Icon: Remnants of the North

by Vixavior

Act 1- Chapter 9: Offering and Offending

Offering and Offending

Proofread by TehSporkBandit

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A serene hush fell over the barrows, one more soul departed while its mortal form lay in an ignoble heap. There was no elation, no mourning, merely the silent pall of the dead that latched on to the minds of the livings amidst the eerie torch glow. The thick oak and iron door was still covered in deeply carved sigils.

“Wards.” Kolbjorn's voice was cut short, choked with equal amounts of dread and discomfort.

“Warnings as well.” Olaf had recovered his deep calm and silenced any opposition among his thanes. Yet in the depths of the undercroft, hidden and secreted away from the rest of the world, they could all disappear without a single sign.

Ulf stayed back from the door, back turning to it as he looked at the gloomy corners of the room, peering over the body of Byrhtnoth. A faint 'click' had him turn suddenly, axe raised at the sound of the door opening with a languid groan.

Kolbjorn's shield still hung from his back, though he shrugged it more to one side and kept the torch raised up. The shield thane slipped in first, plunging the room he left in darkness. Olaf slipped in next while Ulf wasted no time in darting inside seconds later.

“Dear Gods…” There was no deep demonic growls, no lingering presence of the malicious fey, no horrid trickery or vicious serpent, it was peaceful. A room, not so different from the others, greeted them. The air was thick with dust, but the scent of sulphur was far more subdued than in the hallway or the chamber outside. The walls were covered, either in paintings or tapestries that were just as aged as those they had uncovered not moments before. There were small tables here and there, cushions, some straw-packed likenesses of heads initially taken as trophy skulls of fallen foes. Five such facsimile heads were arrayed before them. On inspection, two of them held something more beneath the blanket of neglect; it was enough to make the heart race. A pillager would have been senseless seeing baubles of gold and gems of bright blue laced on bangles and decorating crowns of interwoven gold leaves. But that wasn't what attracted the most attention at a glance.

Stretched across the room, cutting it down the middle, was a single great veil. It was white, once upon a time and translucent as a silent river. Now the ghostly fabric was stained grey with the heavy aura of the ages and dull as smoke. It stood as a barrier, a ruined masterpiece of gossamer threads, woven by the gods and put in place as if to differentiate their realm from that of man. The pair of thanes stood in awe of the temple like mystique, looking at carvings of a great sun and moon, etched with filigree of the most precious metals and carved from fragrant acacia. But the warlord stood transfixed; the Lion had been muted, staring through the massy veil at what could be vaguely seen as steps just beyond the curtain.

Olaf strode forward, heedless of the sanctuary that such a veil might offer. “M'lo…” Ulf’s voice trailed off as he took a single step forward before being interrupted. Olaf swept his sword in a single slash, ripping a great rent in the fabric which was shorn away in a great loose strip. It sloughed down from the touch, the burden of the cloth's wound tugging on the clean cut edges that slowly pulled itself apart. The mighty warlord, sword in hand, stood before the tear and drew a rattled breath. The two peers followed suit and gingerly approached the great rent.

Up five broad steps, each one growing progressively wider, was a great plinth. It was covered in script from a dozen different languages, spiralling up to a single lectern with a leather-bound manuscript and large brass bound chest. Walls on either side held murals and miniatures, great scenes of past glories now faded and subdued. The hidden monument of past glories sat relegated to ignomy as the dull claws of age ensnared it in its fold.

It was silent as a tomb and a tomb it was for so many. Olaf stumbled up the flight of steps, twisting and numbly walking as if possessed, seemingly entranced by the brass clasped chest. The sword dropped from his mailed hand as he reached out to grasp the unlocked latch. Kolbjorn scanned the room, seeing great carvings that leered towards that box. Heads of horses… no, heads of something that looked like horses. Stern carvings, manes to the side, horns twisting from their brows, and each ornamented and bedecked with finery as if the steeds of some great king of the sands.

Ulf gazed at the faded paintings, inching closer after his initial hesitation. “Is this your demon?” The banner thane 's voice was subdued as if afraid he could wake the dead from their slumber.

Paintings showed grand scenes of pastoral life and aged cities, one flowing seamlessly to the next, aside from the flourished etchings where the three walls met. Great feasts, and a humble man in grey habit, hands upraised dominated one central panel. His head was shaved, around him was a resplendent glow painted in flaked gold. Another stood beside him, all in white, but no aura was seen. Pouring over the details, he simply looked at the single, great scene in the middle that framed his own lord who clasped the chest to his breast. Behind him was a great white horse, wings unfurled, face lost amidst the peeled and chipped paint. Before the creature knelt the same habit clad man crowned in a nimbus of light, prostrate and humble.

