• Published 26th Jan 2014
  • 48,008 Views, 6,079 Comments

Bad Mondays - Handyman



A particularly stubborn human is lost in Equestria and is trying his damnedest to find a way out, while surviving the surprisingly difficult rigours of life in a land filled with cute talking animals. Hilarity ensues.

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Interlude - Sands, Shores and Simple Things.

King Johan the Blackwing, first of his name, slammed the goblet on the desk, the honeyed mead sloshing and spilling over the edge and staining the pages of the terribly worded missive he was preparing to send. He sighed and rubbed his forehead, pinching the edges of the sheet in his claw and lifting it. The ink ran in black rivulets in the soaked parchment, obscuring the words.

He grimaced. It was probably for the best anyway. The letter had been a… strongly worded response to Archduchess Gertrude Widewing, one of King Goldtooth’s more important vassals. One with an uncomfortably large number of professional troops on the border of some of Johan’s more vulnerable lands and vassals, and one that had been rightly getting under his gizzard as of late.

He sighed, swallowed his pride, and begun again, this time writing a much more politely worded reply, complete with gentle complements and subtle suggestions, all the while giving very real methods of addressing her concerns and issues surrounding her borders with his demesne.

Frankly, the old hard-bitten whore could go to Tartarus to work as the glorified guard dog’s shit-shoveller for all he cared for her and her insinuations regarding his parentage, but the game of politics wasn’t won by losing your patience. He had learned that the hard way. He had acted… rather rashly to King Goldtooth in the wake of Handy’s death and the debacle of the Fall Festival weeks ago, having said quite a lot of things he shouldn’t have. Ever since then, he had regretted his actions. Trade was closed down on orders of King Goldtooth, extra taxes on his subjects traveling or working in Firthengart lands, retaliatory actions by his own nobles, followed by retaliation by Firthengart’s nobles. It was quickly running the risk of getting out of his claws as escalation built upon escalation and Goldtooth refused to respond to his missives.

Troops moved from garrison to garrison on both sides, a lot more border patrols along forests and old roads by groups of knights, ostensibly to keep subjects safe from monstrous wildlife. Certainly they were not scouting out the best supply routes or path finding for potential army advances. Why, that would be preposterous. It was nothing too overt, just plenty of scabbard rattling. Then the ponies started taking notice, letters from the princesses that he simply had to ignore or risk making it appear as if he had no control over his nobility.

And because of the unpleasantness between the two kingdoms, nearby griffon kingdoms and freeholds were getting distinctly nervous, particularly Queen Firetalon of Herinfal, who was stuck between Gethrenia and Firthengart on two sides and the Skyhater mountains at her back. Doubtless she was sending alarmed missives to anygriffon who would listen to try to help calm things down and raising troops of her own just in case things got uncomfortably exciting.

Then there was Countess Heartfire's speech.

The old harpy of a pegasus had whipped up a lot of patriotic fervour among her lessers and her greaters on the Equestrian border, south of Firthengart. Citing the troubling military movements within the kingdom that had nothing to do with Equestria, she claimed the griffons were acting in an aggressive manner and that loyal Equestrians must not show weakness. In their turn, Equestrian dukes and barons along the Griffonian borders from the Skyhater mountain range to the Greenwood forest had started building up there, prompting King Goldtooth to do likewise on his side of the border. Likewise cutting off trade on that border, the Equestrian Express freight train has been locked down in the free city of Emeraldshire for days now. If it remained there much longer, things were only going to get worse. More griffons and ponies would be missing out on trade that had been keeping them going; taxes were going to be missed; more nobles great and small along the border would be forced to accede to the demands of their people and powerful guilds to clamour for their sovereigns to do something about it. He could not fathom why the countess deliberately exacerbated this mess. It was only hurting her own economy; she had to have known that. What could she possibly gain from bending the ears of dukes and lesser princes to a fruitless confrontation?

And because of all of that nonsense, the Equestrian nobles in the north, just south of the Crystal Empire and on Gethrenia’s relatively small border with Equestria, were following their more southern kin’s example and rattling their own sabres, forcing Johan to move troops to that border to appease his own powerful nobles. Worse than that, High King Aleksander was sending rather politely worded enquires that could basically be boiled down to, ‘What the fuck is going on? You two are being idiots. Stop it!’ And he had been trying, oh All-Maker how he had been trying to rein things in.

