Interlude - Warm Hearts
He trudged through the snow, his breath frosting upon the air through the heavy scarf as he dragged the sled behind him.
It was quiet, not a cloud in the night sky, the silver moonlight bathing the scene of the bare birch forest in gentle blues, the light intense enough to cast soft shadows. Handy could easily navigate by starlight alone even without having memorized the direction to his serfs. He reached another bundle of young trees, not so thick that he would have to spend ages just getting through one for the firewood, but thick enough as to be worthwhile.
He had enough firewood of course—his serfs usually made sure he had enough stacked up in the shed beside his manor for a good night’s fire—but Handy found he enjoyed the excuse for the nightly excursions, especially on winter nights such as this. He was not used to it, of course, and every night he went out, he came back hurting and aching and woefully tired, but it was worth it.
It was quiet, so blessedly quiet, so much so had it been in any other scenario, it would have been unnerving. Logically, he knew he really should feel unnerved all the same, but… he never did. He found the quietude calming, the isolation of what was effectively ‘his’ woods comforting. It let him think, or not to, as he wished; the task of going out and collecting winter fuel, necessary or otherwise, clearing his mind wonderfully. Some nights he’d often just forget and let go of everything entirely, focusing on the task at hand. It was comforting.
Well, that was not to say that he was entirely without concern. It was only ‘his’ forest up to an arbitrary border that he was sure, come spring, he and the neighbouring barons would begin bickering over in order to profit from the fruits of the woodland, even if the forest did technically count as a part of the commons. Handy didn’t mind—he planned to not be around come the springtime, which he was sure would cause quite the consternation amongst his peers and lordly neighbours in not being able to bring him to the table over the matter. Handy found this a most amusing and agreeable set of future circumstances, and it disturbed him not.
He swung the axe, eventually knocking the first young birch down. It hit the ground with an appreciable ‘whump’, driving up the snow around him. As he wiped it off his face, rubbing the flakes in his gloved fingers and watching the rest fall silently back to Earth, he slowly noticed that it wasn't stopping. He looked up. Several clouds had rolled in, the snow falling sparsely but lightly. It was time to head home while he could still see the way back.
Home. It still felt strange to think of it that way.
As he bundled the fallen tree with the others on the sled, not having the time to cut it into more manageable segments, he stopped as he noticed something off to the side, something red and green. A holly tree, small and young, was eking out an existence trapped between two older and much wider birches. He had never seen a holly tree out here before—hell, whenever he found something that wasn’t a birch, he was surprised. He reckoned his barony got the short end of the stick when it came to dividing these woodlands.
Still, it was an oddity. He left his sled and trudged his way over to the tree, allowing himself a small smile. He used to accidentally stumble into holly around this time of year back home on Earth, usually whenever he had to track his way through the forest near where he lived as a kid. Come to think of it… what time of year was it back on Earth?
The thought gave him pause. He had lost track of the months. While he knew he came to this world sometime during its summer, it had been winter back home on Earth the last he could remember. It had been easily five… no, six. Seven months now? More than that? He wasn’t sure, but far more months than summer and autumn had any right to have before winter put its boot down. What date was it back on Earth? Was it still 2014? How long had he been gone from Earth’s perspective? Months? Years? No time at all? He had no reference for it. His landlord probably had either long rented off or he had not even noticed he had disappeared at all and his rent was still due. Or everyone he knew was dead.
The more he thought of it, the sicker it made him feel, and he shook his head and began trudging back to the sled, trying to think of anything else to focus on.
He paused as a thought struck him. The locals were preparing for a local winter festival, one of several in fact, not so much celebrating the winter solstice as much as celebrating its passing. How the hell did anyone on this world even HAVE a solstice when the length of days and nights was entirely at someone’s literal whim? Handy had passed it no mind initially, especially since the holiday seemed to be an amalgam of Gryphonic traditions from their ancient tribal days, with no cohesive theme or structure to it aside from the passing over of some huge threat that apparently nearly doomed the entire Gryphonic race in its infancy. Handy never got a straight answer about it—as far as he could determine, there was none, given it was everything from an invasion of foreign gods, a volcano or being preyed upon by the primordial Rocs.
Still, if this was his home for now, then he should probably treat it as one. Handy went back to the tree and drew out his dagger, a short, clean blade that shone like silver in the moonlight, one of a pair he had bought to replace his old ones. He began cutting holly from the branches.
--=--
Warm Night trudged through the snow, the wind howling and the cold biting. His scarf snapped in the air as he walked on. It was alright since he didn't have far to go. He had a promise to fulfil, and he wouldn’t let a small snowstorm stop him.
He made his way to the small cluster of trees at the far end of the property, behind a small fence. He went through the gate and shook off the snow on his back. What little shelter there was kept the worst of the snow off of him and the small grotto. He wiped at the ground until he felt the marked stone. Bowing his head, he lowered the little package in his mouth down on the ground.
He unwrapped it and set up the candle and lit it with a spell. It was a bit of effort, and with the wind as it was, he had to position his body just to keep it lit before spreading out the dried, press posies, dyed in various patterns onto the grave marker. He then repeated the process for the stone next to it. It was a strange tradition—even Happy Hour had said as much, to which Warm Night could only shrug and smile wryly. He never had a good answer for it. His mother was from a more insular part of Equestria. They did things differently there, and she passed on more than a few of her traditions to him before she herself had passed on. Welcome Sight never objected to any of them, even if he never adopted them himself. Somehow, though, Warm felt he’d approve of this one.
“Hey,” he began, his voice even as he looked down. “Sorry I couldn’t make it last week. Things were... kinda crazy, heh.” He gazed back at the walled garden just outside the grotto. “A lot of things happened recently. We’re… We’re moving the inn.”
He looked back down at the stone markers a bit guiltily, shuffling his forehooves as he sat down in the snow.
“Look, I know you wouldn’t want that, but it's not like we’re just abandoning the place. We’re moving in here, turning it into a home, you know? Keeping the business separate as much as we can.”
“We’ve been planning it for a while now,” he continued. “I mean, it makes sense. We’re comfortable here, but we just don’t get the traffic you used to back in your day, dad. We’re moving the Shady Bough closer to the main streets. Can’t really…” he chewed over his words, looking around him at the windswept night, “Can’t really justify the place otherwise, money as tight as it is.”
He looked back down at the grave marker. It was nothing grand, simply a name carved in a square plinth of stone. They couldn’t do the burial entirely like they did back where his mother came from, so the ashes were interred instead, urns and all.
“Thank you, Dad,” he said after a long while. “Thanks for… for not giving up on me... even when I gave up on you.”
“Night?” Happy Hour called out, her voice as rich and warm as it always was. He could hear the smile through her tone. “You coming in?”
“Coming!” he called back over his shoulder. He studied both graves for another short moment before smoothing the markers and the offerings over with the snow so that they would not be blown away. “Rest well, and prepare a dream for me when it is my time to go to sleep. Mom, Dad…”
And with that, he left the little grotto behind and walked towards the light of his house and home, and the warmth that awaited within.
--=--
He was laughing.
He was always laughing.
Laughing, smiling, joking, singing, dancing, drinking, and all the joys of a life well lived. He enjoyed every minute of it, he genuinely did, but that didn’t stop them from being what they were: distractions. Diversions without merit beyond immediate gratification.
He stumbled into the little hovel he had managed to win in a game of poker. It wasn’t too bad, cosy even, crushed between two larger townhouses, with enough room for a pantry downstairs and a ladder to the bed upstairs.
He had slept in worse holes in his life and wasn’t particularly averse to sleeping in a few more. He let out a long deep sigh and hit his face while reaching for his hat. He groaned, wiped it off, and threw it away. Not as if he’d have to look far for it come morning in a place this small. He unclasped his cloak and let it fall. Next up was the belt which he deftly unclasped with practised ease and dropped it, sword and all, and that was it. He closed the door to keep the night’s snowstorm behind him right where it belonged. Strange, it had been so calm when he left the tavern, then the heavens just opened up. It wasn’t scheduled either. Maybe Gethrenia’s weather company was just fumbling the job.
He smiled at the thought that griffons had nothing on pegasi when it came to that, but then they didn’t have the same inherent magic. Eh, who was he to judge? He was a horn-head.
He sighed as he approached the ladder and looked up. Yep, that sure was a vertical climb, not even a slant or anything. Typical griffons. He contemplated the matter a few minutes more before moving over to the pantry. Nope, empty—he’d need to get it stocked again at some point when he managed to keep a few of his coins from being drank, sung, danced, and gambled away. Most of his share of the cut and what he could salvage from Blackport was spent getting contacts and information, so he had very little left.
That meant he needed a job, which meant getting work here in Gethrenia right under the griffons’ nose, and Handy’s. He was pretty sure the human wouldn’t approve if he plied his skill set for those willing to pay the coin needed for it, at least not here. Then again, Handy started out life as a mercenary as well, so he hardly had a leg to stand on, but he could easily see the stallion being thick-headed over the matter regardless. Besides, what he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him.
