53. One Last Chance
Hoofnjord looked homier than ever. The roofs of all the buildings had been gently dusted with snow, the heavy wind preventing any serious buildup. Thankfully, the storm had stopped at some point that morning, leaving behind clear skies and a pale sun. By noon, it was almost warm. The city’s gates were barred and locked, naturally, and new guards had adopted positions at the sides.
Rye’s group, now nine ponies strong, was quite an unusual troupe. We’re just some Nordponies, down-on-their-luck, come to see the new king, maybe get a job as mercenaries. Nothing to worry about, really.
The guards halted them at the gate. The lead guard barked something at them in Sleipnordic, probably some variant or other of “state your business.” Cranberry, her hood down around her shoulders, began blithely telling the guard their story. Rye felt a twinge of uneasiness. She didn’t really look like a Nordpony. He had hoped that the effect of her blonde mane would counteract her pink coat, but in retrospect he was starting to wish he’d picked Velrim or Eberhardt to be the spokespony. He hadn’t thought any of the warriors could lie well enough to pull it off. Hindsight is twenty-twenty, hm?
She finished with a little dip of her head. The guard cast wary eyes around at the lot of them. He muttered something. Cranberry whispered out of the side of her mouth, “He says we look familiar.”
“We were here last summer, looking for work,” hissed Rye.
Cranberry passed on the explanation with a disarming smile. The guard tapped his spear on the ground. He tilted his head back and said something with a skeptical eyebrow raised. Rye cringed for a moment, then whispered, “Tell him we briefly worked for Thane Helfsmir. We went on an Aurelisk hunt with him ten years ago.” Seed lies with truth. That’s how Breyr does it, after all.
Dutifully repeating the message, while not appearing to hear him—a neat trick, he’d have to learn that—Cranberry gestured up north to the Aurelisk roaming grounds and made a stabbing motion with her hoof. The guard’s eyes lit with surprise. He bowed his head, and said, “Valyir ha, karlar se Helfsmir.” He nodded to his compatriot, and the two began pulling the gates open.
Rye blinked in surprise, then quashed a smile. He supposed one of his bluffs had to have worked eventually. The nine ponies began to enter Hoofnjord.
A sudden gust of wind blew at them from the side. Cranberry hunched her head, and Rye’s hood blew off. He blinked in irritation, pressing past the gates. Hopefully they’d be inside soon enough, and he could warm up next to the Whitestone. He looked back up to see both of the guards staring at him. No… staring at his horn.
He looked up at the pale sun and lifted a hoof in placation. “Please, Celestia. Just once, I’d like for things not to go wrong.” The guards’ spears were leveling at them. He sighed, and waved a hoof behind him. “Time for plan B.”
Plan B involved Inger, Eberhardt, Velrim, and the other four warriors subduing the unfortunate pair of gate guards in astonishingly short order, through the use of a painful-sounding series of kicks and an impressive choke-hold he’d never seen Inger do before. Plan B accomplished, the group moved inside the walls.
“Okay. We haven’t got much time. Everypony knows their job, so let’s get to it.” Rye nodded to Velrim, who barked something to his warriors. The four of them all slid out their unlit torches and split off into the streets of Hoofnjord. Rye, his friends, and Velrim all slipped into the alleyways to the west of the main road.
Rye crouched, looking at them. “We have about ten minutes before they get to their positions. Let’s get as close as we can.” Together they began flitting through the alleys, avoiding the main roads. The streets were crawling with green-robed guards today, their spearpoints glinting in the sunlight. The decorative cloth wasn’t as protective as the plain, brown Aurelisk hides Rye’s group was wearing. He cordially hoped the guards were all going numb at the extremities.
They found themselves behind a familiar building. Rye could smell the baking bread from the ovens inside, and smiled. He motioned them all against the wall, and craned out his neck with his ears perked up to listen. Two guards on the far side of the bakery were having a quiet conversation.
One… two… three… four…
He heard one of the guards sputter in alarm. There was a sound of pounding hoofsteps, quickly fading away. Rye grinned. “Timed it nearly perfectly.” He peeked his head out around the side, looking for guards. None remained in the street just outside the alleyway.