It was all very, very, very stupid and very much all his fault. So with all these concerns, his nobles and Goldtooth’s nobles rattling sabres, Goldtooth being a passive aggressive old coot with far too much pride and far too little sense, his griffon neighbours getting shifty, the Equestrians being silly, and the High King himself breathing down his neck, one could tell why he had practically no patience for Archduchess Widewing’s petty attempts to get under his feathers.

He finished the new letter, formed the seal with candle wax, pressed down with his signet ring, and put it off to the side. He wiped his ring. It was getting a lot of use this month. He leaned back and rubbed his tired eyes. “Damn it all… I should’ve kept my beak shut. I shouldn’t have…”

He sighed and brought the candle closer and another blank parchment. He needed to reconcile with Goldtooth and quickly. If only the old bastard would answer him, they could avoid a needless, baseless catastrophe emerging over some heated words! Gethrenia likely couldn’t stand in a straight war with Firthengart. It wasn’t the most populous kingdom, but they had more griffonpower than he had, and an inter-griffon war between two kingdoms on borders with Equestria would just invite some opportunistic nobles to ‘secure their interests’ and All-Maker knows where that would end up.

“Just give me a sign… anything. This is a nightmare…”

“Your Majesty—”

“HOLY SHIT!” Johan shouted in alarm, falling back off of his chair and rising up, wings outstretched and claws held forward, eyes wide and alert, darting around the room for the source of the voice. The door to his study burst open and his guards came storming in, spears levelled as they immediately surrounded their king and began searching the room without so much as a word.

It was good to see Shortbeak was taking her new position as Lady Marshal seriously. Pity no amount of armoured, grim-faced griffons could keep the voice away.

“Your Majesty, don’t be alarmed. I mean you no harm.” Joachim lowered back down onto the floor, still looking about nervously, the guards didn’t seem to react to the voice. “In fact, I bring news.”

“Majesty?” the guard nearest to him asked.

“I’m… I’m fine thank you. Just… jumping at shadows.” The guard nodded and ordered his brethren out, offering to stay with the king. Joachim simply shook his head and ushered him out. “Who are you?”

“A long story, but for now, I am Wildwood.”

“Uh-huh…” Joachim said, talking to air, hopefully not loud enough to be overheard beyond his door. He didn’t need griffons making assumptions now. He carefully checked the wards around his room that the court wizard had created. They were working fine. This wasn’t changeling magic at least. “And where are you?”

“The Greenwoods,” it replied simply. Joachim stopped and raised an eyebrow.

“That’s… quite far away. How are you talking to me now?”

“Magic of course!” it said with a chuckle, clear and warm as if he were standing not a foot away from him.

“Obviously, but how?”

“That would be telling, your Majesty.” Joachim snorted. “Is there something the matter?”

“No no, that just… reminded me of something. And what do you want with me, oh mysterious voice of the forest?”

“Several things, but none of which matter right now and this is exhausting. I have come to deliver a message for now, nothing more.”

“Well, out with it. I have a lot to do,” Joachim said, making plans to have himself checked by his wizard for magical influence, his chaplain for possession, his apothecary for any delirium he might have ingested, and a nice chat with that pony academic who had that funny theory that you can solve problems with a griffon’s psyche by talking to them, perhaps finding a cure for madness. And not necessarily in that order. It was probably a bad idea to entertain one’s own madness, but he felt it best to ride this episode out first. It was kind of sad – he always thought he’d be harder to crack than this.

“And no, you are not mad.”

“Aha!” Joachim said triumphantly. “If you weren’t in my head, how could you know I was thinking that?”

“Because everydeer thinks that when I talk to them like this, and it is very tiring to go through the same song and dance each time. If you’d like, your Highness, write to a pony by the name Fancy Pants of the noble house of Blue Iron. He can confirm that you are not mad. Now, the message if you please?” The voice was polite and kind, but he could hear the strain behind it. He paused for a few more seconds before relenting. He nodded and vocalized his approval to hear the message.

