beside Handy and turned, preparing to say something when a looming shadow overtook both of them. Handy turned and looked up at the smiling visage of High King Aleksander.
No one that big, griffon or no, had any right to move that quietly.
“Baron Handy, Joachim. I am glad to see the two of you have settled that affair.” The high king glanced briefly to the alicorn in the room. The unspoken agreement to not speak more on the matter was implicit. At least not in front of the ponies.
“Ah, yes, milord,” Joachim said. “I was not aware you’d be staying for the reception.”
“Oh, I had to wait around for a bit longer, for something to arrive.” Something shuffled behind him. Handy discreetly leaned to the side to see what it was. A small reddish thing huddled behind the High King’s rear paw. “She’s a tad shy, I’m afraid.”
“She?” Joachim asked, tilting his head. Handy decided to step back. This clearly had nothing to do with him, and so he prepared to walk off. He spotted Shortbeak, Tanismore, and another knight off to one side. Maybe he’d go to them while Joachim sorted out things he—
An oversized wing stretched out, very, very slightly, just enough to be seen to be blocking his path, and Handy was stopped in his tracks.
“Oh yes, Baron Handy, if you wouldn’t mind, I wish to have a word with you in a moment. You don’t mind do you?” Aleksander peered at him.
‘Shit.’
“Of course not, Majesty,” Handy replied.
“Excellent. Shana?” Aleksander asked, looking behind him. A ridiculously tiny shape, at least compared to the rather overly large griffon that simply loomed over her, poked her head out from behind him. She was a rust-coloured griffon, her pelt a dirty brownish red, and her feathers black-streaked with autumnal shades. She looked up at them with green eyes. “I am afraid I have another reason to be here, Joachim my friend. I would make a request of you, one king to another.”
“And… what is it?” Joachim asked, looking at the young griffon skeptically.
“This, Joachim, is Shana Redbeak. I would like for you to be her teacher.”
“Teacher?” Joachim stepped back ever so slightly in alarm. “My lord, I’m sure you could find somegriffon else who’d be more appropriate to do that. You can’t expect me to just… accept a child into my house at the drop of a hat.”
“Quite right on both accounts,” Aleksander said. “However, Shana here is not just a child, are you, my dear?” ‘Shana’ didn’t move from behind the high king.
“N-No,” the little griffon said.
“You see, Joachim, Shana here is the newly crowned Queen of Jerminok.” Joachim froze at the pronouncement, looking from Aleksander to the child and back again. Several shocked mutters erupted from the nearby courtiers. Handy had no idea what was going on, but was glad for once that it had nothing to do with him. “Perhaps now you may understand my difficulty in finding… a reliable tutor for her?”
“I… can see that, yes.” Joachim swallowed. “I trust her presence here won’t have unfortunate consequences?”
“Not so long as she lives, no,” Aleksander replied, then glanced up at Katherine over Joachim’s shoulder. The princess quickly looked away and made a show of refilling her drink. “And I doubt your kingdom will be shouldering that burden alone.”
“What?” Joachim asked.
“Nothing, just noting a fortuitous circumstance. I trust I can leave you to decide what is best for her education?” Joachim’s beak opened and closed several times, trying to form words. “Good. Handy?”
Handy looked up. He had been secretly enjoying Joachim’s sudden loss for words at the strange situation that had just occurred. He looked back at Aleksander in surprise as he was addressed.
“Majesty?”
“Walk with me, would you?” Handy reluctantly followed after the high king as he walked off. He looked back once to see the rather dumbfounded Joachim and the still nervous child griffon they were leaving behind. Then he turned away.
Twilight Sparkle watched the entire scene take place with an air of utter confusion.
“What… What just happened?” she asked. Katherine looked down at her and tried to think of something to say, but failed to think of anything clever.
“It’s complicated. Excuse me.” She turned and walked towards Joachim and the young queen. Twilight just watched her go with a sigh of disappointment.
“Well, at least nothing has gone wrong yet.” A pink foreleg wrapped around her neck.
“Whew! You would not believe how far a girl needs to walk just to get a little relief.” Pinkie Pie leaned on her friend. “Soooo, did I miss anything?”
Twilight just gave her a level look.
--=--
Handy walked alongside the rather imposing figure of the high king. His head was still spinning, and try as he might, he could not bring himself to concentrate enough to try to predict what was going to happen to him now. He glanced up at the gigantic griffon. The black-feathered, gold-pelted monarch seemed serene as he always did. At the party, he had been talking with quite a lot of Equestrians, but Joachim had seemed very nervous when High King Aleksander had requested to speak to Handy… alone.