He shut the pantry doors and let his head rest against it, grumbling. Well, it seemed like he’d be sleeping down here for the night, a thought that didn’t sit well with him as he rubbed at his overgrown beard which had long since grown past the point which he preferred to keep it. Looking up at that ladder one last time, he just couldn’t bring himself to begin that strenuous journey. He slumped against the wall, trying to lie in a way that wouldn’t leave him with a horrendous creak in his neck when he woke up. He’d be unsuccessful, of course, but when you were so drunk that you basically went full circle back to completely sober, you tended to ignore little things like past experiences.
He lay there, snuffing the light of the lantern hanging from the ceiling with his magic. The street lights outside still illuminated the snow as it fell in the streets, and he watched it from the darkness of his little hole in the wall. Another winter, another Hearth's Warming away from home.
And still yet another Hearth's Warming alone, without his family and caravan. He snorted and lifted the cloak from where it lay on the floor and draped it over himself for additional warmth and turned from the window. He huffed out a breath as he made to slip off into a blissful, drunken slumber.
Knock Knock.
Right after he knocked the beak off of whatever bird thought his door would be a good one to pick tonight for a rumble. Jacques snorted in irritation, lighting his horn to find his rapier and drawing it from the belt loop. He hovered the hat over his glowing horn and levelled the rapier at the door before levitating it just behind his head and low enough to his body that a taller opponent wouldn’t immediately spot the length of steel ready to perforate some would-be burglar trying the tired, and rookie, tactic of drawing a guy to the door and then trying to bull rush him.
“Qu'est-ce?” he asked, not expecting an answer to the foreign words. He smiled lightly. If he was right, the thieves would simply opt to knock again or move on, rather than actually say anything to somepony who didn’t seem to speak the language.
“C'est moi.” Or, you know, he could totally get a response in perfect Prench, complete with a caravan accent and pronunciation. He didn’t recognise the voice, however. That made him waver, his face fell, and he almost dropped the grip on his sword in shock. He set his face and tightened his jaw. A caravan pony this far in griffon territory so soon after that border tension? Not a chance, and it definitely wasn't his caravan in any case—the accent was wrong. Maybe the griffons had a few Troubadours under their claws? It wasn’t uncommon. The number of griffons in the entirety of the High Kingdom who could speak Prench that fluently but would also be skulking about city streets in the dead of night, he could count on his hooves.
He approached the door, making sure the latch was held in place before removing the bar from the door with his hooves, his sword at the ready. He opened the door slowly, keeping behind it, ready to shove his full weight into it if need be.
“...Qui êtes-vous?” he asked slowly. The gap in the door was open just enough to hear the other person more clearly, but not wide enough for anything to be thrown in. The other voice didn’t answer at first, before it responded in an all-too-familiar voice.
“You know who,” the mare said. Jacques didn’t so much as move, not at first, waiting to see what would happen. He held his breath, closing his eyes and focusing his thoughts and steeling his heart. He was not about to take a chance, not just yet. He closed the door and reached up to pull back the latch key before he paused.
If he opened this door, and it really was who he thought it was, what exactly did that mean? Would he be inviting more trouble across his threshold than he already had? Why was she here, now, after everything that was said and done? How was he going to keep her hidden? Should he?
And if it wasn’t, if it was somepony else and he allowed them in, then he might as well be good as dead. He hadn't exactly made a lot of friends while he was down south. He was safer keeping the door closed and damning the person on the other side to the weather and the cold. Besides, even if it was her, how could he tell?
He ground his teeth in thought as he considered it. At last, he opened the latch and removed the chain.
He didn’t let go of the rapier, however.
He opened the door and saw a griffoness standing in the snow, facing the door and wearing a red scarf. She looked at him for a moment before looking down, shuffling the scarf with a claw. Jacques tensed up, ready to duck out of the way and have the rapier launch at her if need be. The griffon pulled out an amulet on a thin, silver chain. She undid the catch and let it fall off her neck and into her claw, placing it on the pack on her side, letting Jacques see her do it.
She looked up at him at last, clearing her throat and closing her eyes. The eyelids glowed a dark green, and then opened with a flash of emerald flame, as quick as a pinch of gunpowder. Chartreuse eyes stared back at him.
“Can I come in?”
--=--
She steadied her breathing. The noxious mix of the various fumes and candles made it legitimately hard to breathe, the air all but toxic to an average pony like her, thestral or not. Well, it was not as if she had an unfair advantage. After all, Luna had still been an ordinary mare when she had begun her journey into the mystic arts. She had long since earned her mantle as Dreamwalker before she obtained her alicornhood.
Stellar, on the other hand, was fairly convinced that something else had to be in play there. There was simply no way an ordinary pony could go through this and stay healthy. She continued to breathe shallowly, knowing she shouldn’t, that it was neither the healthy thing to do nor the correct thing for this exercise. However, she was nearing the end of her rope. Not for the first time had this training resulted in her being reduced to a sickbed, being fed a strange elixir by the princess herself to recuperate.
Not once had Luna admonished her for her continued failures, and Stellar dared not raise a word of complaint, opting instead to try probing questions into the nature of what was being undertaken and why. Luna did not give her anything more than what she was told at the beginning. She was to set out the ritual area as instructed, draw the runes and cuneiforms, the glyphs and the pictograms. Then she was to perform the necessary exercises before clearing her mind and emptying her thoughts until there was nothing but what was before her.
More than once, Stellar had felt her vision fade, the already pitch-black room darkening and her thestral night sight failing her. Other times, she… thought she saw herself, moving around the exterior of the ritual floor in her movements and dances, like seeing a sheet of silk flowing and cavorting in water as the waves churned it to and fro.
She shook her head before she fell again. Sighing and blowing out the candles, she rubbed her forehead until she felt she could breathe easily again, ebbing her migraine away. The air became breathable again, the pressure on her body disappearing, and she opened her eyes. The moonlight spilled into the room from a gap in the heavy drapes. She stood up slowly, her movements stiff and her joints aching, as if she had sat locked in her position for days rather than hours. She glanced down at the candles, all of them simple things of wax she made herself. That was important, or so Princess Luna had told her, though she couldn’t figure out why, nor could she understand what was happening to make her feel so out of sorts when she did these rituals.
She walked over to the window, needing to clear her head and stretch her wings before trying it again. She pushed aside the heavy drapes with a hoof before opening the glass doors and—
“—Ack!” The shock of nearly walking straight into the back of her princess, who she had not been expecting to be sitting there, was enough to get her to backpedal a few steps.
“It's alright,” Luna said, her voice gentle and calm. There was no firmness, nor the cold expectation Stellar had come to anticipate each time the princess addressed her as her nihensha. “Come, sit beside me.”
Stellar hesitated. The princess was alone on the balcony, sitting down and gazing upon a snow-covered Canterlot, her hair billowing in the light wind, more glorious than the empty night sky above. She never did this—she only ever came into the ritual rooms to instruct her. What did she want now?
Stellar sat down beside her liegelady, resisting the urge to fidget, glancing up at her. Luna’s expression was stoic, and they sat for a long time before she spoke.
“Another difficult night?” Luna asked.
“Y—... Yes, your Highness,” Stellar replied dutifully.
“I understand. Perhaps you should take a break.”
“... Princess?” Stellar's ears perked.
“It's Hearth’s Warming and the night is still young. Perhaps you are better off taking the time to compartmentalise what you have already learned before trying again. Go into town, spend some time with your comrades, that sort of thing.”
Stellar, once she got over the initial surprise of Luna taking a more gentle approach to their conversation, looked down. “I… I don’t think that would be a good idea.” Luna glanced out of the side of her eyes at the thestral, humming in thought.
“Yes, I suppose now would not be a good time for that. Do you… at least talk to them any more since you’ve become my nihensha?” The smaller mare was silent. “I see…”
The pair sat in silence for a moment longer before Luna spread her wings and leapt daintily onto the balustrade and looked down at Stellar.
“The Hollow is nice this time of year. If you fly now, you may be able to reach it before morning comes, and spend Hearth's Warming with your family.”
“But… Princess I don’t—”
“I do not recall giving you a choice,” Luna said, her voice level and her face stern, softening momentarily as she gave the soldier a smile. “Rest, young Eclipse. Your duties will find you when you return. Do not waste your fire by burning out the wick.”
And with that, the princess left her, pushing off from the balustrade and dropping, allowing herself to fall before taking control and swooping around the nearby towers and disappearing from sight, leaving the thestral alone where she sat. Stellar let out a weary sigh and rubbed her eyes.
They were puffy from lack of sleep, her mane was a mess, her coat had long since lost its lustre, and she had not left the castle in the past six weeks unless duty demanded otherwise.
