The Wanderer of the North

by Alaxsxaq

3. In the Shadow of Giants: Part 7. Reconciliation

3. In the Shadow of Giants: Part 7. Reconciliation

The herald’s blaring trumpet sounded forth across the Throne Room, signaling a very special occasion for the city of Canterlot. A host of retainers, personal attendants to the Prince, various aristocrats and knights, and even homely peasants stood on either side of the deep red carpet stretching from the double doors to the pristine Mountain Throne. Sitting tall and straight, a face of tempered solidarity, the light blue stallion who held the title “Prince” patiently awaited today’s honored guest to proceed down the length of the room.

He did not have to wait long, as mere moments after the trumpeting ceased a slim pony stepped forward from the doors, trying her very best to remain composed. In truth the mare was incredibly nervous, knowing a sea of eyes rested on her and probably hoped she’d make a fool of herself. Faint whispers found their way to her ears, relaying gossip that left the mare feeling rather out of place.

Yes, she was incredibly tall, sometimes to her embarrassment. A lifetime of wandering had left the pony ragged and tough, lacking any of the finesse or refinement most of these ponies were accustomed to. An artisan, no matter how honorable or wealthy, would always be a working class mare, unable to fully become part of the nobility. An aristocrat was born and sculpted over a lifetime of instruction and habit; such titles cannot simply be given out.

The Prince knew well of these attitudes, and when alone smirked at them. They seem to have forgotten what made a noble in days of old. Honors and grants of land were never birthrights when Equestria was a strong and united realm; they were earned. Great warriors and heroes, selflessly serving the people of the Kingdom, were most deserving of being called “Lord”. The Prince was aware that virtue lurked in the most unlikely of places, and it was a sad irony how those “common” ponies understood the noblesse oblige better than those who supposedly had been brought up with it.

Today was the day he’d been waiting for, the day he could finally present the alicorn Nikóleva before Canterlot and grant her duties and titles, burden her with responsibilities because…he knew she could handle it. Still a far cry from the Queen they all needed, Nikóleva was nevertheless about to take her first big step towards that wonderful goal.

Shortly after beginning her studies, Nikóleva proved incredibly able with her sword master. Though not yet completing her lessons, the Prince realized time was critical, and she needed to be ready. The alicorn cursed, and complained, and came up with excuses, but persuasive conversations soon convinced Nikóleva to shoulder more and more work. When the mare was not in the library, she was with her sword master. If not being tutored, Nikóleva was being drilled by her sergeant in the Canterlot Guard.

Nikóleva must learn to command, and therefore she must first learn how to obey.

Daily she galloped several miles, and walked several more. Nikóleva was taught to girt her armor quick enough to respond to any attacks on Canterlot. She marched in step, drew her sword on command, and kept her nerves controlled. The vast majority of the Prince’s forces were levies and knights, but the Canterlot Guard was the disciplined core, the small standing force charged with defending the mountain-borne keep at all costs. Weakness and complacency were not allowed.

The Prince ensured Nikóleva understood this clearly. And she then narrowed her eyes and grinned, saying “I shall fall on my sword before your banner be snatched, my Lord.” His Princeship henceforth never doubted her conviction.

Several sorties and expeditions to troublesome tribal regions hardened her further, exposing her to the nature of what the Guard did. Nikóleva was a seasoned warrior, well-acquainted with the harsh realities of bloodshed. But she needed to learn how a unit fought. A small skirmish with a pack of diamond dogs granted her first opportunity to actually lead. To her sergeant’s satisfaction, Nikóleva’s company slew the curs, suffering no casualties other than a shallow cut on her leg; another scar to bear proudly.

Through the summer she continued in the Guard, eventually being made her sergeant’s right-hoof. At the officer’s recommendation, the Prince confided with her that he wanted the alicorn to succeed the old pony-at-arms, who wished to return to his homestead. Giddy as a filly, Nikóleva happily accepted.

And though the Guard wasn’t a body of nobles but rather of paid soldiers, the Prince still felt Nikóleva needed additional standing in the eyes of Equestria’s nobility. The Princes and petty kings would receive better a peer than a simple peasant. Gracious, the mare privately pledged her services to the Prince, as his vassals were obliged to do. The Prince smiled, revealing that a more formal ceremony was necessary for a sovereign to receive an oath of fealty. Nikóleva’s ears drooped.

At this ceremony was where Nikóleva found herself. Dressed in a tailored white dress, the alicorn felt a bit odd. She’d never really worn such a garment, which admittedly wasn’t very practical in the field. But it was comfortable, custom-fitted to her slender physique. Gold silken trims adorned the waist and sleeves, adding enough color without being to overpowering. A series of pearls had been sewn into the breast and drape, glittering in the light. This dress was a gift from the Prince, and he spared no expense. He knew she’d appreciate a more minimalist approach, but with enough flare to impress the elite.

Her white hooves were covered by white-gold slippers, again rather simple but still elegant. Her mane was pulled back by a humble band of cloth, leaving her right eye uncharacteristically exposed. This made her uncomfortable, but it was to be endured. The only part of her usual appearance which remained intact was the beloved pendant she’d worn since she was five years old. An elaborate pendant or collar was customary for wealthy Equestrians, but the Prince understood how much that necklace meant, and wisely let it be.

Two gem-studded earrings completed her jewelry, and the image of a fair maiden. At first many scoffed at this mare, decrying her as disruptive to tradition, but those feelings died as she advanced down the room. Taking a deep breath, Nikóleva calmed her nerves and retained great poise. Soon the whispers weren’t deriding, but instead compliments. Young courtiers stared, admiring the homely beauty of the mare. Tall, slim, with lovely features, Nikóleva managed to inadvertently capture the hearts of unwed colts, enamored with something they’d not seen before; simplicity.