He sat there and listened to it. It was quite short and to the point, and he wasn’t sure what to make of it. He asked for it to be repeated, took some notes, rubbed the bridge of his beak, refilled his iron goblet, drained it, and refilled it again. He splashed his face using the water basin, asked the voice if it was sure, did some pacing, and sat down with a sigh as the gears in his head turned and turned and turned and then finally jammed.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE’S ALIVE!?”

--=--

“That… was awful.”

“It was only a short trip, milord.”

“It was still awful,” Desias insisted, and with long suffering patience, Steel Sands resisted the urge to roll her eyes. The orange pegasus shifted her wings. The desert wind was gentle today, but getting the sand out of her feathers was going to require a thorough washing and preening. Returning to Concordia in short order after the debacle of the tournament was a relatively painless affair. A quick jaunt by train and then by merchant airship, and a little over a week and a half, they were back in Bardinburgh. Although one look at the map and the sheer distance they travelled, one would think they were using some kind of magic to speed their journey. Nopony should’ve crossed that distance in anything less than a month, regardless of whether they were using an airship or a train.

In truth, they sort of had. The merchant had been using illicit crystals to increase the output of his steam engines to dangerous levels. Desias was willing to overlook the matter if it meant getting home faster, and the less time they spent flying over sandy dunes under the merciless sun, the better.

Such a shame the princesses gave him such a drilling over everything that had occurred in the tournament and their part in it. He had to divulge what he had been attempting to achieve, which had somehow placated Princess Rosetta, much to the confusion of her daughter. That alone probably saved him from suffering a much worse fate than being the foalsitter for the ambassador. Nopony liked having to deal with the rats of the Seven Republics in the dagger coast, let alone the self-important twerp they sent to replace the last hoary, old bastard who negotiated on their behalf.

She shifted in her barding uncomfortably and grimaced. It had been awful. The ambassador had sent them flying, this way and that, after his incredibly expensive hat after it had gotten caught in an upwind near an airship port tower. It was a purposefully hideous gift by the princess herself that he nonetheless adored. Rats had incredibly garish tastes by and large, and his enjoyment of it led to a favourable terms in a trade deal because of it. So yes, the noble knight of the kingdom of Concordia and his steadfast shield bearer had traversed dune after dune and even a refuse pile, getting stuck in sand and mud and filth and getting exhausted in heavy armour under the merciless sun.

All for the sake of a hat to keep an ambassador happy so as to not screw up a trade deal.

Steel Sands could begin to appreciate Desias’ dislike for the trade guilds and their influence on the court. She shook herself out of her reverie when she realised her lord had been talking to her. “I beg your pardon, milord?”

“I said what do you want to drink?” the sphinx asked, gesturing to a water house with thumb of one paw while untying his galea and bridle with another. She briefly noted with jealousy the ease with which he did that.

“Are we not still on duty?”

“Not with his pretentiousness on his way back to the republics we’re not. Come, it has been a long day and this is as good a spot as any. We could do with the shade.”

“I do not feel at ease not reporting back to the High Militant, milord. Perhaps we should—”

“Ah ah ah, you’re always so serious, Sands. You’ll die too young if you keep going like that. You want to make knighthood before your twenty-second after all, don’t you?”

“Of course but—”

“Then you’re going to need to relax. You’re a fine warrior, Sands, you’ve certainly proved your worth, low birth or no. But there’s more to being a knight of the realm than simply being very good at murdering an opponent. You need to understand ponies.”

“I don’t see what can be achieved by fraternization. Is it not all about duty?” she asked. Desias frowned at her before sighing.

“If you do not know what you are fighting to protect, how can you put your all into it? What is the meaning of honour if it has never been tested in the face of the temptations of everyday life, let alone the horrors of the battlefield? For Rosetta’s sake, I have not even seen you so much as talk to any friends. What do you do with your time off?”

“I am a shield bearer, I do not have time that is not–”

“Yes yes yes, I know your oath. I was there when you swore it to me. But you know I give you plenty of time to yourself. What do you do?”

“I… spend time honing my skills and… other things.” Desias raised an eyebrow and Steel Sands looked around the marketplace for ideas. Salvation could not be found as citizens of Bardingburgh went to and fro, hooves and paws clattering along the sun-brick floor. The delicious smells of cooked meat came from stalls, the shouts of merchants and touts advertising wares and the endless chatter of shoppers browsing the markets filling the bazaar with senseless noise, all in the shadow of the tarpaulins keeping the sun off of them all and hiding the mile high spires for which the city was famed. “Cooking! And cleaning and repairing storm damage… and… other chores that… need to be done.”