Nor had she seen any of her friends or comrades of the night guard, nor those of the day guard, nor those she had made in the city below. She found it harder and harder to show her face each time she saw them, and with how thestrals were still regarded with suspicion, it… it made her guilty to even be around the others, being the source of their own increased troubles in life. It was why she was reluctant to go back to Hollow Shades. She…
No. She didn’t have a choice. Her princess had given her the command to do so. She rubbed a hoof through her mane and flicked her ear in irritation, turning back to pick up her armour before freezing. No, she wasn’t being sent back as a soldier, so she was better leaving her gear here. She placed a hoof fondly on the helmet as it stood on the armour rack, smiling lightly at her dim reflection.
One day, she might be proud to wear it once again. She could only hope so in any case. She turned to the window and stretch out her wings, flapping them to test them before cantering to the balcony and leaping out into the cool night air of Canterlot. She let the wind flow over and under her wings, revelling in the cold tingle as the air rushed past the skin of her wings before opening her eyes as the lights of the city rushed to meet up with her. She tilted her wings, controlling her fall into a spiral before beating her wings and launching herself back upwards into the air.
She circled once, lazily over the city below, which looked resplendent in the festive colours of Hearth's Warming below as they spilled onto the white snow of the rooftops. It reminded her of her days as a foal, looking up at the ceiling as the small coloured lanterns they hung on the Hearth's Warming tree lit up the pine needles and cast odd, conflicting shadows on the ceiling above as she lay below it.
She smiled at the memory, beat her wings several times, and made her way towards Hollow Shades and for a home she rarely came back to. Little Arcane Mist had been accepted into Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns, or so she had heard last.
It’d be good to see her nephew again.
--=--
“And they’ve finished brewing the potion?” Handy asked.
“Yes, Master,” Crimson replied. Klipwing had the week off, and Handy hadn’t deigned to keep a hold of his manager while he could be back home with his family for the time. “They have made a successful batch.”
“How do you know it is fireproof?”
“I tested it myself,” she replied casually, not looking up at him and seeming bored.
“On… yourself?”
“No.” Handy felt brief pity for his alchemists.
“And the other potions?” he asked.
“They will require more testing and refinement. Are you sure about this, Master?” she asked.
“As sure as I can be. My power relies on blood, Crimson. I cannot rely on temporary boosts while dealing with the dragons if things go wrong.”
They both remained quiet as they watched Handy’s serfs set up their festival games. Handy had no intention of joining, but his position as baron meant he had to show his face, so he oversaw the construction of the small stage and the strange half-igloos the griffons were making for games. Some had rope to trees and were busily pulling the young things down until the branches brushed the ground before tying them together and holding them down with iron pegs.
Some griffons had paid to have clouds frozen over and have that weird game of sky hockey Johan had told him about one time. His griffons, though? Nope, tying down trees and making little icicle jewellery and other folksy bullshit like that. There was nothing to bet on either. Maybe this igloo game would be good entertainment to—nope, they were building another set of igloo goals. It seemed like it was going to be another one of those confusing four team football games he had seen kids play from time to time. He could never understand that crap. Crimson rubbed her chin thoughtfully, staring out at the griffons milling to and fro in their merriment about the village.
“About that, Master, I have some thoughts on the matter,” Crimson began. Handy looked down at her, his expression bored.
“Oh?” he asked. “Mind keeping your voice low as you express them?”
“You often complain about the quality of the… stock you get from the butcheries.”
“It's enough to sustain me and tastes horrible. What of it?”
“Have you considered… lessening your serfs’ tax?” Crimson asked. Handy raised an eyebrow.
“What?”
“You refuse to bring your tenants under serfdom, even though they repeatedly ask. You were dismayed to know that if a time of war came, your serfs would have to take up arms under obligation to you.”
“I refuse them because I would rather not have it on my conscience that I am binding not only them, but their posterity to the land. Where are you going with this, Crimson?” Handy asked with apprehension.
“I am saying you can be ten times the warrior any of your griffons could become altogether, so long as you are fed with a worthwhile food source,” Crimson said as dispassionately as if she were discussing the weather. “Why do you not make it so these griffons would not have to bear arms in times of war, nor pay as heavy a tax, so long as each provides you with just a little bit of their blood?”
Handy was actually stunned at the words, and his features hardened. “You do not know what you are asking of me,” he finally replied. “I will not contemplate it.”
“But why not?” Crimson pressed on. “I understand from what you have told me that the more you take, the more permanent the powers become. When you have fed recently, the powers are more powerful than they are when you are at rest. Griff—”
“Crimson!” Handy snapped, his voice low and he glanced around discretely. “Drop it. It is bad enough I have come to accept what I have to do to survive. I will not abuse my position to prey on those who rely on me.”
“But if it’s willingly given, what difference does it make?” Crimson asked. “You took from me before.”
“The difference is between a master who abuses his servant’s duty and one who does not,” Handy said pointedly. Crimson blinked.
“Master, I didn’t mean— ”
“Enough,” Handy cut her off. “You don’t understand people. It isn’t right, and you don’t know how that’ll cause them to react. I do not plan on taking from those who don't deserve it, willingly given or not, not any more at least. What I did to you was wrong and done in anger, and for that I am sorry, but that is the end of it.” He turned from her to watch the griffons as they went about their business, Crimson’s mouth opened and closed several times as she thought how to answer him. She had not intended to offend him, nor rouse his anger at her. She knew it was a sensitive matter for him, but she had thought enough time had passed that it could be discussed openly with him. Perhaps she had misjudged.
She looked at the griffons, her eyes jumping from one to the other. She had considered their material concerns and thought it was logical. However, master’s apparent alarm now made her doubt that. Was there something she was missing? She remembered her own trepidation at the prospect, but it had been to her benefit in the long run, right? Surely they could see the same would be true for them.
It would certainly would make more sense than wasting time on… whatever it was they were currently doing.
She looked up at Handy one more time and, with him not so much as acknowledging her, she turned and left, thinking it’d be better to do as he said and leave the matter, at least for now. Still, his accusation stuck with her as she kept walking. And walking, and walking and walking. She apparently didn’t know about ponies, which was rich coming from him. She knew about ponies plenty—they were untrustworthy, dangerous, and looking out for themselves and their own, like she was. Griffon or otherwise, surely they’d do what was in their best interests, right?
She found herself walking all the way back to Skymount itself and found herself vaguely surprised by the sudden increase in foot traffic around her, and the noise of the griffons shook her from her thoughts. They were busy with the commerce of the day, and many of them were busy decorating the streets in the same festive knick-knacks the griffons back at Haywatch had used.
She snorted and pulled the cloak about her tighter against the chill and did her best to ignore the griffons and the occasional pony as she passed. There were more of them now since the Equestrian goodwill visit. Most were merchants or tradesponies of some sort, and she had no intention of interacting with any of them. They’d have little to talk about in any case.
She stopped as she passed by a tavern that was already busy with life and music even this early in the day. Her ears perked up, and she looked at the window as she passed, her pace slowing. She could hardly see through it. The thick yet small, square, glass panes had warped with age, and she could barely make out anything more than faint blurs and shapes and the orange glow of a roaring fire.
‘The difference between us is that I occasionally go to the pub,' she recalled Master saying to her. She looked away, scowling, flicking her tail as she mulled over the decision.
‘Fine,’ she thought to herself, turning around pushing open the heavy oak door of the Hearth and Hay Bale. ‘If this makes a difference, might as well see what he sees.’
The smells struck her first, and her grimace encompassed her face as her muzzle scrunched up in shock, more so than revulsion. The tavern was completely packed, and the smell of bodies and burning wood mixed with the smells of stale beer, cooked food, pipe smoke, and the lingering smell of something she could only recall as books, or scrolls, reminding her of time spent in libraries and reading rooms. It was odd, comfortable scent she couldn't quite place but reminded her of better times nonetheless.
She shook her head and rubbed her muzzle and looked around. The place was wall to wall with ponies and griffons. There was music coming from somewhere in the back on the far side of the log fire pit that took the centre of the tavern. The upstairs was visible only through four latticework walls above a square hole in the second floor, leading to open latches in the tavern’s steepled roof to let the smoke filter out. The latticework had glass panes to keep the smoke from bothering the patrons above.
Judging by the sound they were making, there were a lot of them up there, so it was just as well. Crimson pushed through and found the jostling and constant closeness of other ponies and griffons alarming. Everyone else seemed to take it in stride, no matter how many times they nearly spilled their drinks or platters of food were nearly scattered to the floor. She found herself quickly losing her patience, her ears plastered to her head against the constant noise, the shouting, the brash laughter. She couldn't take it any longer! Still she was already so far from the door before her nerves began to fray.
She looked around desperately before spying an empty table, a flat top barrel with a few stools around it, and hurriedly pushed her way to it and sat down at it, grateful to be away from the crowd. Huddling close to the lit candle on the counter, she watched the bustling, noisy crowd around her with wide, cautious eyes. Whenever she, Master, and Jacques had stayed at an inn or tavern on their way back to Griffonia, she had always retired before things got too busy within them, directly avoiding the forced interaction. Now she had willingly walked right into it. Out of pride.