When she realized this, Nikóleva couldn’t help but quietly giggle. She possessed no intentions of taking a husband, but still she thought it flattering. Her horn had grown back, longer and stronger than ever before. Ponies saw it as a sign of good health and power, and stallions of vitality and beauty. Brimming with confidence, Nikóleva reminded herself of who she was, and why she deserved to be here.

When the alicorn of honor came to the foot of Canterlot’s throne, she first looked the Prince in the eye before bowing her neck and kneeling. A young squire she’d chosen to handle her effects soon came beside her, balancing her long and frankly heavy sword on his back. Gently, the emerald colt placed the scabbard on the carpet, and joined his senior in kneeling before the Prince.

Standing up from his throne, the Prince raised his scepter and cleared his throat.

“Ponies of Canterlot, noble dignitaries, and esteemed guests from lands beyond,” he began, keeping a kind gaze, “I am very proud to present Nikóleva, daughter of Maiëlindir, of the Canterlot Guard. For her services she has performed for the realm, for the ponies she has helped to protect, and for the good virtue she has demonstrated,” the stallion then levitated out a large blade held by his own squire. Ailéránen, the heirloom of the Canterlot lords for ages, was positioned over Nikóleva, the flat of the blade pointing down. “I, Prince Petrafyrm of Canterlot, with the power vested in me by my office, hereby grant unto Nikóleva the title of ‘Knight’, with the full rights and privileges such honors entail.”

He then lowered the sword, lightly tapping Nikóleva’s left shoulder before lifting it over her head and tapping the right shoulder. The blade was heavy, but the Prince showed no sign fatigue. “I dub you ‘Dame Wintermail, Knight of Canterlot’,” he declared in a voice worthy of a sovereign. Finishing the siring, the Prince then sheathed his sword. Thanking his squire, he then looked back at his new knight, “Now, please, recite the oath of fealty before your liege, Dame Wintermail.”

Her heart pounding, the fresh knight closed her eyes and recalled the oath. She’d rehearsed the oath a hundred times in preparation for this event, and now it was time. Licking her lips, the mare drew her sword in hoof and presented it before the Prince. “I, Dame Wintermail, Knight of Canterlot, hereby swear to Petrafyrm, Prince of Canterlot, to uphold all laws of the realm and answer its calls for defense, and to protect those in peril. I swear to remain virtuous, and to never lie, cheat, or steal. I swear to uphold conduct worthy and expected of a Knight of Canterlot. I swear to remain faithful to my liege lord until such a time comes as I am released from service or death takes me…,” Nikóleva blinked a couple times, remembering the rest of the oath, “under pain of dishonor and lawful punishment. I swear this in view of Ponies and God.

“I offer my sword as a sign of loyalty,” the Knight said before doing just that.

The Prince took the blade and started speaking once more. “I accept your service, Dame Wintermail, and may your mettle prove steadfast,” he said before making a gesture for the Knight to rise from the floor. Abiding, the newly-christened noble was presented her dark steel weapon. “Take your sword, Dame Wintermail, that you may never fail your duties,” his Lordship said in a proud baritone.

The white alicorn enveloped Eónadin in a magical aura and turned around to face the crowd. Swallowing her anxiety, and forcing her breathing into a slow and steady pace, Dame Wintermail recalled the final part of the ceremony. Steely eyed, the mare silently cleared her throat and summoned a powerful voice, one her enemies might quake to simply listen to. “As my sacred duty, I swear to use my sword for nothing other than for the defense of the Citizens of Canterlot, so long as my body is able. By my dying breath, I shall not let ruin fall upon the people of the Mountain-borne Keep!”

Nikóleva presented herself with such bravado and confidence the ponies who once mocked her fell dead quiet. In an elaborate swerving motion, the Knight retrieved her scabbard and gracefully sheathed the ancient Alicorn blade of Kings. No matter what anypony in the room felt, no matter what they did, she knew who she was: descendant of bygone glory, heiress of a legacy stretching back into the epic vagaries of time, and now a Knight in the personal service of one of the most prestigious rulers in Equestria.

Not too bad for a mere peasant northerner.

She gave a quick glance and smile at her trusted squire, and he returned the gesture, giddy just to be associated with Dame Wintermail. The two then looked back ahead at the attendants in court. Awash with a flash of heat, Wintermail still held her head high. A moment later, one, then two, then several more hooves began to stomp onto the marble floors. Cheering soon erupted, and the tall white alicorn felt whatever resident anxiety she still had melt away. The sight of so many giving her praise and congratulations proved to be nearly overwhelming, and Wintermail let loose a single tear of mirth.

Try as she might, the Knight could not help but allow her mouth to contort into a smile of pure bliss. Here and now, after decades of vagabond existence, in the Alabaster City of Canterlot, Nikóleva had finally found a place where…just possibly…she could belong.

*――――――――――S――――――――――*

Tat…tat…tat…tat

The rhythmic sound of raindrops pelting the iron helms of a dozen war-ponies was the only sound the Canterlot Guard detachment were making. The autumn rains had softened the ground, and hoofsteps were lost in the muddy mire that the countryside west of Canterlot had become. The group had been tracking a band of Diamond Dogs, as it often did in these times—and they were getting close.

Dame Wintermail, leading at the head of the company, was vigorously eyeing the footprints in the mud. A couple days’ journey had led them here into a rugged region of the Princedom. The trail seemed to run to a rocky bluff not a few hundred yards away. The Knight Commander raised a hoof, and the company stopped immediately. She took a glance back at the other eleven ponies, narrowed her eyes, and nodded.

They knew right away what to do: the four pegasi lifted off, readying their lances for good sport, while the four earth ponies used their superior speed to race off to the side of the cliff to act as the flank. Meanwhile Wintermail would lead the vanguard of three unicorns. This was a classic, but effective maneuver, and it had won more than one skirmish in the past.