That wasn’t ominous at all or anything.
The pair walked down a rather sparsely populated area of the castle, eventually coming to a colonnade bridge that arched over one of the exterior quadrangles of the castle towards the library tower. The king had yet to speak a word, and Handy dared not say anything at that point. The snow was falling gently, the landscape of the city below pristine, nestled astride the river and nested between the twin mountains, marred only by the innumerable columns of smoke arising from thousands of chimneys and fireplaces, even during midday. The king slowed as they crossed the bridge.
“So I hear you’ve taken an interest in studying magic lately,” Aleksander said conversationally. Handy stopped dead in his tracks. The king laughed, his baritone deep and resonant. “Oh, don’t look so surprised. You don’t rule one of the largest, most powerful nations in the world without keeping a few tabs on certain persons of interest. And you, my good baron, have certainly been interesting of late.”
“I…” It was not as if his studies with Crimson were illicit, nor was he hiding them, but how did he know? He was pretty sure Sunderclaw, Joachim’s own personal cloak and dagger connoisseur, was likely keeping tabs on him in a hundred thousand different ways that Handy had long ago stopped worrying about. He had nothing to hide... in Skymount at least. It took on a slightly different character when someone else's spooks were keeping an eye on you. Like the difference between having the G2 back home tapping all of your phones and MI6 doing it. You’d like your incompetent intelligence analysts invading your privacy more so than you would foreign ones. “I have taken an academic interest as of late, your Majesty.”
“You can save the formalities and the conversational distance for another time, Handy.” Aleksander smiled. “There’s a time and a place. Right now, this will be all over and done with faster if we get pretensions out of the way.”
“This is about the Equestrians, isn't it?” Handy frowned after taking a minute to decide which would be the safer course of action. He opted to go along the king’s way for now.
“Not everything revolves around the sun, but yes, they were involved in my worries as well. I take it you are primarily responsible for sorting out all this nasty business before I arrived?”
“...If you chose to see it that way, yes.” The king laughed boisterously.
“There’s a good griffon. I’ve been talking to your king about all that and whatnot, and for some reason, he was under the impression I was furious with your actions.” He looked down at Handy. The enormous griffon had an inch on Handy standing on four legs and was one of the few people Handy had met who could actually do that, but that wasn't what made Handy uneasy. If Aleksander wasn’t pushing for Handy’s dismissal from court, who was? And why did Joachim think the high king wanted it too?
“You aren’t?”
“Oh, I was. I was livid, at least until I caught sight of the larger picture, and the truth of what was going on during your little escapades in Manehatten. It is not as if I hadn't used those situations to… take advantage of a few things. I had calmed down considerably by the time I received Johan’s letter stating that the crises had been resolved. More so after I had exchanged words with good old Celly dearest.”
“Then… if that is all cleared up, how can I help you now?” Handy asked cautiously, now thoroughly at a loss as to what the high king wished to speak with him about. Aleksander turned and continued walking towards the library.
“Tell me, Handy, what do you suppose the Equestrians seek to accomplish while they are here?” Handy tensed, thoughts springing to mind, old suspicions and concerns about being traded to the Equestrians as a bargaining chip for peace and reconciliation. It was possible that Joachim was resisting that, and him swallowing his pride to meet Handy’s ultimatum the other day to prevent him from leaving the kingdom, at least willingly. Was that to hold him here long enough to be traded or was there something else? Would Joachim trade him? Did he have a choice in the matter?
“I couldn’t begin to speculate,” Handy chose to answer. Aleksander laughed again, bright and loud as he opened the door to the library and stepped inside.
“Oh humour me, Handy, I’m sure you have had suspicions. Go on, hit me; be as outlandish as you can.”
“In truth?” Handy’s face remained neutral. “I thought they had come to convince you and my king to sign me over to them. To once and for all have me out of Griffonia’s feathers on your part, and for the Equestrians to finally have me under their hooves.”
“Well yes, the thought had crossed my mind also,” Aleksander said with a chuckle, “but no, we don’t do things like that.”
“What? Prisoner exchange?” Handy asked as the high king opened the door and walked into the round tower library. An older griffon with ridiculously large spectacles froze as he saw the pair, looked between them, and hurriedly scuttled out of the tower and around them. Handy had never seen the librarian before, but then again, he was usually never over in this wing of the castle.