“Are you sure it’ll be enough? There are more guards than distractions.” Inger looked around, professionally paranoid.
“We just need enough time to get into the hall.” Rye tapped his hoof impatiently. There was a scraping noise, and all five of them whirled around. Rye sagged in relief as the first of Velrim’s warriors reappeared, bowing his head. His torch was gone, its duty done.
Cries rang out from the street, “Fieyra! Fieyra!” Beside Rye, Cranberry shifted uncomfortably.
“What if those were somepony’s homes?” She looked around, biting her lip.
Rye shook his head. “The buildings at the corners are the guard barracks, always. One for each quarter of the city.”
She nodded reluctantly. They fell silent for a minute before the second and third warriors returned as well, reporting their success. Guards rushed past the bakery in all directions, filling the air with panicked cries. Let’s see how you like your home burning down, Breyr.
He risked another look around the corner and caught a glimpse of a green-cloaked pony carrying a bucket of water. He rubbed his shoulder, pursing his lips. “Where is he?”
The last of Velrim’s warriors finally arrived, breathing heavily. He muttered something, and Velrim frowned. “Hammer-bearer, he warns us that he may have been followed. We should move on.”
“We’re never going to get another chance this good. Let’s make a break for it, straight for the hall.” Rye looked around at his friends. “And just in case this doesn’t work… thank you.”
Cranberry gave him a bright, sincere smile. Inger did likewise, with a short nod. Eberhardt gave a shallow bow. Velrim merely whispered to his warriors and the five of them pulled into a tight line. Rye turned around and waved them forward.
He prudently let Inger take the lead. The party burst from the alleyway onto the street, which was miraculously empty. He sent a silent prayer of thanks to Celestia, and galloped up the cobblestones to the giant doors of the hall.
Two of Velrim’s warriors bent against the doors and heaved. As the great wooden portal began to creak open, Rye looked around for the guards he felt must be coming, but all he could see were four columns of smoke rising into the air. He gave a small smile of vindictive triumph.
They pushed inside, entering the antechamber. The six guards inside jerked to attention, before realizing that the newcomers weren’t invited guests.
“Remember, don’t kill them!” Rye clamped down on his worry. He had little hope they could get through the day without bloodshed, but he was going to try his best.
Velrim and his warriors rushed forward as the doors slammed shut behind them. They knocked aside the guards’ spears and closed the distance in the blink of an eye. Rye winced as he heard the crack of hooves on armor.
The foyer was quickly consumed by the fight. He saw Inger flash past in a streak of gold, tangling with the last of the guards. Rye, flanked by Cranberry and Eberhardt, began striding past the brawling Nordponies. One of the guards soared past and crashed against the wall, followed by a roaring Aenir warrior. Rye ignored them, straining to listen.
Breyr’s melodious voice reverberated from the walls. “… a great tragedy, one that will affect us all in the coming days. With the deaths of Erik and Braki, two of Sleipnord’s greatest leaders have been taken from us in a time of crisis. And make no mistake, a crisis lies before us.”
More than you realize. Rye fixed his eyes on the council chamber doors. Faintly, he wondered why Breyr was speaking in Equestrian, before his lip curled. It seemed the thane didn’t want his guards to hear his speech.
“The hammer was, unfortunately, lost in the chaos. Perhaps their warriors carried it off in the night, but there has been no sign of it in the wreckage. But in the end, perhaps it is for the best. We should not choose our king based on superstition and myth, we should choose him by the quality of his leadership.”
A voice Rye attributed to one of the minor lords spoke. “Braki and Erik were the greatest warriors among us. With their loss, there is only one pony here capable of uniting our people. Thane Breyr, I will support you as our new king.”
Breyr’s voice was artfully tinged with surprise and gratitude. “Lord Barriden, you have my thanks. If it is the will of this thanesmoot, then I shall accept this burden.”
Rye paused at the door to the council chamber, taking one last, fortifying breath. He pulled his hood down over his head.
“This isn’t right,” came another voice. “From creation through antiquity and on into the present day, our kings have always been chosen by the hammer-bearer. We cannot break from tradition just because you demand it, Breyr.”
“Then let the hammer-bearer show himself to declare a king! He’s either fled or died, or he would stand here before you. We must choose a king ourselves.”