“I have made a terrible mistake…” she muttered under her breath.
“Hi, do you mind if I sit here?” Crimson nearly jumped at the voice, staring wide-eyed at the light pink mare who had just landed awkwardly in the stool across from her. “I mean, I can move on if you like, but you were sitting here on your own and there really isn’t much space anywhere else.”
Crimson looked around, seeing no avenue of escape, and with her master’s words still in her head, she sighed and gave the mare a neutral look.
“Go ahead.”
“Great! Thanks.” The mare sat properly as she pulled her rear legs under the barrel’s top. Crimson gave her a quick once-over: a unicorn, purple mane with teal streaks, blue-purple eyes, and a vaguely arcane-looking cutie mark. She had a friendly smile and an expressive face and didn’t look threatening at least.
“It's alright,” she said, looking out at the crowd as the mare gazed around, humming to the music.
“So, did you come here with the envoys?” the mare asked. Crimson looked at her disinterestedly.
“No,” she answered after a moment.
“Oh, did you travel up recently?”
“No,” Crimson replied, resting a cheek on a hoof.
“You didn’t? Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to assume. Do you live here?” she asked.
“More or less.” See? She knew ponies. Look at how much she knew ponies. Crimson was a great pony-person. She was even having a conversation with a stranger.
Sort of.
“Oh wow, that's great, I don’t know anypony up here apart from a few, and they’re kept busy. I just arrived today.” Crimson perked an ear up and looked at her.
“Did you come for this griffon festival thing as well?” Crimson asked despite herself.
“Oh no, I have no idea what this week-long thing is for. Doesn’t even start for another few days, doesn’t it?” the mare asked. “I’m actually visiting somepony up here so he doesn’t celebrate Hearth's Warming alone.”
“Oh.” And just like that, interest lost. “That's nice.”
“Heh, yeah. Oh! Sorry, I forgot to ask your name. I’m Starlight. Starlight Glimmer.” The mare held out a hoof, smiling. Crimson eyed the hoof for a moment, studying the other mare’s face. She opened her mouth but then thought better of it.
‘You don’t know people.’
“Crimson.” She tentatively reached out a hoof to shake hers. “Crimson Shade.”
Starlight beamed at her as she released the hoof. “Great to meet you, Crimson. Oh, do you mind if one more sits here?”
“Go nuts.” Starlight looked around, straining her neck to see above the heads of the crowded tavern. She bounced and leaned up on the barrel, waving and shouting into the crowd. Crimson let her eyes drift over to see a couple of foaming cups being levitated above the crowd in an orange glow.
An orange stallion with a white spot right on the slope of his muzzle pushed through the crowd with a plethora of ‘excuse me’s and ‘pardon me’s. He managed to squeeze through the crowd with some degree of effort before nearly toppling over the barrel they were seated at.
“Oof! Sorry.” He fixed his spectacles with a hoof. “Found you. This place is a madhouse. I almost got bowled over when a griffon fell out of his seat.”
“Well you didn’t spill anything, and that all that matters,” Starlight said, her face turning haughty as she upturned her nose at him. The stallion frowned.
“What? Well… I guess so, but I was worried I—” Starlight placed a foreleg around his neck and brought him into a one-legged hug, ruffling his mane with the other hoof.
“I’m just messing with ya, you big goof.” Starlight chuckled, taking her drink in her magic as he placed his down on the barrel. “Oh, and this is Crimson!”
Crimson looked at the stallion with disinterest. He had a ridiculous goatee half the length of his muzzle that descended from his chin, and wore a thick cloak with arcane sigils, stars, and constellations on it. His entire demeanour screamed ‘wizard’, and Crimson had to withhold a sneer at the sight.
“Oh, I’m Sunburst!” He smiled and held out a hoof in greeting. Again, as before, Crimson shook it reluctantly. She was not fond of wizards, despite her own speciality. She liked to think of it as the professional rivalry between schools of thought, and not that she was actually terrible at magic unrelated to old magic.
That wasn’t it at all. Nope.
“Hello,” she said simply.
“Crimson was kind enough to let us sit here,” Starlight explained. Sunburst seemed to let out an exasperated sigh of relief.
“Oh, that’s great. I uh…” He looked around. “Don’t suppose there’s a stool for me?”
Starlight’s smile fell as she looked around. Sure enough, there wasn't one. Sunburst sighed.
“Alright, I guess I’ll go look for one. Oh, did you want a drink, Crimson? Least I can do.” Crimson grimaced lightly.
“No tha—” She paused, looking around here. Everypony was drinking something. Well, she came this far—might as well go the whole way. “I’ll… have an ale.”
Sunburst beamed. “Alright, I’ll be back in a jiffy. Oh! Forgot something.” He turned to Starlight with his horn lit up. Starlight gave him a questioning look before eyes going wide in alarm as she yelped.
“Ow, that’s cold! Sunburst!” she cried, punching him in the wither with a hoof. The stallion chuckled as he revealed the small necklace of ice he had brushed up against the back of her neck. Her eyes lit up and she gasped. “You got one!?”
“Yeah, had a guy I know make a couple extra early. Not supposed to wear them until an hour until sundown, but I figured, what the hay?” The necklace was a delicate construction, a small metal wire with an array of tiny ice-crafted jewels and snowflakes attached to it in various colours, almost as if the ice was formed around the wire itself, with the centrepiece being two crossed wings. Sunburst undid the latch, and Starlight lifted her mane to let him put it around her neck.
“Sunburst, this is so sweet, but I didn’t get one for you yet.” Her smile faded as she braced herself against the cold of the ice against her fur. He chuckled.
“Don’t worry about it, you’ll have plenty of time to get me back, heh. I’ll be right back.” Sunburst said before turning and began negotiating his way through the crowd as Starlight watched him go with a happy smile, just occasionally shuddering with the cold of the ice necklace around her neck.
Crimson sat there and watched this entire exchange, utterly befuddled. Why on earth would anypony be happy to wear a necklace of coloured ice, or be happy to receive it as a gift? And wear the damned thing after the fact? What was that about?
“So…” Crimson began uncertainly. “That’s your friend?”
“Uh-huh!” Starlight turned to Crimson. “Me and Sunburst knew each other since we were foals. He’s in Gethrenia as part of the exchange, helping share some magical knowledge and expertise with the royal court.”
“And… that thing?” Crimson asked, pointing to the odd jewellery.
“Oh. I thought you’d know?” Starlight cocked her head to the side.
“I uh… don’t get out much.” Crimson looked away for a moment.
“Ah, right. Well, like I said, I don't know much about the griffon's solstice festival, but I do know Griffonia is famous for these little ice necklaces this time of year.” She patted the object in question. “It’s for good luck. Friends and family give them to each other as a sign of love and friendship, of belonging.”
Crimson’s face was neutral as she digested the words, then scowled. “Belonging, huh?” she began.
“Yep!” Starlight replied.
“Right,” she said sceptically, turning to watch the crowd. “I guess that's one word for it.”
“Uh… y-yeah.” Starlight rubbed her foreleg with the other, suddenly feeling awkward with Crimson’s tone. “So, uh, what do you do?”
“Alchemy. I work with the guild.”
“You’re an alchemist?” Starlight asked, perking up.
“No, I just run the place.” Crimson replied.
“Oh. Well, that sounds nice.”
“Hrmm.” The pair sat in awkward silence for a moment. Awkward for Starlight at least—Crimson had already turned off from the conversation. Starlight looked around for something to talk about while waiting for Sunburst to come back.
“So, uh, you from Gethrenia originally?” Crimson gave her a suspicious glance.
“Why?” she asked coldly.
“It's just, well, you don’t sound like a Gethrenian,” Starlight explained, a sheepish grin on her face. Crimson narrowed her eyes, scrutinizing her for a moment before replying again, more easily.
“I’m from here and there—don’t really have an accent. So no, I’m not from around here.”
“Oh, right,” Starlight said, backing off of the topic. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”
“I guess it's alright.” Again, there was quiet between them as the music and hustle and bustle of the tavern surrounded them. Crimson sighed after some time. “You?”
“Huh?”
“Where are you from? Equestria?”
“Oh! Yeah, me and Sunburst both come from this little town in the heart of Equestria.”
“He doesn’t sound Equestrian.”
“Well, he’s been living in the Crystal Empire for the last six years.” Starlight looked up as she pulled her drink closer to her. “He worked in the palace.”
“Really?” Crimson cocked her eyebrow in interest.
“Yeah he was the Royal Family’s Crystaller.”
“What is that? Like a court wizard?”
“Sort of.” Starlight smiled, as if Crimson had just said a private joke. “It’s a bit more complicated than that.”
“And he’s… no longer that?” Crimson probed.