Her brilliant white horn flashed with a yellow aura, and the long dark blade of Eónadin was drawn; the fate of the Diamond Dogs was sealed now. Her companions copied the action and advanced to the cliff with a steady march. As it became closer, Wintermail began to see the rocky opening of a cave; the perfect hideout for the damned mongrels. That sudden burst of emotion and the painful memories of her father filled the alicorn with a dark sense of resolve, and in kind Eónadin began to glow brightly.

Wintermail was temporarily caught off guard, as it almost felt like…her sword had…

She shook her thoughts, and steeled herself for butchers work. Stopped several dozen yards from the cliff base, the mare took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

“These weeds are choking the life out of our beloved city; let us prune the garden,” the Knight spoke to her soldiers, a cool tone with but a hint of malice.

Mere moments later, the group heard a horn blow from the cave entrance. Wintermail’s eyes narrowed; she had become sick of rain being the only sound today. The din of battle would be a welcomed change.

A small head poked out of the cave, a dull brown dog bearing a recurve bow. Nock, draw, loose, and the arrow began hurtling towards the tallest member of the company: its leader. Wintermail focused, and remembered the many lessons she’d received from the Librarian. He had taught her many spells; many were mundane, others more stupefying, but one in particular was exactly what the situation called for. Calming her nerves, she envisioned what she wanted her magic to do, and focused her energy through her horn.

The arrow slowed down to the speed of a falling leaf. “Too easy,” Wintermail thought as she unfurled her great wings, catapulting herself right at the arrow. One swift motion of her blade and the bisected shaft fell to the ground, robbed of all momentum. Another flash of magic brought the Commander’s brass horn up to her lips. The bellow was understood by all the members of her contingent, and coming from behind the dreary clouds the four pegasi lancers darted towards the cave.

Wintermail thrust her blade into the air before her and began to charge up the cliff. This was a risky move, attacking the high ground, but she was counting on a few tricks. Over ten diamond dogs viciously thrust out of the cave, bearing cruel and savage bludgeoning and bladed weapons. Snarling, they stared down their assailants.

A few recoiled a bit at the sight of the fabled “Maelinblade”. If they had the ability to retreat, Wintermail was sure they would; “Maelin” was the scourge of the Diamond Dogs. But the curs had no place to run, and she had a mission. The first overzealous dog to get near her was slashed in half from shoulder to waist, his corpse falling onto the slick rocks before begin trampled.

The fight had begun. Outnumbered, the Canterlot Guard was far superior in equipment and training. Dog after dog was impaled, beheaded, or eviscerated before the soldiers. But the Diamond Dogs had the high ground, and the weight of all of them descending on the attackers could end poorly on the slippery rocks. Enduring a blow to her steel barding, Wintermail caught the sight of her pegasi swooping into the dogs’ flank, skewering a couple.

One of her pegasi was nicked in the leg. However minor the injury, Wintermail took due vengeance and drove her blade through the dog’s lower jaw and threw him off the cliff. Blood splashed her face, and a blinding battle fury overtook her. So tall and strong, an enraged alicorn was a dangerous thing, as the Diamond Dogs learned brutally. But the vanguard was precipitously positioned near the cliff edge, and without her second trick, they could lose to poor conditions.

The rain began falling even heavier, and Wintermail cursed the weather team of the region. Just then, as if their squad leader had specifically wanted to irk her Knight Commander with the delay, the earth ponies ran out of the trees and crashed into the rear of the dogs, cutting down any cur unfortunate enough to have his back turned.

“Courage, soldiers! Cut them down but one!” Wintermail shouted over the clamor of violence and death. She then bashed Eónadin’s pommel into the nose of a silver-grey dog, an accomplished warrior judging by his facial tattoos. Falling to the ground, the miserable creature was soon subjected to the alicorn’s forehoof crashing into his rib cage, snapping most every bone. A tawny-coated mongrel eager to avenge his comrade was greeted by the dark blade cracking open his skull. A third was head-butted into a rock, his spine snapping on impact.

The slaughter didn’t continue much longer, and as ordered all but one of the dogs had been killed, either by weapons, melee, or falling to their deaths. Seeing no others to kill, Wintermail’s heaves slowed, and she levitated her ancient blade before her eyes. Blood absolutely covered the black steel, and though it could not stain the metal, it would start to smell soon enough. Thankfully she knew a spell to quickly clean the sword. The other unicorns did the same for their comrades.

Almost sick from the aftermath of battle rush, Wintermail took a seat on a small stone. Heart pounding, she looked over her gruesome work. A solemn look captured her face, and she placed a hoof over the pendant she always wore. Muttering a short prayer, she gazed out over the battlefield.

It was simply a mess. Corpses littered the ground, blood trickling into the soft earth and mixing into puddles of rainwater. Disembodied limbs, raw entrails, and the odd severed head began to attract flies. Wintermail swore she saw a couple felled dogs twitching, their final agonizing moments spent helpless in the mud. The alicorn felt her hoof twitching against a rock, a deep solemn breath escaping her lips.

Her horn lit up and the Knight’s warhelm was lifted off her head. Taking it in her hooves, Wintermail stared intently at the blood streak across the brow. Softly stroking the high decorative crest, her spell dispensed with the stains filling the bristles. A good poignant moment passed, and she raised her gaze back to the day’s work.

Nothing short of palpable…what sins ponies commit in the name of their kingdom.

A voice stirred Wintermail from her stupor. Perking her head up, the Knight Commander found it was her lieutenant Stormvane. “Pardon?” the white mare asked, donning her helmet once more.