Cranberry nudged Rye. “Come on, you’ll never get a better straight line than that.”
Rye placed his hooves on either side of the door and leaned into it. The door swept open to reveal the green grass of the thanesmoot. He strode inside, Cranberry and Eberhardt at his sides, enjoying the hush that had fallen over the thanes.
Breyr was standing on his platform beside the door. His face twisted up in anger. “What is the meaning of this?”
Rye walked slowly toward the Whitestone, pausing and looking around. He reached up slowly and gave his hood a melodramatic tug to reveal his unmistakable horn. “Greetings, Thanes of Sleipnord.” He looked over at the door at Breyr. He memorized the look on the thane’s face, to treasure later when time allowed. “The rumors of my death are not, thankfully, true. I still have a job to do, you see.”
Breyr, doing an admirable job of keeping the shock out of his voice, said, “Hammer-bearer, you’ve survived! We thought you had been killed in the fighting! What happened in that longhouse?”
“Assassins in the night,” said Rye, lowering his voice for dramatic effect. He could see Cranberry rolling her eyes in the corner of his vision. Oh, come on, let me have a little fun. “The final step in a plan to seize the land of Sleipnord.”
He turned his head to look around at the thanes, who were all listening with rapt attention. “Ever since I arrived in Hoofnjord, I’ve felt the influence of somepony in the shadows, pulling the strings, playing against my weaknesses, trying to sway the hammer-bearer’s judgment. His plots are crafty, subtle, and delicate, but last night he showed his hoof.”
“Get on with it,” whispered Cranberry.
“When he realized that he could not take the hammer through legitimate means, he decided to eliminate the competition. He disguised his servants as warriors from Aenir and Saddlestead, and sent them to raze the thanes’ longhouses to the ground.”
“Treachery!” The thane seated next to Breyr stood, furious. “Only the weak resort to such methods. Who has done this, hammer-bearer?”
Rye spared a glance at Breyr, who was visibly sweating. He breathed deeply, savoring the moment. “His plan nearly went off without a hitch. The thanes were dead, killed, or so it seemed, by each other in an ironic duel by proxy. He was the only other pony in Sleipnord who could hope to control the loyalty of both their armies. Nopony remained to stand between him and the kingship. But he made one tiny, important error.”
He paused as long as he thought he could get away with, and then looked Breyr straight in the eye. “You didn’t make sure I was dead.”
Breyr laughed, but Rye thought he could detect a note of fear in it. “Quite the… romantic tale you’ve spun, Rye. You think I’m responsible for Braki and Erik’s deaths? Everypony here knows those two have wanted each other dead for years.”
“And everypony here knows that Braki was the last thane in Sleipnord who would employ assassins. Something you might have remembered before planting that raven insignia on your crony in the marketplace.” He tilted his head. “Tell me, do you kill everypony you hire, once their service has expired? Or just the incompetent ones?”
The thane had recovered his composure. He waved a dismissive hoof. “This is ludicrous. I won’t sit here and listen to wild accusations from an Equestrian.”
“Well, that’s amusing,” said Rye, “Considering your ancestors were Equestrian. Weren’t they, half-breed?”
Breyr’s face twitched. That’s it, jump, jump… “You’re a foreigner, and a civilian to boot. You’re no hammer-bearer, Rye Strudel, just a mutant little freak who’s found an old weapon and wants to play at politics.”
“Play?” Rye’s eyes narrowed. “I’m done playing, Breyr. It’s time to give Sleipnord a king again.”
The thane lurched forward. “You have no authority here—”
Rye’s teeth fastened on his cloak, and he ripped it off of his shoulders, baring his Aurelisk mail. He flared his wings, straightening his spine. He said a silent thank-you to Eberhardt for finally cutting some holes in the back of his armor. He swept his hoof up, bringing the hammer with it, and smashed the weapon’s head down onto the Whitestone. It lay there, motionless. “This is my authority.”
Breyr’s face had a corpse’s pallor. “This… this isn’t… you can’t…”
“Sleipnord has been disunited for too long. It’s time for you to swear fealty to your new lord.”