“I’m sorry, I thought I was training a future knight, not a scullery maid.” Desias rubbed his face, smudging the dirt that marred it. “Your dedication to your duty is admirable, and you will make a fine knight someday. I could even see you becoming landed. Perhaps even by a count or better, but for heaven’s sake, girl, you’ll wear yourself out at this rate.”

“I agree.” Both of them jumped at the voice of the High Militant. You’d think you would notice the most senior military commander in the kingdom sneaking up on you, but that would be quite silly of you. That would be assuming said person went around with at least a small honour guard. She didn’t.

She emerged from the crowd, having lingered by a stall around the corner of a short intersection near the pair of them and had evidently been listening in. She threw the hood off of her, revealing her bright pink fur and dark purple mane. Kept shorter than most mares but definitely longer than females in the guard, unlike them, she was accustomed to not wearing a helmet in battle. Bright purple irises regarded the pair of them calmly as she walked over to them. She was big for a pony, and the armour she perpetually wore distorted her figure even more. Something that was exacerbated by the simple tan cloak she wore that covered her back and flanks, hiding her wings.

Desias immediately bowed his head. Steel followed suit, not daring to speak until spoken to again. She regarded them, eyeing the grim and sand and filth from their little adventure she doubtlessly knew about already. There was very little that goes on in Bardingburgh that she didn’t. She then looked at Steel Sands. “Have I heard correctly? Have you been neglecting your training?”

Steel froze, the fur on her withers standing on end. She opened her mouth to respond then closed it, scrunching up her muzzle as she thought furiously, sweat breaking out on her forehead that had nothing to do with the heat. She glanced at Desias whose eyes were pleading with her to give the High Martial the answer she wants to hear. She swallowed.

“I… yes, your ladyship,” she answered, fervently hoping that was what she wanted to hear.

“Then I should charge you with amending your practices, young squire. As of this moment, I expect you to attend to your sire’s suggestions and concerns regarding your use of the time afforded to you. All your time spent as a shield bearer is spent in service and duty, and you have been failing your sire. This will be rectified, am I clear?”

“Yes ma’am!” Steel Sands shrank even further into her barding, a hard thing to do when you were still wearing armour that was fitted for you seven years ago. She was a big mare in her own right, but not so much so as the High Martial, making her attempt to make herself seem small quite amusing to lookers on. The High Martial still looked at her impassively.

“I believe your sire asked you what drink you wanted. Are you not going to oblige his generosity?”

“Oh! Yes, of course!” And like that, Steel Sands bolted for the water house. Desias fluttered his wings and made to follow after her.

“Not so fast, Sir Desias.” And it was the sphinx’s turn to freeze in place. He turned solemnly and bowed his head, placing his helmet on the ground before him. “Your charge was correct, you understand. I would’ve appreciated a prompt report on your return from serving the ambassador.”

“O-Of course, High Martial. I was just of the opinion that we could do with…” His eyes darted quickly as he searched for a reason. “Freshening up first! It would not do to present ourselves in such a state, after all,” he said smoothly. She snorted.

“A fine excuse. I can see why Duke Sand Storm tolerates you.” Her eyes narrowed as she took a few steps further. Desias tried his best not to let his nervousness show. She spoke lowly, “Be grateful I found you looking after your charge’s well-being. I do not care for you, Desias, and you should consider yourself fortunate the princess was forgiving of your… initiative. I certainly would not have been at the time.”

“I was only looking after our kingdom’s best interests, my lady,” Desias said a little too quickly, making sure not to look her in the eye. It wouldn’t do to appear defiant when all he was trying to do was keep her ire off of him. “A weapon that can resist Discord’s magic would have been useful. It was all I had attempted. What happened at the tournament was beyond my control and ken.”

“Fortunately, I now believe you. And what we have discovered seems to back your version of events, at least as far as it concerns you.” She raised her head and looked around the two of them. The crowd was giving them both an appreciatively wide berth, and her practiced eye picked out familiar faces and keen eyes watching her back. No honour guard indeed. She looked down and placed an iron shod hoof to the sphinx’s chest and he looked up. “You are still young yourself. You don’t know what’s going on, do you?”