“We have one fallen, Dame. Sky Mantle, a lancer in my wing. He fought valiantly, but suffered a wound to the chest,” the lavender pegasus said, adopting a professional tone, despite the situation.

Dame Wintermail rose up from her seat and allowed her lieutenant to lead her to the deceased soldier. The nine other members of the company were busy attending to the dead dogs, but immediately gathered into a circle when they saw their commander. There, against the cliff walls before the cave, laid the lifeless body of Sky Mantle

The pegasus had been a powerful flier, unrivaled in the guard. Young, even by the standards of Tulicëai, Sky Mantle still bore a number of scars from his service. Apart from the deep wound in his side, he looked…peaceful. Lying on his back, his wings furled up, the colt held his sword across his chest, like an ancient stone sarcophagus.

Wintermail gathered her magic and took hold of the pony. “He shall be returned to Canterlot and given a proper burial,” the Knight Commander said, beginning to walk back towards their camp, “Lieutenant Stormvane, you and the earth ponies will see to it that the Diamond Dogs are buried as well, and restrain the one we’ve captured. The rest of you lot, plunder their weapons; we can add them to the Guard’s arsenal.”

Her soldiers did exactly as ordered while Wintermail opened her wings and descended down the bluff. The faint sting of a tear pricked at her eye, but the time for weeping could wait.

The rain continued as the alabaster alicorn trekked the couple miles back to where they had camped. After the shouting and screams of battle, the day now seemed painfully silent. When she returned to the several soldiers she left to guard the supplies, the mare stepped towards the cart. Having the attendants clear a place within the vehicle, Wintermail then set down ever so softly the dead youth. She took a tarp and covered Sky Mantle, hoping not to see his poor face until the time came for the funeral.

The other soldiers removed their helmets and bowed their heads. “Somepony,” Wintermail commanded, “Who knows the old prayers, please…”

One stepped forth, a unicorn stallion, and cleared his throat, “Allfather, judge this pony’s heart to be just and true, and may Hellkeep lead him to the ever-lit fields of Heroes and Kings. May eternal glory and bliss be the reward for his sacrifice.”

A collective set of “amens” came from the other ponies, and a moment of quietude later the members of the Guard placed their helmets back on. Wintermail then rummaged through the cart, careful not to disturb her fallen compatriot, and produced a set of iron chains.

Not too long afterwards, Stormvane’s contingent returned, the earth ponies practically dragging the captured dog by his tail. All the while the cur was shouting and shrieking in his native tongue, that ugly grating noise only other Diamond Dogs could make any sense of. Wintermail approached the captive, and the mere sight of her cold stare cause the miserable lad to shrivel. A flash of her long horn and the iron chains were clasped onto the dog’s forepaws. The other end was then locked to a hitch on the cart.

The Dame unsheathed her dagger and aimed it at the dog’s neck. Cringing as the tip just barely kissed his coat, the mongrel’s face twitched in fear.

“Y-y-you’re Maelin!” he stammered, teeth chattering.

“’Maelin’?” Lieutenant Stormvane asked, standing beside her superior.

“That is the name these dogs gave my father. He grew to become their supreme dread, with his enchanted blade Eónadin,” Wintermail narrowed her eyes towards the diamond dog, “But specters that haunt the dreams of your little pups should be far from your mind now.”

A flow of tears streamed from the dog’s eyes. He looked truly pathetic, dirt caking his fur, snot dribbling from his snout…he was still a child forced to live an adult’s life. “Please…I’ll do whatever you want,” he cried, bowing his head in submission.

“We have been clearing out nests of you villains since the springtime. Why do you keep coming?” Wintermail demanded, her voice intoned with stern authority.

The dog’s breaths slowed a bit, “Before I left my village…our Shaman came before the fire pit and share with us what he’d been told. He said a God spoke to him in his dreams…said we were all promised the rich land to the east. He said filth infested it; ponies, and to claim what was ours we’d need to drive them away.”

The dog hiccupped and wiped his snout, “And the Shaman told us if we found any ‘alicorns’, ponies with horns and wings, we must slay them.”

Wintermail pressed the dagger ever so firmer, and glowered at the cur. “Please!” he shrieked, tears beginning anew, “The elders told us we needed to prove ourselves…I’d never fought before…it’s terrible. I just want…to go home…” The poor diamond dog just gazed down at the ground, his body wracking with sobs.

A twinge of pity gripped the Dame’s heart, and she lowered the dagger with a sigh. Gritting her teeth, the mare sheathed the blade. She walked to the head of the cart and began making her way back to the stone road nearby. “Come, we’d better get back to Canterlot—before this dog wets himself,” she hissed.

“What is going to happen…to me?” the dog spoke, the chains around his paws pulled taut by the newly-moving cart.

“You’re our prisoner. You will face justice for disturbing the Prince’s peace. My orders were simply to capture a single dog for questioning.”

Whether relief or dread took hold of the dog, Wintermail didn’t really much care. But did she want him to be put to death? He had probably been just as guilty of pillaging, plundering, and raping as any other member of Diamond Dog raiding bands. Yet wasn’t he obligated by the stronger and older mongrels, and had little choice other than disgrace or death? The alicorn cared not one iota for diamond dogs, but this…pup, for that’s what he was, probably had to grow up far quicker than a youth should have.

The world was good at forcing that choice, and in more ways than one he reminded the mare of herself; that was not a comforting thought.

Regardless, the only thing that mattered now was to bring the captive to his Princeship. Trotting along the cobblestone road, the band of ponies set out for the white city. The royal highways, laid in the heyday of the Kingdom, once connected ever major settlement in the land. Most were overgrown and decayed, but the ones in Canterlot were continuously maintained.