“Slave trading,” Aleksander said dryly. “You must truly think poorly of me and your king if you’d honestly think we’d uproot one of our own, a lord no less, and at the whim of a foreign power, to throw them into their care when said person has committed no crimes against his own king nor country worthy of such a punishment. Tell me, human, do your people in your lands do such things?”
“...Sometimes,” Handy admitted. “It’s called extradition. There’s also a more aggressive form known as extraordinary rendition, where the target’s own country really doesn't get a say in the matter at all. This almost happened to me at Blackport.” Aleksander looked genuinely surprised at that.
“That… I had not heard,” the king admitted.
“Honestly, a lot was happening back then, and I might not have covered the little tiff the Enclave and Equestria had at the time.” Aleksander tapped the side of his beak in thought for a moment. He smiled after a time and walked over to one of the shelves, running a talon across the books.
“Well, something to think about, I suppose, but I sincerely doubt the Equestrians would seek nor want that now.”
“And why do you say that… if I may ask so bluntly?” Handy added.
“Because I am sure Celestia would have grabbed you then and there on the border when you so kindly ran right into her.”
“...Oh.”
“Yes, oh. Quite amusing, I assure you, and believe me, I do so wish you’d tell me what the real story is behind how you got the horn of the changeling queen sometime. Alas, we have more to concern ourselves. Celestia wants information.”
“What kind of information?” The king chuckled.
“That old girl is shrewd, but not unpredictable. She’s been at this longer than any of us who currently have the temerity to be walking around with fancy hats while under the age of a hundred.” Handy blinked. Celestia was over a hundred years old? What the hell kind of anti-ageing cream did they even HAVE over there? She sure as hell neither looked nor sounded like some hoary old biddy of a pony. He’d have to look into that. If there was only one thing he could bring with him if he ever managed to get back to Earth, a formula that fucking nuked wrinkles would set him up for life. A shallow idea, true, but if it payed the bills...
“So she doesn’t want reconciliation?” Aleksander shook his head as he took a book.
“Oh, she does, most certainly. Celestia’s a good sort like that, too nice for her own good sometimes, my father used to say. I’m of a different opinion, but that's another story. However, she is not stupid. She wants to repair relations as fast as she can. It’s why she sent her little protégé, not to mention pride and joy, to head the pony delegation.”
“Princess Twilight.”
“The very same. The girl seems to have a knack for repairing relations—apparently it’s something she’s very good at. Probably not something of this level or depth yet, so this is something of another teaching moment for her, throwing her in the deep end to get her balance in the water as it were,” Aleksander continued as he opened his book, then frowned. Blinking quickly, he clucked his beak and looked for a lamp. Handy lifted one from a hook on the wall and brought it closer. Aleksander nodded his thanks, pulling a pair of spectacles from the ruff of his chest, linked to a silver chain that really wasn't visible at most times, and began flicking through the book. Handy eyed the title as he did so. It was something about naval combat. “And yet, the information she seeks is about us.”
“And what would that be?” Handy asked, genuinely curious. “And should we be worried?”
“Should we be worried he says.” Aleksander chuckled. “Handy, if we were always worried about every little thing the alicorns did, we’d never get anything done because we’d be too afraid to move. No, we shouldn’t be worried. She is just getting a feel for the situation between Gethrenia and Firthengart, between both those kingdoms and myself, and therefore, the rest of Griffonia. And, although she likely wouldn't be expecting it, the relationship between yourself and your liege lord.”
Handy kept silent at that. Aleksander looked over the rim of his glasses at him.
“Whatever falling out has occurred between you and Johan does not reflect well upon outside perception of the interior harmony of the High Kingdom.”
“It is hardly my fault I was exiled from court,” Handy countered.
“True, it was a foolish decision, and one made under pressure. I have told Joachim this myself. If the king feels the need to punish his ‘pet monster’ in the first place, then the implication is that the monster did something his master could not control.” Aleksander smiled wryly. Handy figured if he knew enough to find out he was studying magic and had been talking with Joachim so much, then the true nature of the ruse they had been playing this whole time was unlikely to escape him either. He sighed lightly.
“So what? You’d have him simply reward me and say nothing more of it?”
“Yes, actually.” Aleksander closed the book and switched it out for another, a book without a title on it, but which had the image of a merchant’s scale, holding fish and gold in each weight. Handy blinked. “It would look much better, both from outside and from my position, had he actually gone and done so. I can understand why he did what he did when he did. It makes sense from his perspective. In truth, I would rather have a potentially upstart king that is promptly seen to be under my control today, by my very presence here, than the same king with potential disunity in his own hearth and home.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Handy asked. “This sounds like something you should be telling Johan.”