“Oh, well, it was only a temporary office. Probably won’t be another Crystaller for another lifetime at the least, I guess.” She waved a hoof to dispel the topic. “Anyway, he was asked by the princess to join her envoy, and he jumped at it, so he’ll be stuck here for at least a year. I’d rather not have him spend Hearth’s Warming alone so far from home.”
“How nice,” Crimson muttered blandly. She scrutinized the other mare for another moment, long enough that Starlight began to feel uncomfortable. She once more looked at the crowded tavern. Every last one of them was smiling, laughing, joking about one thing or another. They were likely having conversations as inane and as pointless as this one, all to no end other than… to have them? Crimson sighed. “This was a bad idea.”
She got up and steeled herself for pushing her way back towards the street.
“Wait! Where you going?” Starlight asked while Crimson was still inches from her vacated stool, failing to get through the throng.
“Home. I don’t do well with crowds,” Crimson said without looking back.
“Hey.” Starlight placed a hoof on Crimson’s withers. Crimson’s head snapped around and gave her a glare, and she lifted her hoof immediately. “Look, I… I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m sorry if we got off on the wrong hoof somehow.”
Crimson’s glare lessened and she snorted. “It’s fine,” she said, still not moving. “It’s… not you.”
“Well, do you... want to talk about it? I mean, I’d rather not drive you away, and Sunburst is getting a drink for you as well.” Starlight looked back at the seat. “Care to… start again?”
Crimson gave it some consideration, looking between the stool and back at the throng and yet more griffons coming through the front door, some eliciting a shout of welcome that briefly drowned out the music.
‘You don’t know people’. The thought rang in her head one last time.
“People don’t know me…” she muttered.
“What was that?”
“Nothing.” Crimson turned and once more sat back on the stool. Pushing her way out would be a futile task. “What do you want?”
“What?” Starlight asked, confused.
“What do you want to know?” Crimson asked, gesturing between them with a hoof. “That's what conversations are about, right?”
“Eh, well... usually?” Starlight sat down as well. “Mostly I’m just curious about, well, what all that was about? If you don’t like crowds, why even come here?”
“It’s… complicated. I need to get out more, I guess,” Crimson admitted. “Always was a bit of a loner, didn’t want anypony around me more than those I really knew well.”
“Well, I can’t say I know what that was like, but I used to have the opposite problem,” Starlight said, moving the other beer over to Crimson. Crimson gave her a questioning look. “It's an ale. Sunburst can keep the other drink for himself. Take it.”
Crimson did so after a moment’s hesitation. She smacked her lips. It tasted bitter but was satisfying.
“So, what did you mean?”
“Hm?”
“About the opposite problem?”
“Oh, well, it’s a long story. Kinda has a bit to do with Sunburst actually but uhm, let's just say I really wanted to be the centre of attention.” She snorted before taking another drink. “At the same time, I really, really wanted everypony else to think they were each as special as I was. They weren’t; I didn’t consider them that at least. They were just a means to an end.”
“Means to an end?” Crimson asked, now curious. Starlight nodded.
“I was lucky that I had someone show me what I was doing wrong, gently in the end, I guess. Wasn't for a long time afterwards that I fully understood what I was really doing.”
Crimson considered what she said as she took another drink, allowing her gaze to drink as she thought. If what she said was right, then she had the same view of ponies as Crimson did, only she had been lying to herself about what she was doing. Crimson wasn’t.
“I take it you’d rather not talk about it?” Crimson asked. Starlight shook her head.
“No, it's in the past now, and I’m happier for it. I’m… not proud of what I did. I am just glad I never hurt anypony permanently,” she said sadly.
“... I can’t say the same,” Crimson admitted.
“You… mean you’re proud of your past?” Starlight asked.
“No.” Crimson sipped lightly, looking at the barrel. Starlight winced at the implication.
“Well… you don’t do that any more, right?” Crimson looked off to the side.
“I’m trying to, I think.” She took another sip, mulling the matter over before continuing. “I guess I have help now in that sense as well.”
“Well that’s good. It always helps to have a friend.” Starlight nodded happily. Crimson paused at the implication, considering it. Was Master her friend? Was that what that was? It would explain why he was so different from the Mistress, even when angry. She thought about it some more before asking a question which surprised even her.
“Did you ever forgive yourself?” she asked, her eyes widening slightly as the words left her mouth, she hurriedly placed her drink in front of her muzzle to hide the blunder while Starlight looked contemplative. She leaned back in her stool, turning around so she could lean against the wall beside them as she gave it some more thought.
She bore a sad smile as she answered, her gaze distant. “Eventually. It was hard, but I did after a long time, long after I had already repented and been forgiven. You can only punish yourself for so long before you end up doing more harm than good.”
Crimson eyed her as she spoke before looking down at her ale, gently shaking it from side to side and watching the liquid shift within the cup. She thought back over her past as she did, all those ponies she had hurt along the way, sometimes at her Mistress’ command, sometimes… for other reasons entirely. She didn’t like to think about it, never had, and had always been ignoring why she did so.
“How?” she asked softly. Starlight looked at her, studying her before smiling.
“By doing the best you can to become a better pony.” She took a sip from her cup. Crimson sat in silence, still staring into her cup, her ears twitching as the music changed in pitch and tempo as the minstrels moved from one song to another. The smell of the place didn't bother her now, nor the crowd, her mind lost in thought entirely. She finished the drink and placed the empty cup on the barrel between them with an appreciable sigh, smacking her lips lightly at the taste and enjoying the fullness of the brew. Starlight looked at her expectantly.
“Still want to go home?” she asked.
“No.” Crimson looked out the window, seeing the snow had picked up slightly. Well, it was definitely warmer in here right now.
“So, now what?”
“Hmm?”
“I mean, you going to be okay?” Starlight asked. Crimson thought about it. In the end, she didn’t really know, but she had broached topics she never really gave serious thought to before, and it probably wouldn’t be good to go off and wallow in them alone, just as she had always dealt with everything. Though, she wasn’t really alone now, was she?
“Yeah, I think so,” Crimson replied, looking at the necklace Starlight had. “Why isn’t it melting?”
“Insulating spell. Sunburst managed to come up with it while in the Crystal Empire. It isn't all that powerful, and I kind of need to constantly maintain it, but it’ll stop the necklace melting before it’s evening,” Starlight explained, her horn lightly glowing. “Kinda have a bet going with Sunburst. He must’ve forgotten.”
“Huh. You mind explaining it to me? I think I could use that.”
“Sure!” Starlight said as Sunburst drew nearer through the crowd, stool levitated precariously above a crowd which ever so helpfully tossed discarded pieces of fruit and food into the air, cheering if one of them managed to land on the upturned stool, cheering if it simply hit someone else instead. “I think Sunburst himself could help with that. So, I take it you’ll stay for another round?”
Crimson smiled down at the empty cup.
“I think I can spare the time.”
--=--
He landed hard on the roof of the building, the wood creaking under his impact. He hadn’t meant to, but he was beyond tired and his wings all but gave out when it seemed like he could finally relax.
It was a cheap place, with three stories, decent-sized rooms, no mysterious smells, a landlord who wasn’t entirely shady all the time, rent that was cheap, the walls were thick, and he could take the loft apartments, meaning he wouldn’t have to actually interact with the building's other residents in order to make his way to work. Well, except the one or two other pegasi who opted to go for the roof access rather than the street in the morning. Or evening. Or whenever his shift calendar decided to ruin his week. His armoured hooves clacked against the wooden roof as he stretched his wings out, twisting them this way and that to get out the kinks and aches, eventually stretching them fully outward and straight up until he felt his primaries interlock and his back crack satisfyingly.
He waited until he was actually inside the ceiling door and the short stairs downward into the loft before letting out a long, exhausted yawn. He untied the armoured shoes with his mouth, pulling loose the leather bindings and all but kicked them off, hitting the far wall when he got down to the last stair. The rest of his armour came off in similar manner, loosening his helmet, shaking it off, letting it slip off his head. Detaching the peytral, he let it hit the floor as the rest of the barding fell away with it. He shook off the armoured hauberk and allowed everything to fall where they damn well may.
Ordinarily he was the height of soldierly proprietary, both on duty and off: grim, stoic, proper, and foreboding.
But it was Hearth's Warming and he had a sergeant’s leave privileges—everything could go to Tartarus for once for all he cared. It had been a busy day. There was a parade, a ball, Celestia knew how many private parties, and the population of Canterlot had effectively doubled as family, friends, merchants, and revellers arrived in the capital to celebrate the holiday. Cloud had been awake and on duty for effectively thirty-six straight hours, managing the barely organized chaos that was Canterlot. Now? It was just him, his bed, and hours and hours of glorious sle—
“Well, well. Somebody’s in a bad mood.” Cloud Skipper rounded immediately, adopting a wide stance and wings spread wide, ready to attack the source of the voice.
He found a smugly confident and annoyingly familiar thestral giving him a knowing look as she leaned against the windowsill. She had opened the windows outward— must have done that sometime just after he had landed on the roof, knowing he’d do a cursory circle of the building before settling down. The wind was light and just gently tugging at the indigo kaftan she was wearing.