This infrastructure allowed trade to flourish in the Princedom, and made it the richest fief in Equestria. And that plentiful wealth allowed the Prince to pay his guardsponies a generous stipend. Hopefully he could create a plan to stop the influx of dogs into his lands, and trade could continue unmolested. Now that she had hired some ponies to run her shop in her absence, Wintermail needed those trade routes safe to ensure the outlying towns could get their orders!

The mares smirked, and felt the rain let up a bit. The sun broke through a part of the clouds, and soon enough the weather would become clear and pleasant. It was two days’ journey back to Canterlot, as the pony trots; no time to lose.

*――――――――――S――――――――――*

All the way, the Guard detachment saw no resistance or brigands. River pirates and roving bandit ponies had been purged from the Princedom’s borders with extreme prejudice. The Prince liked to recount the stories his father had told him, of when he and his retainers personally traveled across the fief and “dispensed justice”, as he called it. Now, the beautiful forests, turned orange in the autumn season, were all that could interest the soldiers. This wasn’t something Wintermail could complain about, and truthfully she and the other soldiers felt they’d had their fill of excitement for a good fortnight. But knowing what she did now, that raiders were interested in conquering their own kingdoms, her rest would in all likelihood be cut short.

Such was the call of duty.

As the threat of attack was ever-present, the Canterlot Guard spent its time effectively. When they weren’t marching a mandatory twenty miles daily, the troops drilled in weapons and formation. Peasant levies worked most of the year, and Knights whiled away their time with poetry and archery, but professional soldiers trained and improved. The most elite military force in Equestria was not allowed to “get soft”.

This was what Dame Wintermail was busy with on a particularly cool afternoon. The chill of winter was very near, and no doubt in the northern wilds of her homeland the first snowfall had occurred. Seeing hot puffs of breath in the air, the alicorn hoped the family she left behind was staying warm and safe.

On her return to Canterlot a few days earlier, Sky Mantle was given a burial place in the Canterlot catacombs within the mountain itself. The service was attended by many members of the guard and his grief-stricken family. The Prince himself was there, said a few kind words, and made a small donation to the affected. In private, with just Wintermail by his side, Peter removed his crown and sighed, not saying anything but a “thank you” to the mare.

Meanwhile, the diamond dog had been placed in a cell for a day. When he was brought into the throne room for judgement, Wintermail and some other members of her company, including Lieutenant Stormvane, gave testimony against him. The Guard had even managed to find one pony who had seen their raids for herself. A small green earth pony tearfully recounted how her home had been set ablaze and her possessions stolen.

It moved her to the point of aching, but Wintermail had seen and heard the same thing so many times it had ceased to shock her anymore.

Having heard the plea from the dog, the Prince called the Dame up to the throne. He commented to his confidant that the accused had committed theft and murder, crimes that warranted death. He expressed hesitance however, for the same reasons as the white alicorn. She whispered into his ear, saying the dog was compelled to act by the expectations of his community. He was guilty, but perhaps he could serve a different purpose.

The Prince agreed, knowing exactly what Wintermail was suggesting. He stood up and raised the scepter. “Young diamond dog,” his voice echoing in the chamber, his gaze commanding respect throughout the court, “Your crimes, by the laws of the Princedom of Canterlot, warrant death.” The poor pup trembled, his mouth quivering. The Prince continued, his stern look never softening, “But, I shall commute your sentence. You are free to go, and I shall grant you a Writ of Protection. A detachment of my guard shall escort you to the border.”

The dog immediately dropped to his knees, “Bless you, your majesty! I shall tell all my people of your—“

The Prince cut him off, his voice too powerful for the sniveling cur, “In exchange, you shall return to your tribe, and tell them no diamond dog shall set foot within my realm. Any attack on my people will be repaid with fire and steel.”

The dog kowtowed before the Prince, and was escorted out of the room. He had been given a day to rest, and a room to stay in until he left the city, guarded by soldiers of course. At the conclusion of court that day Wintermail had asked to speak to his Highness.

“No doubt those curs will take your warning as a challenge,” the Knight voiced, having tried to orchestrate a gambit.

But the Prince was steps ahead of her. He had given her a sly smirk and took a sip of hot tea, “I know. They won’t be able to muster their host before winter, and come the thaw we’ll be ready.” He dismissed the pony-at-arms, and ordered her to beginning drilling the troops the next day.

Now standing out in the mustering grounds within the city, the Knight Commander obliged her liege, and shouted orders at her soldiers. Arranged in a formation, five ranks by four columns, the troops marched to a perfect beat. “Halt!” Wintermail mandated, and the company stopped dead in its tracks. The group was composed of unicorns; military units in Canterlot were ideally organized around race to increase cohesiveness and maximize the impact of each’s abilities.

“Draw!” and each soldier drew their sword with magic. “Advance!” and the twenty marched forth to a line of straw-filled dummies. Her troops a few yards away, Wintermail raised her own blade. “Att—“ her final order was cut off by the intrusive sound of hoofsteps on cobblestone. Turning back, the giant mare could easily see over the fence closing off the training quarter. A collection of several dozen ponies were being led by a few guards.

Refugees; ponies welcomed into the city hoping for protection from raids. Wintermail sighed and shook her head. Come springtime, she’d make it her mission to find every raider in the realm and put them to the sword. Dozens of villages had been affected, and sooner or later the city would not be able to take on anymore ponies.

The mare almost turned her head back to her troops, but something caught her attention. In the cluster of refugees, a single member stood high above the rest. Dwarfing the burly stallion guards, a dark dirty unicorn approached one of them and started shouting. The mare grew curious, and ordered her soldiers to disperse and practice weapons drills. Flapping her huge wings, Wintermail cleared the fence and trotted up to the crowd.