“I already have; he understands his mistake now. I was under the impression he had already taken steps at reconciliation?” Handy looked off to the side. “Wounded pride is hard to heal, hmm?”
“It’s not just that. He was my king, yes, but he was honestly, perhaps, my first and only friend,” Handy said after a moment of silence. Aleksander considered those words as he continued searching through the book he had taken. He ran a claw down one page, gave a short satisfied nod, then closed the book and removed his spectacles.
“Then I guess there really is nothing more for me to say that can help matters. You and he are reconciled, you have been returned to court, and all is well for when the princess approaches you.” That made Handy look up.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Oh yes, do you not remember I was there that day in Canterlot when you first met Princess Twilight? I too noticed the poor dear’s odd behaviour after her first meeting with you. Of course, I had nothing to go on as to what you two got up to…” Handy blinked again before the realization hit home. His eyes widened.
“Sir, I swear, I never so much as tou—!”
“I am sure you didn’t, otherwise I am certain we would all be suffering the consequences of such an occurrence. Celestia is quite protective of her ponies, you see.”
“I, ahem, regardless, why would she approach me now?”
“I am quite certain she most likely does not want to, but she is possibly compelled to do so now. Her friend’s rather strident actions yesterday all but forced her to. Given her actions, I can only deduce she felt you had wronged the princess somehow.”
“I never—!”
“I am not saying anything, Handy.” Aleksander held up a placating claw. “I am just saying that because of yesterday, the princess now has to do something about it. It would perhaps behove you to take this as an opportunity to perhaps… correct the impression the Equestrians will take away regarding the state of the Gethrenian court.”
“... Are you telling me to reconcile with Johan?”
“I am telling you to make it look like you have,” Aleksander said, smiling slightly. “I’d prefer it to be genuine but, well, I know how important your pride is to you.”
Handy contemplated his words for a long while, the king happily waiting for his response while he perused the books at his disposal. The thought of it did not sit easily with Handy, no matter how he felt about Joachim’s attempt at rapprochement, nor how he felt about having alienated his friend with the ultimatum. He wasn't sure his pride would let him go back over that tilled soil. Besides, even if he wanted to, what on Earth could he do to make up the difference? Still, the king had a point. It only had to look like all was well, and if there was one thing Handy did well, it was keeping up appearances.
“Fine,” Handy said after some thought, “I’ll make sure the Equestrians think all is well.”
“Oh? And how are you going to do that now?” Aleksander asked, looking up. Handy shrugged.
“Honestly? I’ll play it by ear, see how things go.”
“See that you do, at least before you go gallivanting out into the wild again.”
“Excuse me?” Handy asked.
“Well, it’s not like you’re going to be staying here for long with that sorceress after you, now is it?” Handy didn’t answer. “I figured as much. Do try to keep collateral to a minimum as you go about it. Now that you deigned to actually tell us what is going on with you and this Mistress or whoever she is, you might find Celestia at least will be a touch less… antsy if you happen to be flying over her country.”
“I’m sensing a but coming along,” Handy stated.
“Not a but, per se, more of an offer. I have learned interesting things from my talk with the pony Fancy Pants. Seems you still have a bit of a mercenary streak to your character after all. I trust you still have a taste for making some money on the side?” Handy regarded him with suspicion.
“Really? Asking me that? Here in the castle where anyone could hear?”
“I am not trying to steal you out from under your lord, Handy, nor asking you anything to do with your station as it is in this kingdom. I just would like to reward you for… certain activities you undertake when outside of Griffonia. Information gathering mostly,” Aleksander clarified.
“What can I uncover that your spy networks can’t?” Handy asked.
“Plenty, as it turns out. The Greenwoods, the Deer tribes to our collective South and how they work, the Lord in Winter now being able to frolic about during any old season he chooses, uncovering pervasive and dangerous sorcerous cabals that have apparently flown under everygriffon’s beak for All-Maker knows how long. The inner workings of not just one changeling kingdom but multiple, the fact that there are multiple changeling factions and your relationship thereof. I had an interesting dinner conversation with Johan about that particular topic, believe you me. Should I go on?”
“...No, I see your point.”