“… My lady?” he asked, more confused than anything. She studied his face as if searching for something.

“Young stallion, young house, ambitious yet untouched… Yes, you’ll do fine. You and your shield bearer will suffice.”

“I’m… not sure I understand what you mean.”

“The trouble in the north is not to our advantage – that is all you need to know for now.” She raised a hoof to lift the hood back over her head. “Come to the hall at sundown and bring your squire and enough coin for a long journey. Be prepared to leave Bardingburgh at a moment’s notice.”

He tried to open his mouth for another question, but she simply turned and walked off, the crowd parting in her wake leaving the young knight standing there, dumbfounded. He swallowed and turned to find Steel Sands in the water house and break to her the news. It did not do to say no to the High Martial, even when she refused to explain her actions or her plans. To do so was to play with fire.

And there are few fires that burned as hot as the Concord Flame.

--=--

The waves crashed against the docks and the cry of the gulls pierced the air. Bells sounded as the gates of the harbour walls opened to allow the last of the Black Fleet ships to leave. The harbourmaster watched with impatience and eyed with a touch of dread the great looming shadowy form on the horizon, the leviathan of a ship masked by the low lying storm clouds that always seemed to follow it. He shivered. Such a colossus had no business floating, let alone ruling the high seas. The sooner both it and the Black Fleet left the enclave, the sooner he wouldn’t have to listen to boisterous captains telling him this new decree or that or the new laws from all the way in the black isles on the far side of the bloody continent.

Princess Galaxy could go hang for all he cared. So could her black marshal who constantly bothered him and Mr. Smiles, that criminal bastard in Fillydelphia. The dirty foreigner had no right digging his hooves into his merchant guilds. Ohhh and the merchants, they would be his, his to command, his to protect and all their gold would go to him… or else. And the Grey Coast in the far north, those usurers, he would worm his way into that sweet little pie and grab a slice for him, the wealth of nations flowing through his hooves, the fortunes of Houses, cities and kingdoms hanging by his whims! It was almost too good to believe.

He turned from the window and trotted over to his desk, the waves crashing against the side of the harbour cabin. Soon enough, he would become more, so much more than a mere harbourmaster. He opened the desk drawer and pulled out the thin tome he had been gifted. The smell of paper filled the room and the rich, luxurious leather covered thrilled him as he ran his hoof down along its spine. The sheer audacity of owning such an item disgusted the Equestrian within him, but he quashed it. The Equestrians were a weak-kneed pony race and he had gone to the Black Isles enclave to be rid of their ilk. He had found the Black Islanders no better. Indeed, the enclavers were little more than Equestrians under a different banner for all the difference they had and he was disgusted with them all.

But that was okay. He had been invited to partake in a much greater game, one more worthy of him and his ambitions, and he had found a benefactor much more deserving of his loyalty and service than any noble, official, or princess. He was quite generous.

“Yes…” he said to himself, his voice hoarse and hard as he admired the dark green of the leather book, accented by black corners and the spiral design of white ivory at its center. “So very generous.”

--=--

He had to stop and rest for a while.

He really should have listened to the nurse. Now his leg would probably never set right, not after all the strain he put it through trudging through country roads and hinterlands. At least the pain seemed to ebb the smallest fraction.

He pulled the hood tighter about his head and neck to keep out the biting chill of the wind that shook the fiery shades of the autumnal woodlands surrounding this path. He wasn’t sure what this road was called or the village he passed through on his way here. It didn’t matter, he supposed. He wouldn’t be staying around long enough to make use of their names. Certainly not long enough for the simple folk of this land to learn his. He lowered his head to drink from an abandoned trough of water by a broken down fence that belonged to the shell of a homestead along the road. The cold water was biting but refreshing as it flowed down his weary throat, dry tongue and dryer senses renewed and reinvigorated by the life-giving fluid, and not for the first time, he was reminded of his dreams about the open sea that he had since his youngest days that he had always dismissed.