“Demon or not… this must be the icon of Theophilus.” Slowly, he opened the box.

“M-m'lord…” Kolbjorn interrupted with a racking gasp, “the statues weep!”

Ulf recoiled, glancing around as if malicious sprites were seeping from the walls. Olaf gave a rattled breath, the box dropping from his hands with a clatter that raised the hackles of his two thanes. There was a low crystalline chime, a scraping sound as something bounced from the chest and down the steps. Kolbjorn swung the torch to illuminate the item that rolled to a stop against the gauzy material they'd slashed through.

Before them lay a single length of twisted ivory.

♣

Your heart pounds with an unrelenting haste and every breath came and went by its own accord. Seized in a fit, you are immobilized on your bed, skin clammy and face lathered in beads of sweat which trickle down your brow. Head back down on the sodden pillow, you stare up at the ceiling that seems to spin like a torturer’s wheel.

You weren't drunk and there was no nameless Lovecraftian horror crawling on your ceiling, so what happened? In a desperate attempt to answer that question, your mind frantically retraces your evening: you'd finished up supper, washed up, went back to your room, and climbed in bed. That was it. Sickness, was it something you ate? That would be a first here.

Clutching at your chest, it almost feels like a detached sensation when looking at your shaking palms and flickering fingers that twitch on their own accord. Slowly, carefully, you concentrate on your hand: the wrist, the palm, slowly, each finger. One by one they responded, and were willing to bend to your control again. Short, shallow breaths leave you feeling utterly exhausted. A panic attack, and a severe one.

How did that happen? It's psychosomatic, stress or illness, that has to be it.

The dream is still fresh in your mind, and while unnerving, like so many over the past months, it was just a dream. Using reason and logic to explain away your troubles had never been one of your better ideas, but the more you think about them, the more uncomfortable the pictures flooding into your brain were starting to become.

Slowly, your sense of the world expands: it starts with the careful but unsuccessful closing of a door. There is a distinct clack and groan as the portal yawns open, then the groan of floorboards under hooves. A muted curse proceeds that sound and this time a more firm bang as the old farmhouse door, with its rickety frame and old swollen timbers, finally closes for good. By now you are staring at the swirling ceiling and listening to the distant sound of tired hoofsteps dragging themselves wearily up the stairs. There was only one pony you knew that could try to gracefully surmount those stairs and fail miserably every time. Now she is home, and with a low groan you turn your head to face the window.

The faint rush of wind and clack of dry twigs and branches clattering against the window pane. It is dark, with only the faintest glow of an oil lamp on the road for some poor pony outside is all you could see. It’s well after nightfall and closer to the witching hour than dawn or dusk.

Your head once more hits the pillow as dizziness and a sudden intense sensation of vertigo overwhelms you. This sickness seems to ebb away, leaving a few moments of clarity. Slowly, Applejack returns to the hallway, and further down the corridor.

Three taps of a hoof echo down the hallway, “Apple Bloom? Sugah'cube?” Though laden with tiredness, she was still soft and caring. The croak of wood and old hinges grace your ears, and you wish the wind would steal away Applejack's quiet voice or the faintest sniffle from a filly. You hadn't been meaning to eavesdrop but there wasn't much you could do about that now. Turning over on your side, the nausea is starting to disappear, as is the shortness of breath. Wrenching your eyes shut, it still doesn't quite close your ears, or turn your mind off either.

Ten minutes, maybe twenty pass as you slowly start to fade into a restful trance right before one uncomfortable twinge grips you all too suddenly.

Need to pee... damn it.

Trying to slowly stalk out from your bed, you inch towards the door. A quick reach down to the foot of the bed snaggs your pants as you pull them on hastily and swing yourself out of bed. There are no proper pyjamas for you, no real bath robe in Equestria that would fit, and while they almost certainly wouldn't care how you looked, it was still uncomfortable.

Poking your head out into the hall, you listen and tried to mask your own footsteps. “...Ah know, ah know... ah worry about 'em too. I don’t want nothin' ta happen to 'em, so it's natural to worry about 'em if ya hear things like that. But ya'can't be afraid of everythin' all your life, take the bad things and turn 'em inta somethin' good, if ya can, and don't worry 'bout every little thing. How else are ya' gonna be happy spending time with 'em? If'n yer gonna try an' protect 'em all yer life you ain't gonna even get the chance to live it with 'em.”

A soft sigh, a filly's quiet voice breaks that uncomfortable silence “Ah' guess. But Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon said that monster is goin' round takin' Unicorns and gettin' closer. So Sweetie Belle and Rarity are just the next ones! Just bein' sensible.” Fright worms its way deep into her voice before a sob bubbles up, as if she was about to cry.