“Your own reputation seems to attract the various boogaboos in the underbelly of civilization and your… unique skillset gives you the means to delve deeper and obtain what most Gryphonic spy networks would kill to possess. I simply wish to capitalise on that, nothing more.” Aleksander idly scanned yet another book. It looked to be an almanac of some kind. Handy considered his words.
“The last time I accepted a job outside of my duties for personal gain, I ended up in the Greenwoods,” Handy replied, deadpan.
“Yes, you did. What, you think if you turn me down, you won’t wind up somewhere dangerous?” Aleksander asked, smiling.
“I’ll think about it,” Handy said cautiously. In the feudal system of Griffonia, the vassal of your vassal was not your vassal. He personally owed the High King zero personal allegiance or obedience, so the High King couldn’t order Handy to do so much as sweep the floor even if he wanted to. Which begged the question: “What precisely are you offering?”
“What do you want?” the king asked plainly. “Mostly, I am sure you’d be happy enough with money, but if there are other things you would like, I am sure I can acquire suitable payment.”
Handy rubbed his chin and wandered over to the nearby window. The curtains were drawn, only letting a sliver of pale natural light enter the tower.
“Well, depending on what I uncover, I imagine I would desire access to some… esoteric magical knowledge,” Handy answered.
“Oh? Thinking of taking your studies to an advanced level, are we? I thought you had just started.”
“I am actually after something specific, but would you be willing to give me access to such material if I… provided enough interesting discoveries to you?”
“Certainly,” Aleksander said without hesitation, putting down his book and facing Handy fully. The human had his undivided attention now. “Though you may want to be specific. What are you after, Handy?”
Handy was reluctant to explain it then and there. He wasn't sure if Joachim had explained the part about him actually originating from another world. If Aleksander was being this frank and upright with him so far, he might as well maximise the advantage… and make the problem Joachim’s to explain while he was at it.
“In short, I am researching a way to get home, Aleksander,” Handy explained, his voice calm and cool, “and it is not so simple a matter as boarding a boat, braving the Black Isles blockade of the Western Ocean, and sailing across the horizon. You may want to discuss the matter with my king in further detail, but suffice it to say, not everything you hear about me is simply wild rumour. I am not of this world, good king. I would very much like to return from whence I came, and that is not an easy affair.”
Aleksander’s face was impassive at that. His only movement was the slight rising and lowering of the end of his tail as he sat, which he had been doing since he had begun reading the books. He studied Handy’s face, and Handy made an effort to give nothing away.
“I am sure I can tap a few sources to help in that regard, in payment for services rendered of course. Are we agreed?” Aleksander asked, extending a claw. Handy hesitated but then reached forward to shake the large griffon’s claw.
Like shaking hands with a scythe.
“I’m glad we could come to this agreement, Sir Handy,” Aleksander said with a smile, replacing the spectacles onto his beak. “I don’t believe I shall be returning to the party. Do give my regards. I shall be remaining here until dinner, I believe.”
Handy hesitated, protocol actually making him pause for once. “I… can’t exactly leave the High King unattended.”
“No you can’t, but if I know my bodyguards…” The door to the library tower burst open, a soldier in black and gold painted armour looking around before spotting Aleksander. “...And there’s Harold, hmhm. Run along now, Handy. I assure you I’ll be quite fine once my griffons chew my ear off about running away without telling anygriffon.”
Handy left the room and walked back along the colonnade as the gaggle of flunkies and guards crowded by him to get to their errant king. He thought about the deal he had just made. It did give him a rather unreasonable amount of freedom. Nothing was preventing him from, say, not sharing any new secrets or discoveries he uncovered as he proceeded to chase after the Mistress once winter ended and it was safe to fly in the airship—he really needed to name the damn thing—but the reward to do so potentially meant another step closer to home. If he got that, then he could just forget about the Mistress, this entire damn world, and go back home.
Sure, it meant not settling the debt the Mistress owed him, namely the debt of her caved in skull, but he was certain that he could get over that someday.
Maybe.
The reality was that he was stuck here, and High King Aleksander did not say anything concrete about whether or not he could help Handy in this regard, only that he had sources. Certainly Joachim was not able to, and petty king or not, his resources were not inconsiderable, but Gethrenia had no tradition of magecraft in any serious degree beyond alchemy, and what it did have couldn’t help Handy with his problem.
He took a left turn and began the descent through the castle, back to the city below and back to his home. He had things to take care of. He thought long and hard about what the high king said, what Shortbeak had said, and what he’d need to do before he took to the air and hunted down the Mistress.