“Who?!” Breyr’s façade of confidence was cracking into desperation. “Braki and Erik are dead. I’m the only pony left with the influence to control both their armies, Rye, you’ve said that yourself!” He breathed in a gulp of air. “Only I can hold Sleipnord together. Only I can help you save your homeland!”
“There’s another, Breyr. Somepony you didn’t take into your calculations.” Rye’s smile twisted in anticipation. “The heir to the House of the Raven. Thane Eberhardt.”
Beside him, Eberhardt bowed to the assembly. There was a murmur as the thanes whispered to each other.
“Th—Thane?” spluttered Breyr, completely losing his calm demeanor. “Impossible. Braki declared no heir before his death, he had no sons—his line ended with him.”
“I witnessed it myself. Are you calling my word into question? Because frankly, yours is the testimony I wouldn’t trust. I’m curious, did Helfsmir actually declare you his heir? And how’d he die, anyway? Don’t tell me it was poison.”
At the word poison he heard a louder rustle pass around the room, and his smile grew wider. “You can play the game well, Breyr, but with stakes like these, you can’t slip up. And you did.”
“You can’t possibly expect… Just a common huskarl, he’s no lord! He can’t…” Breyr’s eyes rolled back and forth desperately. “He can’t even understand us right now! How’s he supposed to be our king if he can’t even speak Equestrian?”
Eberhardt gave Breyr a look as cold as the peak of Mount Jormundr. Quietly, he said, “I will thank you, Thane Breyr, to not slander your future liege lord.”
Cranberry beamed with pride in her student. Eberhardt nodded to her with a brief smile. Rye thrust out a leg, sweeping it past the thanes. “If nopony else has any objections, can we get this business over with? I have a kingdom to save.”
“Thane Eberhardt!” came the cry, and then every thane in the room began chanting Eberhardt’s name. Rye looked over near the door to see Inger, Velrim, and the other warriors from Aenir leaning against the wall. Inger had a grin on his face. The Aenir ponies looked disappointed, but accepting.
Rye turned to Eberhardt. “Kneel.” The Thane of Saddlestead obediently sank to his knees.
“Tyane Eberhardt,” said Rye, struggling to remember the lines he’d memorized with Cranberry’s help last night on the trek to Hoofnjord. “Caer vinjer diader naeren viljarian vaegar, daes vendriar illidair vaegar, caan dervidel venja serifa. Vij naor pernidilj vesama…” Blast it, I can never remember the next part, “Vermidan elnidar caridan. Vist na kerilma caer nevenda. Ter ster, ter ster se ster, dan ter vestr dan ter vestr se vestr, te saren je kendirij se Sleipnord. Je Hrafnhamarr tes se ter.”
He picked up the hammer with his hooves and knelt before Eberhardt, proffering it above his head. Eberhardt grasped the haft of the hammer with his mouth and lifted it. All the thanes in the room knelt on their platforms, bowing their heads, even Breyr.
“It is done.” Eberhardt breathed deeply, and hooked the hammer at his side, over his sword sheathe. “Rise.”
Rye stood, giving the King of Sleipnord a solemn bow. “Congratulations. Braki would be proud.”
“I know,” said Eberhardt, with a smile.
“There’s not much time left. Please, Eberhardt. Will you help us? Will you march against the griffons?”
Eberhardt placed a hoof on his shoulder. “We will. We will march: Aenir, Saddlestead, and all the rest of the holds, and join with our brothers and sisters in battle against the winged devils. We will help you, Rye Strudel se Equestria. But first,” Eberhardt looked at the thane of Hoofnjord, who had gone deathly pale, “There is a snake to be dealt with.”
* * *
A crowd had gathered at the gates of Hoofnjord to witness the exile of the traitor. Breyr, wrapped in a snug cloak and burdened with three days’ supplies, turned one last time with a beseeching look. “King Eberhardt, please. I swear, I will serve you until my dying day. I’ll march with you to war, I’ll fight against the griffons, I’ll do anything you ask of me.”
“Serve you until your dying day, more like,” muttered Rye at Eberhardt’s side. “Remember Helfsmir.”
Eberhardt glared at Breyr. “You violated the guest-right, murdered your kinsponies, tried to destroy our most sacred traditions, and killed the pony who raised me as his own while I tried to defend him. I’ll warm my thoughts tonight with the image of your frozen corpse, Snake.”