He lowered his wings back to his side but narrowed his eyes at her.
“What?” she said defensively, hoof on heart. “I let myself in. Don’t tell me you forgot you gave me a key.”
Cloud grunted, and Midnight smiled.
“Yeah, you’re right. I don’t need a key to get in here.” Cloud breathed in through his nose, a hoof to his head as he walked off to the kitchen. “You know, it’s my last day before I’m back on shift. Not all of us can get a week’s worth of off-time just before New Year's. I mean, sure, I had a week off leading up to Hearth's Warming, but who’s counting?”
Cloud let her talk—he usually did—only occasionally responding. Right now he was too tired to do so. He did the only thing he felt like doing, and headed straight for his wine. Midnight had already gotten at it, judging by the empty wine glass by the window sill. He lifted the opened bottle and held it under one wing, another glass under his other, before moving back to the window.
“Saw you out there today; figured you were busy enough, so I left you be,” she said as he came back, nudging her wine glass towards him as he sat next to her.
“Hmm,” Cloud said tiredly. He poured the glasses as Midnight blathered on. She was always talkative at times like this.
“Oh, you’re a great conversationalist—anypony ever tell you that?” she asked, chuckling.
“Yep.” Cloud took a drink from his wine, only to find a thestral wing blocking the glass from his lips. He gave her an annoyed look.
“Hey,” she said softly. “Save it for the fireworks, yeah?”
Cloud simply exhaled, but lowered the glass and looked out over the city with her. Couldn’t see much of it, for they were hardly in the highest building in the city, nor was it well-placed. Still, they could see part of the palace, and they could see the sky. That was enough as far as he was concerned. The pair sat in contented silence for a moment before, inevitably, Midnight broke the quiet again.
“Remember when we were little? We’d always wait excitedly for the fireworks?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“I always loved the colours, still do. I remember you and the guys always went hunting for trouble, to see if you could find the fireworks and set them off early.” Cloud simply nodded. She continued to prattle on and he stopped listening. It was not that he didn’t like to hear her talk. He just was in no mood for it, and he couldn’t bring himself to care. He just wanted what he wanted and was tired of giving for one day. He thought about asking her to quiet down for once before the show started and put a stop to such thoughts.
The display started off, quite appropriately, with an impressive bang, one lone rocket screeching into the air and letting out an impressive explosion, bright-white and eye-catching, almost blinding before its remnants fell away, crackling into glorious trails of sparkling light. What followed was a cacophonous riot of noise and colours as the fireworks launched into the air in earnest and drowned the city below in wonder and light.
Cloud was transfixed by it. Even after all his years of experience, how much he had grown, there was just something about watching fireworks light up the night sky that made the kid inside of him feel alive. And all the good memories came flooding back to him once more. All those times, the good years and the bad, sitting down and watching the lights fill the sky. He wanted that, he wanted that to continue from this year to his last, and he wanted to continue to share it like he always had.
“Happy Hearth's Warming, Cloud.”
He turned, looking down at Midnight, seeing her expressive face gazing up in wonder at the display. Her smile was wide and genuine, her eyes shining. Expressive and the same beautiful golden hue they’d always been, each explosion and spark reflected off of those two perfect mirrors of the soul. The colours of the night sky played across her face, casting it in different colours and shades and shadows from different angles as the fireworks performed their magic. She hadn’t even been looking at him when she said it, so transfixed was she by the sight before her. He allowed himself a smile and let go of what he held against her earlier, and all the times she bothered, cajoled, aggravated, or otherwise inconvenienced him.
He knew what he wanted.
“Yeah,” he said, placing a wing around around her shoulder. She looked down at it, looking back to find him leaning closer to her. She tried to speak but found the words wouldn’t come. “You too.”
She gave into his embrace, their lips joining in the lights of the night’s sky as he pulled her closer, the wine entirely forgotten.
--=--
“Are… Are you drunk?”
“N-hic-No!” she said defensively. Blinking out of order and wobbling where she stood, it was obvious that she was not even facing the right direction to answer him before she corrected herself and turned and looked up at him.
Handy was at a loss for words. After the festival at Haywatch had wound down, he had gone looking for Crimson to see where she had gotten off to, perhaps explain things to her in kinder words. When he didn’t find her at the alchemist guild, he tried one of the libraries, then another, and another, and still another. Then he tried Klipwing before he remembered his manager had fucked off back home for the holidays, upon which he tried Jacques. Once Jacques was done explaining away the mysterious griffoness in his hilariously tiny Skymount home, to which Handy could only give the swordspony a disapproving look and a sigh, it turned out he hadn’t seen the mare around either.
At that point, Handy had started to get concerned. He spent the remainder of the day, of which there was not much left by the time he had been able to pull away from the festival, searching for the mare around the city. He had even contemplated climbing his way up to the castle before he realized Tanismore or one of his other peers among the royal knights would probably rope him into something stupid and festival-related, and he’d want to postpone that as much as possible.
The city was busy and packed, and Handy had begun to think something seriously awry had occurred before, quite to his shock, he all but stumbled over the missing mare as she had stumbled out of a crowded tavern. Handy looked up; it was the Hearth and Hay Bale. Not one of the ones he went to—hell, he was hardly ever in this neighbourhood since too many merchants lived here.
“Since… when do you drink?” he asked, still trying to process the fact he had a drunk dark wizard on his hands.
“I dunno,” Crimson slurred. “When d’you?”
“Right, how long have you been here?” he asked, shaking his head in amazement.
“What… What time is it?” she asked, looking around. “Still day, not long.” Handy looked up at the night sky and then to the street lamps illuminating the busy street.
“You… You got smashed, Crimson.”
“No I didn’t!” she brilliantly retorted, coiling a foreleg to her defensively, before looking in a nearby window pane, patting her face with a hoof. “My face isn’t-hic-cracked at all!”
“How… much did you drink?” Crimson looked up at him drunkenly, looked at one hoof before her, then another, seemingly counting under her breath, looking up at the sky as she struggled to think.
“Enuf?” she asked, as if Handy would tell her.
“I uh, I’m not sure where to begin with this,” he admitted. Passing griffons seemed to be amused by the sight, and Handy gave them a customary glare before looking into the tavern. “What possessed you to go get drunk?”
“You, uh, you said to.” She plopped down onto her haunches, her body still swaying.
“No I didn’t,” he replied patiently, his past experience with dealing with drunks and their convoluted logic kicking in.
“Totally did-hic,” she insisted, hitting him in the shin with her hoof. “S’all your fault.”
“No, you did this to yourself.”
“You said I should go to the pub!” she accused.
“I didn’t. Getting you drunk would be a horrible idea.”
“You might as well!” She folded her front hooves and pouted.
“Look, let's just get you home. Come on, I’ll walk you back to the guild hall,” he offered. Crimson immediately turned and walked the opposite way, stopping after almost running into a lamppost. She gave it an accusatory glare before righting herself and continuing on down the street. “Where are you going?”
“I’ll go somewhere else,” she said loudly enough that anyone could hear. Handy sighed and followed after her. “M’sick of sleeping in that box room.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?” Handy asked. “You never seemed to have a problem with anything before.”
“I don’t have to say-hic-‘thing,” she said, nose in the air, before almost tripping. “Fine! I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine; you can barely stand.”
“I can walk my way home!” she insisted. Handy blew a breath out of his nose in frustration. She was too far gone to listen to reason. He had never seen her drunk before, and he wasn’t expecting her to be this talkative. Or this belligerent, for that matter.
“So, you want to tell me what’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong! I’m great! Made friends and everything!” They turned towards a bridge over the river. Handy’s eyebrows rose.
“Really now?”
“Yeah! And we talked about magic and stuff! And drank and sang a-hic-and stuff!”
“Well, can’t say I would complain about that.” Handy scratched his head. “So then, why are you so upset?”
“I dunno!” she exclaimed as they meandered their way through the city. Handy opted not to press and instead tried to corral Crimson into heading back to the guild hall and her bed, or at least to one of the inns he owned. Every time she realized what was happening, she’d rebuke him with slurred semi-English before turning in yet another direction. Eventually, she just ended up tying the cloak about her and walking out of town.
“Now where are you going?” Handy demanded.
“Wherever I want…” she muttered, this time more tiredly.
“...Right, I’ve had enough of this,” Handy said as they made good progress from the town. He stood in front of the drunken unicorn forcing her to stop. “I don’t know where this is coming from, but for your own sake, you need to go home.”
“I am home!” she replied, kicking at the snow below. “Jus… Just need ta… ta think.”
“Come on, what’s wrong? I have never seen you like this.”
“You don’t know me!” she said suddenly, startling Handy, “Nopony does. I can… can be whatever I want…” And then she fell.