From a distance, the unicorn’s features were difficult to discern. He was male, with a long horn and ruddy coat. She could begin hearing his voice amidst the other ponies, and she smirked at his gruff Northern accent. It reminded her of Poneva and especially Evergreen, though at the time she hadn’t recognized his speech as being “northern”. A moment of nostalgia bit at her before she produced another thought.

What was a northerner doing so far south? Curious…

From what she gleamed, the towering stallion wanted to see the Prince, and was not too keen on waiting or taking “no” for an answer; he’d be in for a rude awakening. Wintermail was preparing to return to her soldiers when the alicorn realized something…that voice sounded awfully familiar.

She spent a few good moments searched the confines of her mind. Who oh who did that voice remind her of? Was it…no…not him either…wait! The realization shocked her to the core, and she stood frozen with a growing trembling welling inside her.

“My God…,” she muttered, involuntarily creeping towards the stallion, barely conscious of her surroundings. The unicorn must’ve seen her approaching, for he interrupted his conversation with the guard to flash a sneer.

“What do you want?” he asked, turning his head back to the guard before immediately snapping to Wintermail. It was unmistakable: he was covered in dirt and his mane messy, but she’d recognize it anywhere. An orange coat, dulled with age, and a brown mane flecked with streaks of grey. Most tellingly the stallion possessed an eye of deep blue, but only the left one; the other was covered with a black patch.

The two stood motionless for what seemed like forever, and a few tears dripped down the mare’s cheeks. Had divine designs brought them here together, and if so was it for good or ill? The stallion stepped out of the throng, and kept staring at the mare, who still stood motionless as a statue.

A foot apart, the two never broke their gaze. He raised a hoof and reached for Wintermail, but stopped partway. “Nikóleva…?”

The white alicorn blinked a few times before producing a crooked smile, “Henarion?”

With the full weight of a giant pony, the orange alicorn threw himself on top of the white one, and crushed his forelegs around her with all the might he could muster. Shaking, the stallion wiped some tears on the mare’s pristine coat. He then grabbed her head and kissed her on the cheek.

Still holding her face, Henarion’s countenance transformed into a grimace. Raising a hoof, the stallion swung it at her. “The hell’s the matter with you!” he shouted, his voice breaking.

Nikóleva rubbed her cheek, gnashing her teeth, “Owww…you’re wearing shoes…” Immediately some of the guard drew weapons and rushed to apprehend their superior’s assailant. The Knight stopped them with a hoof, “It’s alright; I deserved that…”

“Yea you did!” Henarion shot, regaining his composure, “Thirty-six years! Thirty-six years you’ve been…wandering about doing Lórian knows what, while I’ve been tending to your sister! I promised your father I’d protect his children, and then you—“

“I know!” Nikóleva interrupted, hanging her head low, “I am so…so sorry. I…don’t really know what to say.”

Henarion raised an eyebrow and then sighed, “Well the important thing is you’re safe. And it seems you’ve done pretty well for yourself,” he remarked, gesturing at the vest she wore with a small broach indicating some sort of status. Henarion didn’t know what exactly.

“Indeed I have. I’ve found service here with the Prince of Canterlot,” she smiled.

“Perhaps you’ve been tamed; you even talk like a Southerner,” and there was the cantankerous old stallion she remembered. His northern accent really was very pronounced; had she once talked like that?

“What are you doing here? In the city I mean.”

“I wish to speak with the Prince. My homestead suffers attacks every month or so. We drive them off but I’m interested in a more…long lasting solution.”

Nikóleva gave a puzzled look, “I’m afraid his Highness would not be able to send an expedition northwards past the mountains—“

“We don’t live there no more. Dogs made it dangerous, had to leave. Moved onto some empty land half a day’s journey from here.”

Nikóleva’s ears perked up; had…her sister traveled south with him? Was she…so near as well? “Well if you’d like an audience, I can arrange that. In fact,” she continued, a nice idea coming into her head,” you can be my guest, and stay in the castle for a time.”

Henarion snickered, “Yeah, like I’d want to live like some stuffy aristocrat. You’ve gone soft.”

Nikóleva’s gazed narrowed, and a field of magic gathered around Eónadin’s hilt. “Never.”

The stallion grinned, “I can just see your father scowling at me, turning down hospitality.” He brought a fetlock up to where his right eye had been and rubbed it. It still gave him trouble from time to time, especially in wet weather. Nikóleva winced, wondering how strongly he still held that against her. “Very well. Then I’m heading back to my home; gather a few things. Come with, I think there’s somepony who’d like to see you.”

The mare knew exactly whom he spoke of, and she took an involuntary step backwards, stammering, “I…I…I’m not sure…perhaps it’d be best if I waited in the city…I have duties.” Henarion narrowed his good eye, the look having an otherworldly-hold on Nikóleva. “Alright,” she acquiesced.

A flick of his head and the orange stallion turned to the direction of the gate. Dame Wintermail ordered one of the guards to notify the Prince she’d be taking leave for a little while. He’d be annoyed, but she boldly decided to deal with that when the time came.

Her status as an officer in the Canterlot Guard gave her a number of benefits, chief among them quick and easy access through the city gate. Most guards knew her face, and all she had to do was call out to the gatekeepers to pass through. At a brisk pace the pair set forth down the road, Henarion leading the way.

And while following the stallion, Nikóleva noticed something: he didn’t have his awkward gait. All the time she’d known him, he had that limp. She questioned him about it, and Henarion explained that a few years after she left, the pain subsided. By now it was gone altogether, and he could now actually gallop! When asked why he thought it happened, he chuckled and remarked, “Probably you who was giving me bad joints.”

The trip lasted until sunset, and the countryside was gorgeous. Having come from the west the other day, Nikóleva got to enjoy a journey a little north, up into the hills and valley. The shallow gorges were absolutely breathtaking, the orange and yellow forests lit up by the glow of the sun-setting sky. Sometimes Nikóleva was so busy she didn’t get a chance to enjoy the scenery, and walking out here in the open wilderness reminded her just how much she adored the season.