Breyr’s face fell. Bitterly, he turned his eyes to Rye. “Remember me, Rye. Today you’re soaring high, but someday you’ll wake up and everything will fall to pieces at your hooves. We’re no different, you and I. Two half-breeds in a world of whole ponies. Life will destroy you, too, Equestrian. Remember me.”
“There’s one difference,” said Rye, calmly. “You stand on top of everypony around you. Me?” He smiled. “I let them lift me up.”
Breyr snarled, and turned away. He began walking into the wasteland. His figure shrank into the distance as they watched, vanishing into the snow. Rye doubted he would ever see him again.
“It’s done, then,” said Inger. “We’ve finally accomplished our task.”
“Half-accomplished,” said Rye. “There’s still the return journey.” He looked at Eberhardt. “When do we leave?”
“Messengers have been sent ahead to Aenir—Velrim and his warriors, in fact. They’ll be ready to march by the time we reach them. Then we head to Saddlestead and pick up the other half of our main force. Then it’s on to the pass and Equestria.” Eberhardt placed a hoof on the haft of the hammer, inhaling. “We leave this afternoon.”
“More marching,” said Cranberry with a wry smile. “At least now we’re headed home.”
Rye looked up at the sun. We’re coming back, Princess. Just hold on a little longer.
Stats
Page generated in 0.036 seconds
Total duration
1,064 users online
2,133,737 hits today, 2,280,440 yesterday
FIMFiction
My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic Fanfiction
Designed and coded by knighty & Xaquseg - © 2011-2024
Follow & Support Us
Support us
SubStar
Chat!
Discord
Follow us
Twitter
MLP: Friendship is Magic® - © 2024 Hasbro Inc.®
Fimfiction is in no way affiliated with or endorsed by Hasbro Inc.®
I gotta stop publishing these at 2AM.
Anyways, I quite enjoyed writing this chapter.
1824227 I thought Rye said he was going to give Velrim vengeance aka I assumed Breyr was going to die.... but I suppose banishment is pretty bad.
1824316
"banishment" here meaning "booted out into the wasteland with a mere three days of food".
1824328 But there's not guarantee he's going to die (he should be just kicked out with no food at all)... well... wait... This is Sleipnord where Aurelisks prowl... Me Gusta the punishment now.
awesome.
>>Rye doubted he would ever see him again.
That's practically writing it in stone that Rye will see him again. :|
It is 4:30 AM where I am, and I almost woke up my entire household by cheering. It would have been both embarrasing and hilarious to explain that I was yelling because of a My Little Pony fanfic, lol. BUT FUCK YEAH, KING EBERHARDT! I kind'a sort'a halfway called it! And now they're heading HOOOOME!
Wait, no, that's too tiny for this.
images.wikia.com/mlp/images/9/9a/FANMADE_Rainbow_Dash_%22so_awesome%22_by_flowerjewel.png
Much better.
I thought they were only like 6 years old.
As for the chapter:
zannim.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/10/thumbs-up-chuck.gif
1825391
Well yeah, they were lying, obviously
1825568
Well, yeah, but a difference of three years to them would be like ten years to us. So...
Meh, i don't really care, anyway. It's a kick ass story.
great chapter, enjoyed it very much.
Banishment never works in these stories. It's like throwing a boomerang, the harder you throw it away the harder it belts you upside the head for when it comes back.
Battle of Whitetail: Battle of Helms Deep. Rye is sent to Sleipnord to get the help of the nordponies: Aragorn is sent to gain the allegiance of the ghost people. Battle of Canterlot: Battle of Mina's Tirith
See, I was right that the assassins would work out for Rye in the end. Totally called it.
1834450 I think banishment in a frozen wasteland with only three days supplies and letting everyone know he's a traitor would be pretty effective here.
I had to cup my hands over my mouth to keep myself from screaming with joy like a schoolgirl.
Well done, Rye, Oh Melodramatic One. But I'm sure we haven't heard the last of Breyr. Probably won't see him in this story, but his place in history isn't done. Exile is never enough to stop the wicked.
Now then, shall we turn our eyes southwards one more?
Hopefully you won't be too late Rye...hopefully
.