Handy knelt and pulled her back up to her hooves. The pony was drowsy and miserable-looking with half-melted snow on the side of her face, far from the dopey smile he had seen on her just as she left the tavern. He wiped it off and gave her a level look.
“Look, you don’t want to talk. I can appreciate that, but you’re barely standing right now. Come on.” He stopped her counterargument. “I don’t care, now come on.”
“I… I’m tired.”
“Evidently.” Handy stood back up, and something dropped from his cloak to the ground. Crimson looked down.
“Wassat?” she said, looking at the clump of ice. Handy followed her gaze.
“Oh that. Something the griffons gave me just as the fair was ending. Supposed to wear it for some reason or another.” He picked up the necklace of ice, the little carved pieces tinkling like crystal. He snorted in amusement. “I let them put it on me without me knowing it was ice; bit of a shock. I promptly kept it on a little mound of snow to not be disrespectful, but like hell was I wearing that for an hour.”
Crimson seemed to be looking at the thing oddly. Handy blinked down at it.
“What? Do you want it?” he asked. Crimson blinked.
“Huh?” she managed.
“I asked if you wanted it.” Crimson looked at him like a deer in headlights.
“I… yes.” Handy raised an eyebrow but nonetheless gave the tired drunken pony the little ice necklace. She flinched once as the ice touched her neck, and she looked down at it, holding it up with a hoof as he moved away. Her horn glowed and encompassed the necklace in a spell.
“There, happy now?” he asked. She didn’t answer, still looking down at the little thing. Handy turned towards the city. “Now come on, let’s get you—h-hey! What?”
Handy looked down, stumbling as a force hit him in the midsection and wrapped around him. Crimson had latched onto him in a hug, mumbling drunkenly as she squeezed, looking down.
“Hey! Hey, come on now, Crimson, let go of me.” He pushed her gently. She mumbled and just held on. “Crimson, we’re in the middle of the road. Let go of… Are… Are you sleeping?”
Handy pulled back the mare’s hood and, sure enough, the pony’s grip lessened slightly as it seemed she had finally given into her fatigue and drunkenness and more or less collapsed onto him. She was breathing gently and Handy cursed silently to himself, looking around. He was already over a hill on the road from the city, with the guild hall more or less on the far side of it, and it was still a long trek back to Haywatch.
And he had an unconscious pony at his feet.
“Great,” he muttered, “just great. I’m going to have to carry you now, aren’t I?”
Crimson let out an adorable snore. Handy scowled.
--=--
“Sis?”
“Yeah?” Shortbeak said, pouring another pair of cups for them both.
“You ever miss them?” she asked. Shortbeak froze at the question.
“Miss who, Ami?” she asked with a forced smile. Amelia could not see anymore but she knew by the sound of her voice that she was being disingenuous.
“You know who I mean, Felicia,” she said sadly. “Mom and dad. And Joryl.”
Shortbeak wanted to snap at that, sore spots being what they were. She couldn’t, not at Amelia.She looked down, her head filling with old, tired thoughts, bitterness, self-loathing, blame. So much she sometimes missed what she was ever angry about, unable to see the trees for the forest.
“Yeah,” she murmured contemplatively. “Yeah, I do.”
“It’s okay, you know?” Shortbeak looked up. “They’d be proud of you, at what you’ve become.”
“Ami, don’t…”
“How much you’ve grown, what you’ve done,” Amelia continued, smiling at her beloved sister. “How much you’ve taken care of me after all this time despite the burden I put on you.”
“Please…”
“You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself all the time. It’s not your fault, you know? You have become so much more than what you were, why do—”
“BECAUSE MY LITTLE SISTER SHOULDNT BE TALKING TO ME AS IF SHE WERE MY DYING GRANDMOTHER!” Shortbeak screamed. Amelia fell into shocked silence as her older sister rose to her full height, wings spreading from her side. Shortbeak’s beak trembled, her eyes damp. “Because I shouldn’t be looking at my little sister slowly turning to ash… and not be able to do anything about it.”
“... Feely, it’s not-”
“Don’t!” Shortbeak demanded, settling back into her chair, trying to maintain her composure. “Don’t you dare blame yourself for this, by projecting onto me for my own failures.”
“But it is my fault!” Amelia protested. “I… I meddled in what I shouldn’t have. I brought this upon us both.”
“And it was my job as your big sister to make sure you stayed out of trouble,” Shortbeak retorted, the tea forgotten as she rested her head into her claw, brushing the downy feathers from the side of her head away.
“... I am not a little girl anymore, Felicia. You can’t protect me from everything, much less myself,” Amelia said seriously. “I wasn't five years ago either. Your life shouldn’t be held back because of a mistake I did. It’s not fair, not on you, not on anygriffon.”
“Yeah, but you are all I have, Amelia, you always were.” Shortbeak allowed a tear to fall, here where none could bear witness. “I am not letting you die, not alone. Not like this.”
“We all die sometime, Feely,” Amelia said quietly. Shortbeak clenched a claw and slammed down on the arm of her chair.
“You. Do not talk like that. You are not going to die, do you hear me, little sister? You still have so much to live for.”
Amelia smiled sadly at that.
“Do I?” she asked. Shortbeak just looked at her, tears in her eyes. Her claw entwined Amelia’s own even tighter. Her features hardened, and the trembling of her beak stopped.
“Yes,” Shortbeak announced, her voice so full of resolution that the sad smile on Amelia’s face wavered a touch.
“You can’t fight the inevitable, sister,” Amelia said uncertainly.
“I damn well can and I will, Amelia.” Shortbeak’s words were coated in iron and with all the surety of a thunderstorm. “I’ve been doing it all my life.”
“But… what if you fail?” Shortbeak let herself smile.
“What if I don’t?” she asked her sister. “Have you thought of that?”
“Every night when I sleep,” Amelia said sadly. “It's the only time I can see anything, I can move. Every morning I wake up, I still only see blackness.”
Shortbeak didn’t have a response to that bleak reality. She only had a promise as she squeezed Amelia’s hand tighter.
“Then believe in this. One day you will wake up. And you will fly again.”
Amelia gave her another sad smile, not ready to ease out of the comfortable despair she had resigned herself to, but to give her sister at least a glance of hope that she would.
“You promise?” Shortbeak wiped her face with her free talons.
“Have I ever broken a promise to you yet?” Amelia thought for a moment or two.
“No. No, you haven’t.”
“Then why should this time be any different?” There was silence for the longest time between the two of them as the building itself stood in silence, its timbers creaking as it settled. Eventually, Amelia squeezed her claw back.
“Thank you,” she said softly. Shortbeak allowed herself a smile at last. She released her claw after a time, lifting up a book. “You don’t have to stay here all the time, you know. You are allowed to go see your friends.”
Shortbeak knew she was saying that half-jokingly, but she paid no mind and opened up where they had left off.
“Don’t be silly. This time of year, there’s nogriffon I would rather spend my time with than with my family. Now, should we go by where we left off?”
“I’d like that,” Amelia said as the two settled in for the night. Mimae, the older griffon who cared for Amelia, smiled from the other side of the door, listening to the sisters as they finished their talk, walking on towards her room to rest for the night.
--=--
Handy sighed as he settled into the comfortable armchair in the living room. The fire had not been lit yet, and Handy was in no mood to go through the stress of lighting it from afar as had become his norm. He looked outside at the gently falling snow beyond his window pane and the birch forest far away. He contemplated going out to clear his head, but thought better of it. He was already tired from lugging a fully grown pony all the way back to his manor. Preferring that instead to the questions raised if he was seen lugging an unconscious Crimson through the city.
He had left her in his bedroom upstairs, given it was the only one with an actual bed, and then retreated back downstairs, mindful of the clumps of holly he had placed on the stair banisters and corners of the walls, and on the hall tables, the tops of door frames, and anywhere else he could stick them.
He even had a small log he covered in frost in one of the windows of the front rooms, to keep it relatively cool. He placed holly on it and a little candle to make an extremely shitty yule log. He never even knew what yule logs were for, but everyone had them, so he figured that was one thing you should have. He never lit it.
Honestly, he had no idea what he was doing, working on dim memories from his childhood. He had never really decorated his place back on Earth, not since he left home, so he was working off of base intuition. He didn’t even know why he was doing it. Nothing he was doing even meant anything to anyone here, and it was not as if he ever had guests over who could ask about it. It just felt right that a home, if this was to be his home, should be dressed and cared for, whatever the occasion.
He had even been working on a Christmas wreath and getting halfway through before realising he had no idea how he was going to ensure the damn thing stuck together, much less hang it on his door. He left that half-finished on the table before him the other night and here it still lay. He pulled a bottle of wine from the box of cheap stuff his workers left him with as a gift after they finished rebuilding his manor house. Apparently someone had gotten it ‘as it fell off the back of a cart’.