The two didn’t speak much, besides the odd comment about the sights here and there. Henarion was really hoping to surprise the mare with what he had at his homestead. A lot had changed in the thirty years of estrangement, and there was so much to catch up on, but it could wait until after they got to the house and sat down for a good country meal.

As the sun sat low, clouds lit up a vibrant orange, the ground beginning to wash over with a nightly blue, Nikóleva saw atop a lone hill a small stone hovel. It reminded her very much, uncomfortably so, of the cottage she had grown up in. Stone and mortar walls were arrange in a rectangular shape, with a small outcropping off to the side. A steep thatched roof for shedding the impending snows sat atop. Around the house a low wooden fence rested, and tree stumps dotted the cleared area. A storage shed and barn house, built with the same techniques, stood off to the left.

From their vantage point, Nikóleva swore she saw a small face in the window. A moment later the door opened and out came a small colt, colored blue with an aqua mane. As he approached, running headlong, Nikóleva noticed he possessed both wings and a horn. The little feathered appendages were still too small to do more than flutter about, but he flared them out with electric excitement.

“Papa!!” he screamed, the smile on his face stretch from ear to ear. Five feet away he leapt up in air into Henarion’s embrace, causing the old stallion to roll back. He cradled the colt in his forelegs, kissing him. The young alicorn giggled, nuzzling who Nikóleva now realized was his father.

After the two calmed down, the colt bounced off onto the ground and looked up at the white alicorn who had been standing silent off to the side in thought. He came up to her feet and gazed up, eyes bugged out. For what would not be the last time, the colt marveled at the towering mare and held his mouth agape.

“My son, Eldowas,” Henarion said, picking himself up off the grass.

“Pleased to meet you, Eldowas,” the mare craned her neck and smiled, caressing his mane with her hoof, “My name is Nikóleva.”

The colt beamed, and did a little dance around her legs. Nikóleva then brought her head back up and turned to Henarion. “Who’s his mother? Is it…Taber—“

Henarion made no attempt to hide the look of absolute disgust on his face, “What? Of course not! Heavens no! My wife is inside, probably preparing dinner. She expected me to not return until tomorrow; I hope it don’t upset her that she now’s got two more ponies to feed.”

The stallion then nudged his son forwards, “Eldowas, go inside and tell your mother I’m home. And bring Aunt Taby out. Tell her there’s somepony to meet her.” The colt did as he was told, sprinting all the way.

“’Aunt’?” Nikóleva grinned, raising an eyebrow.

“An old stallion like me traveling with a young pretty mare like your sister? Ponies start to ask questions. Was easier to tell them I was her uncle, and easier for Eldowas to call her Aunt.”

Just then a pit formed in Nikóleva’s stomach. This was really happening; any moment now her sister, the mare she’d failed, she’d hurt, would come through that door. Shaking with anxiety, thoughts swarmed in her mind. Her breaths quickened, and she began stepping backwards.

“Perhaps…this was a mistake…,” she squeaked out, “I’ll just wait in Canterlot.”

But hoof stopped her from going any further. Henarion said nothing, only looked strongly at the mare. His expression was stern, but with a warm undertone to it. She remembered that expression from her youth, one that said “You can do this.”

It didn’t make her feel any better.

But running away was no longer an option, as just then the door opened. The spry colt hopped out, standing beside the door as a taller, darker blue alicorn emerged. Nikóleva remarked the other mare; she hadn’t changed much at all. Still that beautiful shade of midnight blue, a periwinkle mane cut short and kept neat. Her figure was thin and pleasant.

Eldowas pointed a hoof at the white mare, and Henarion walked towards the home, whispering something into the dark alicorn’s ear before taking his son with him back into the cottage.

Nikóleva’s sister approached. It was her, actually her! It had been such a long time, and almost every night she had a dream about her, about all the horrors she made her endure. Not a day passed without a sigh of regret, or the longing to see her baby sister once more. But she knew that couldn’t happen. She would only hurt little Taby again, and Nikóleva felt it best to just let it be.

She broke into a sweat, and her left forehoof began shaking so much she had to hold it down with the other. A nervous shivering echoed through her being, and the lump in her throat was unbearable. Her sister was closing the distance, and all the while Nikóleva was trying to think of something to say, anything at all.

Ten feet away, the blue alicorn’s eyes scanned the alabaster mare before her, an undecipherable look dominating her visage. Nikóleva knew it! She hated her, and would probably thrust a dagger into her chest! Or worse yet yell and scream, hurling quite correct accusations of being a terrible sister and a failure. She should have never come here; Nikóleva didn’t deserve to stand in the presence of such a sweet and innocent pony, when she’d committed grave sins in her life of wandering.

Moments passed and still Nikóleva had nothing to say. What could she say to make her only sister not hate her? She had left her to the mercy of those diamond dogs, and then abandoned her family. She should have returned sooner—no, she should not have come in the first place! She should have just ignored Henarion and continued on letting them think she was dead. They’d be better off.

Her mind ablaze, Nikóleva still watched her sister, trying to read something from her. The blue pony stepped forward again, slowly as if she were approaching a feral dog. Nikóleva was ready to suffer a beating, or a horn into her neck. Gritting her teeth and squinting her eyes, she steeled herself for just retribution, the due punishments for—

A force impacted the white alicorn. A pair of lips pressed against her cheek, and forelegs wrapped across her chest. The blue mare, her sister Taberanyn, nuzzled into that white coat and cried. She hiccuped and wiped her eyes on the fur. It was an ugly sob, but one of pure joy and relief. Through her spasms bouts of laughter erupted. Taberanyn was happier now than ever before in her life: she had her sister back, after all this time.