When he raised his muzzle from the water again, he looked down to bear on his reflection. His tired eyes were red and ruddy, bloodshot and accented by dark sorrowful rings. Scraggly blonde hair sprouted along his jawline in unkempt tufts, threatening to conquer his face as they had often did back when he was in the habit of keeping it under control. He lingered on his reflection wordlessly for but a moment longer before he paid it no further heed, instead lifting his hoof, and after steeling himself, washing down his injured leg with the cool water. Welts and sores were soothed by the cool liquid as he prepared to reaffix his bandage and splint for the fifth time that week.

His ears perked under his hood as he heard laughter and raised voices. A pair of earth ponies crested the rise of the hill, both carrying baskets on either flank filled with fruits and vegetables and other goods, likely bought at the marketplace and being taken back home to their families.

“Ho there, stranger!” the green stallion said as he paused his conversation with his blue companion to address him. “The water good? Not brackish, is it?”

“No— Ahem, it’s good. Clean,” he said roughly, hiding his own accent and doing his best to keep his face hooded. Couldn’t hide the horn though – he had made a hole in the hood for it and was using it to keep it in place over his head. The green stallion sighed in relief.

“Good, ya have to tip this over every now and again and let the rain fill it anew to keep it from getting bad. Long trek down this road you see, and no rivers or wells for a while. It’s nice to get a drink along the way,” he said as he made his way over to the trough. The hooded stallion took a few steps back and shuffled his cloak, trying to make sure the bag he carried pinned it over his flanks.

“Have nae seen a unicorn this far from Bridlebrogh,” the blue earth pony said, waiting until his friend was done drinking his fill.

“Bridlebrogh?” the unicorn asked

“Oh yeah, big town seven miles to the west there. Most folk here are earth with the odd exception. Never seen you around so you’re not one of those exceptions. You from there by any chance?”

“...No, was just passing through.”

“Traveller eh?” the green stallion piped up again as his friend took his turn with the water. “Where ya headin’?”

“I… don’t know,” the unicorn admitted, trying to not look too confused by his own admission. “I’m just… walking I guess. See where my hooves take me.”

“Oh, wanderlust take ahold a ya then?”

“You could say that.”

“Must’ve good stories then. Travellers always got good stories,” Blue said.

“Yeah, but they’re usually lies. And usually not even their own lies,” Green rebutted.

“So? It’s good for a laugh by the fire, ain’t it?”

“Well, stranger, got any stories to share and lies to tell?” Green asked.

“What?”

“We got enough food for another mouth. You could come back to our village in River’s Pass, get yourself washed up. You’re in a right state you are.” He looked down. Sure enough, his once pristine and immaculate white coat was filthy from the dirt of the road and the life that came with it. He looked back up at the pair of earth ponies, confused by their sudden generosity and eyed the baskets full of goods they had on them. His stomach rumbled audibly.

“No… thank you. But I must keep going on,” he said at last, a prickling fear of being recognised overcoming the voices demanding he accept their offer. “And I have no real stories to give you in return.”

“Oh come on, a guy like you in the middle of nowhere like this? You must have a story,” Blue said. The unicorn shook his head.

“Nothing I’d really want to share. I’m sorry, but thank you,” he said at last, turning back and taking a drink of the trough of water. Green sighed.

“Ah well, suit yourself, stranger. If you change your mind, our village is just on the left path at the fork in the road up ahead. You’re more than welcome to come and rest your bones for a spell. The unicorn gave a nod of acknowledgement and a grunt that was partially obscured by the water his muzzled was currently bathed in. The pair of earth ponies trotted on, chatting with each other and leaving the unicorn in peace.

He waited until they had travelled a good way before looking up from the trough and eyeing the direction they went. He down turned and looked down the road he came, back down south towards what he once called home and the one he had looked up to as something of a mother.

It was tempting, so very tempting to take their generosity and rest, just rest for a short while in the company of ponies who were only too happy to have him around without even knowing who he was. Without sneering down on him for that knowledge, casting him out and disdaining him for his failure and his disgrace. To be only too glad to chastise him for everything he had done in the hopes of gaining approval.

He rubbed his eye with a fetlock and tried to banish the thoughts from his head and returned once more to walking, the awkward limp in his left foreleg helping to keep his mind clear from anything other than practical necessity. He came to the fork the earth ponies had told him about and looked down the left path, towards a gentle welcome, good food, and probably a roof over his head for the night, if he only asked.

He went down the right path.

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