Handy had turned a blind eye to it, more amused than anything. Plus, it was red wine, for which he was grateful. Never could trust a man who drank white wine by choice. He learned that at his father’s knee when they had ran a pub back on Earth. The thought amused him as he followed Mimae’s advice and took her medicine. He rubbed the balm over his ruined left arm, exposing it to the cold air of the room, and chewing the other things she gave him to help him ease his way into a night’s slumber.
He poured himself a glass and drank calmly as he settled in to sleep for the night, throwing the heavy blanket back over himself. He downed it and allowed his mind to wander, looking over the dark room around him, sombre and blue in the winter’s moon pouring through the one window beside him which had not had its drapes fully drawn.
The more he thought, the more he drank. The more he drank, the more he remembered. The more he remembered, the more he wished to forget. The more he wished to forget, the more he drank. And so it went through the night until the warmth within him and that of the blanket lulled him off to sleep, letting the glass fall to the floor and rolling away, the cold blue of the winter room giving away to the warm embrace of oblivion.
Somewhere in his room, from a device that served as his sole connection to a lost world, a melancholy tune of better days whispered in his ears as the long, cold night held him tighter in its embrace.
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This interlude brought to you by Battletech, a franchise about as lively and socially aware as Crimson's relationships.
Of which I am directly responsible for helping sabotage.
And excitement is back!
When the
peasantsreaders finally get a new chapter:media.giphy.com/media/l3vRmLnpjmW9OQGis/giphy.gif
Beautiful chapter. Absolutely beautiful.
You never fail to set just the right mood in your scenes, Handyman.
Damn, that feel chapter. Can't we go back to Handy being a dick?
Also, that bold tho
oy vey
I wasn't sure what to expect but I really loved this chapter, especially how you managed to weave Starlight in and have a wonderful soul-searching conversation with character growth and AHHHHHHH! OTP shifting slightly, blast you. (Uuuuu, Crimsoooon T _ T)
Aw, no drunken dark wizard shenanigans?
___
When The Snow Melts isn't a HiE, silly Handy. It's a PoE
Somehow, every time you are about to update, I just know the day it will be out. It is an odd superpower, but one I am grateful for.
Actions speak louder than words...
The music murdered my tear ducts, my dude. Fuck off with these chest pains you call feelings. I agree with you on the white wine, by the way.
"White wine is for fairies and douchebags." –Grandpa Carney
I cannot emphasize just how much I love stories that let their characters breath, and you are the first person I can remember to actually address just how bitter local holidays would be for the protagonist in most of these HIE stories. It's beautifully poignant.
Well worth the wait.
*sees update*
!!!!!!!!
*literally jumps out of chair with excitement*
!!!!!!!!!!
Expensive Brick is still best character.
7559217
You can't just tease us with tales of sabotage and stop there. I never played the tabletop game, but the old Mechwarrior video games were entertaining.
7559244 very astute observation good sir you shouldn't make fun of the readers for being excited for a new chapter.
This one's to handyman. you sir are a magnificent bastard! Crimson is an adorable Voldemort in training. drunk and unsure of herself learning to make friends because of her stubborn Pride on top of passing out on an exasperated handy that was particularly adorable. The moment with Amelia and shortbeak made the magics feels happen. Nevertheless I digress you did a fantastic job showing a bunch of the Lonely People trying not to be lonely during the holidays kudos to you. Also Jacques is a pervo drunkard with a changeling fetish with the complete inability to manage his finances.
*Peeks out of coffin*
Ah, there it is, I'll read it this afternoon.
*Lies back down*
Out of all of them, Crimson is probably following th meaning the best, even if Handy is preparing on instinct.
I no longer have a table to put th little crystal christmas tree on, but at least the fire still has enough shelf for it to sit one.
just how powerful or dangerous is Shimmer compared to Crimson?
Oh Handy, I fear by the time you complete your task, you will discover the home you seek is not your home anymore. For Home is where the heart is, not what has been left behind.
...the feels.
7560009
And handy was certainly heartless back on Earth, the damned lawyer he was.
You know, it's just as well Crimson didn't try to drag Starlight Glimmer and Sunburst back home with her; the longer it takes for Handy to discover time travel is real the better!
Crimson +alcohol = hilarious. The alchemists better hope she doesn't have a bottle in her office. Buckets
I like Handy's method to politics.
This was a fantastic chapter. As much as I hate to discourage more updates, these chapters are more than worth the wait. The part with the baguatte was amusing, though I'm not sure what the necklace was. The parts with Stellar and Cloud & Midnight were also nice, as it really adds to one of the parts that really sets your story apart: you've developed more than just a character, you've made a world. Seeing the lives and struggles of characters who could easily be brushed over really gives the story... I was going to say depth, but that doesn't seem right. I suppose it is more of a width, that when combined with the depth, helps the story feel rooted. Can't believe Welcome Sight is dead, though. :'(
The developement of Handy and especially of Crimson was definately the best. When I was reading the pub scene, I was thinking, "Man, I hope she goves Handy a hug." I was not disappointed. I'm really liking getting to see Crimson grow, and how that is in turn, helping Handy. I do hope to see more developement on the Shortbeak side, but I'm sure it is coming.
Just some stuff I saw while reading:
"that's all" or "that is all"
Hoe does one let his/her gaze drink? ;) "drift"
"Amelia. She"
Until Monday once again appears on the Handyman calendar!
7560396 Buckets?
7560499 remember when she was angry at the alchemists?
7560541 No.
This was a cozy chapter, and Crimson was surprisingly adorable.
At least until the end and you hit me with that song, which was only compounded by how much I've had to drink. I hope Handy has a happy ending. Was a very melancholy chapter overall.
7559879 Crimson's awkward blood economy pitch was actually entirely my idea.
And I was a lot more detailed about it when I originally threw the idea at Handyman. This subject may come up again.
Beautiful chapter, very soulful.
That was excellent. Crimson was absolutely adorable here and had a ton of fantastic development. I'm really hoping we get to see more of her evolving relationships with Starlight and Sunburst soon, and I'd especially like to see the reactions all the way around when the connections between her, Handy, and Twilight all come out. Maybe Crimson can offer to let Starlight hitch a ride when Handy heads into Equstria to pick up Spike so we can get some shenanigans when they arrive as a group.
Moving on, I'm very glad to see that Thorax is back, although I'm a bit surprised she showed up so early and for an apparently personal reason. I was expecting her to talk Chrysalis into letting her tag along with Handy as a semi-excuse to see Jacques again, but that wouldn't have brought her into town for a few more months. That makes me wonder what happened to let her go her own way like this, and I really want to read the conversation they had at the end of that scene. Also, on a related note, it seems odd that Jacques is off on his own like that since Handy knows better than to leave him to his own devices and Jacques would be a prime contact for the royal intelligence service since he can bring a network of useful international contacts to the table...for a price.
Also, the scene between Cloud and Midnight was adorable and Handy continues to be his entertainingly grouchy self even if he is warming up to ponies like Crimson in his own way. Seriously, the line "Crimson let out an adorable snore. Handy scowled." sums him up quite nicely.
7559649 Meh, wine is for wimps.
Awww man,that ending. Poor handy.
And that's a reason I love this story so much. The characters are so believable. Its a living world with so many different perspectives and stories happening all at once. I also love the fact Handy isn't one of those "oh its been like 4 months I don't care about my home and past life anymore.....PONIES!" characters that so many people do with HiE.
It is a lovely interlude. A reminder that the world does not revolve around the protagonist, and gives insight into the other character lives without interrupting the story. Crimson character development is coming along quite nicely, and the return of Thorax and the Expensive Brick is a nice touch.
7559348
You misunderstand. One does not remove the a$$hole from the man. You only see the a$$hole less. He was always an asshole, he's just not always showing it to you now.
7560642 I'm a tequila man, myself.
Drunk Crimson is super adorable!
I hope Starlight and Handy never meet, cause once she mentions time travel, I'm sure Handy'll be all over that in less than a heartbeat.
Nice to see her again, even if it's just for this little bit.
7561761 Ah, but every Asshole should deserve a pet the dog moment. Though the real question is, is he one or the other?
7563421
You pet your dog with your butt? ewwwwwww.......
i wonder how much of the music the brick currently has it had before Handy came to equstria
Loved the chapter. Don't know if I should be happy or sad for Handy and cia. Can't wait to see what comes next. Cheers.
Nobody gives a good "no" like Crimson.
7560541
That took way too long.
Oh my god! I just got that! She was setting them on fire!
Love the story! Keep updating!
7565831 FINALLY SOMEONE ELSE GETS IT! thanks for being here.
for that you get a follower no questions asked.
7565844
Thank you very much.
7565847 everyone needs some love
What happens if handy drinks dragon blood? (Was wondering about that when they were talking about fireproof potions)
P.s. nice chappy
Does anyone else get the feeling that this was a gift from the White Stag?
7566589 most likely he get's to be fireproof. (that would be so awesome, especially if he didn't knew about it until Stellar will try it on him.)
I'm here to do a thing.
7570205 it's a stupid thing, but I do it because I must.
7570207 really you brought this on yourself.