Nikóleva was so overwhelmed by emotion, so charged by the anxieties she given herself, that she could do nothing but respond in kind. Standing motionless for a good moment, her eyes burned now as her own tears mixed with Taby’s. She kissed her forehead and cradled her sister, like she use to when she was just a tiny foal.

Finally, the Wanderer of the North was home.

*――――――――――S――――――――――*

The ever-present ambiance of scribbling suddenly stopped, and the purple mare who’d been producing it brought a hoof up to her misty eyes. What she had just heard Celestia recount sent a warm glow into her heart, and Twilight was oh so eager to learn what happened next.

Already Celestia’s story had been full of laughter and tears, life and death. Some hundred pages had been filled in her book, and these were simply notes! Twilight couldn’t wait until the Princess was done with her tale, because afterwards Twilight could compile it into an actual book. It’d be a best seller for sure!

A lone, deep yawn escaped the smaller pony’s mouth, and she rubbed her eyes again. Stay awake!

The white pony, Princess Celestia, had taken a moment’s pause after saying the last part of her narrative. Standing silently in front of the window, she studied her reflection whilst sipping from a cup of tea. How old was she? Eleven—twelve centuries…right? Or close to it; she stopped counting after the first five or so. She didn’t look a day over one-hundred and fifty. However long it might be, life was still finite; one needed to use it wisely.

Her student’s yawn brought her back to the present. Levitating up a napkin, she wiped her mouth and set the teacup and saucer onto a table. A glance at the clock caused the white mare to widen her eyes. It was late.

Celestia saw Twilight’s expression, and produced a small giggle, “You won’t like this, but it’s high time you went off to bed.” Celestia gave off her own yawn, purposely exaggerated and theatrical.

Twilight’s face fell, but she could probably agree with that. Closing her book and capping the ink bottle, the purple mare put away her things into her bag and stood up, walking to the door. On the way she too took a look at the clock, “Perhaps we have been at this a while…seems like I’ve spent an eternity in here—not that I minded!”

Celestia blushed softly, flashing a nervous grin, “My apologies; I have a tendency to drone on sometimes. This is as much for me as it is for you.” Ever polite, the white alicorn opened the door, “Tomorrow I’ll begin a whole new chapter to the story, filled with feats of daring, romance, and treachery!” Her horn glowed, creating a spectacle of small lights, resembling those on the marquis to a Manehattan stage show.

Twilight Sparkle rolled her eyes, heading out of the room, “I think you’d best get some sleep, Princess.”

“Very well, Mother,” Celestia mocked, craning her neck down to punctuate her bratty retort. Immediately she returned to her normal gravitas, “Good night, Princess Twilight.”

The purple mare just yawned and smiled back, the door closed behind her.

Celestia stood by herself for a moment, deciding she wasn’t quite tired enough to go to sleep. The events she’d just recounted popped back into her mind, and she thought about her dear sister and all the times she’d wronged her.

An idea generated in her head, and she sifted through her mental catalog of spells. Which one was it…oh yes! Focusing on the magic, Celestia let her magical senses emanate through the castle. It was an incredibly advanced spelled; something most never even knew about, let alone utilized effectively. A few seconds later she found her target.

Then, threading a pathway through the fabric of creation itself, she strained her mental faculties to conduct telepathy. At last her considerable efforts paid off.

“Luna! Are you currently busy? Would you perhaps…like to go dine someplace in the city? My treat.”

A time of silence passed before she received her reply, “…You could have just sent a letter…”

“I didn’t…want Twilight to sense it. This will be a…’sister’ activity.” Celestia thoughts were becoming labored and a tad clouded, “Ahh…I have a headache now.”

The white alicorn could feel her sister rolling her eyes and sighing. Again a few seconds later Luna’s thoughts came to Celestia’s mind, “I’ll meet you in the courtyard.”

End of "In the Shadow of Giants"

Comments

[crossed]

Oddly reminds me of the youtube channel ExtraCredits, just looking over the desc.

[Starlight Nova]

I'm confused. Is this a sequel or not?

[Kalizecora]

Thank you for another wonderful chapter. Please keep them coming.

[gakposter]

It's alive! IT'S ALIIIIVE!!!

[Alaxsxaq]

8475378
I assume you are referring to a sequel of De Surgente Cadenteque Alicornuum, in which case not really so much a sequel as a continuation. Think of the former story as a proof of concept pilot. This is the actually show.

[Alaxsxaq]

8475466

[Interloper]

I'm so glad she found her family. I won't lie, I teared up a little bit when Nikoleva found her little Taby again.

[Blewfire]

It was great to see this story get an update. This chapter had a lot in it and was very enjoyable.

[Alaxsxaq]

8477199
I'm very glad you think that! I was afraid my readers would find the quality to be lacking after such a long hiatus.

[Alondro]

I swear this in view of Ponies and God.

And, lo, Alondro didst hear her vow.

(He is a firm believer in going whole-hog with delusions of grandeur.)

[Alondro]

A moment later the door opened and out came a small colt, colored blue with an aqua mane. As he approached, running headlong, Nikóleva noticed he possessed both wings and a horn. The little feathered appendages were still too small to do more than flutter about, but he flared them out with electric excitement.

“Papa!!” he screamed, the smile on his face stretch from ear to ear.

Ah, and now the tear-jerk bait rears his head! This kid is SOOOOOO gonna die horribly.

I know my genre-savvy rules! His body shall be crushed and broken, splattered upon innumerable steps up to the top of melodrama!

[FiredragonX]

That was cute!

[IMFoalishFace]

God, this is a high quality story. I don't know why I haven't been keeping up...

[Alaxsxaq]

9092637
Thank you kindly. In all fairness I did take a two and a half year hiatus.