“Well if'n ah… Uh…” Applejack's voice halted at once. Her younger sister's sigh seemed to release most of its emotion and the proverbial floodgates with a racking breath and unsteady whimper. There was a creak from the bed, an adjustment, and then a soothing hush. When Applejack resumed talking, there was a softness there that you'd never heard before, “Even if they were frettin' about what might happen, it won’t help nopony even if it does happen. It's a long ways away and it don't mean anything. Sweetie Belle and Rarity are doin' just fine now. Trust me, little sis', ah just checked on 'em mahself.” Applebloom's subtle sniff and continuing simpering spoke volumes. She hadn't been totally convinced.

Applejack forges on with a far more cheerful disposition. “You ain't gonna' just lose 'em like that, but ah know, fear can make anypony think about the wrong things and miss out on the important ones. Even me…” The elder sister stopped for a few moments, letting that self-proclaimed vulnerability sink in. “We ain't gonna let a silly-filly's little worry scare off all the Apples are we? So let's make some memories of it while ya can! Tell ya what AB, we'll make somethin' ta really remember. How 'bout we get 'em up to the farm for Hearth’s Warmin'. Pull out aaaall the stops.” She is so jubilant, so sure, and so loud that you can't help but hear.

“Really? Ah, well ah guess that'll be somethin' ta really remember.” That‘s better, the bounce was back in her voice… similar to the bounce in your step as you slink down the hall, tiptoeing towards the bathroom.

Slipping past the door, you try to avoid the crack of light for fear of accused of eavesdropping. “Think they'd've lahked it too?” The young filly's voice crackles in a somberness unheard by your ears.

“Of course, suga'cube. Ya know mah'n'pah woulda been proud of ya for carin' about yer friends, AB. Ye’ won't lose them, even if ya didn't have too many memories of 'em… They'd have loved ya to bits, like all the rest of us do. Honest to goodness, if'n there's anythin' good out there, they'll be seein' or hearin' you now… and they wouldn't be the least bit ashamed of ya for it.” You, on the other hand, have a sinking feeling you shouldn't be there. This wasn't something that you could just involve yourself in either.

Inching by, you can see the oil lamp by the bed on, the soft green and white sheets, and the pair of bedraggled ponies laying on it. Apple Bloom tangled in the sheets, her older sister half resting on top, hoof stroking the filly's mane while curled up around her. The hat was forgotten, gold and russet manes both tangled, matted, and messy. The pink bow was out of Apple Bloom's hair, laying as a single limp strip dangling from her bedside table. The cheery little room, colourful paint, warm tones, and bright oil lamps didn't reflect that solemn air.

Applejack leaned in, planting her lips on her younger sister's forehead, closing her eyes for a moment. “Ah can't promise, but ah'll try mah very best so that nothin' happens ta any of our friends or this family.”

They're looking the other way. You take a moment and hold your breath before darting across the doorway and that shaft of light. Applejack's ears twitch back as you cross that thin beam of light, she must have caught a glimpse of you out of the corner of her eye. Now you were clear though, a straight line from you to the bathroom. Slipping inside, you shut the door much more quietly than AJ when she came inside. After twisting the knob to the oil lamp the tiny compact room was bathed in the lantern's glow so you weren't groping blindly in the dark.

♣♣

You had finished, washed up, and were properly dressed in the space of a few short moments. Every thought was tied to what you had seen not a minute before even when you tried to focus on the mundane. The water you used was replaced after a few quick strokes on the water-pump handle.

Taps are so much eas…

You look up in the small mirror that curved down, seeing a figure in the doorway behind you.

Whatever that impetus was to turn didn’t reveal any more than what the mirror had already shown. The golden mare stood at the entrance to the bathroom, just staring at you for a second or two. Blindly reaching for the hoof-towel you manage to only grasp the small ring that held it up next to the wooden countertop, “C-can I help you?”

AJ steadies herself and takes a deep breath, “Sorry ya had to hear all that. It ain't something ah always like talkin' about, so that's why ah never told ya before.” You had obviously missed whatever it was that she was apologizing for.

“I, well, had to go to the washroom so I didn't mean to actually eavesdrop on that conversation.” She holds up a hoof to staunch any other apologies that were about to come babbling from your now loosened lips.

When she spoke, there was still a caring quietness to it, “'S alright, 's alright. Ah understand. Mah… our parents died when Apple Bloom was still young. She never quite got over it, and ah think this whole Unicorn thing made her a mite-bit scared. She's a filly, and she don’t know any better than tah be scared of a spooky story. When she thinks she'll lose her friends to a monster, even if it’s half of Equestria away, it can be real scary. Ah have to admit…” she actually trots right in, head down, hair still a mess and stops right beside you. Rearing up, hooves on the faucets, she pours a little more water in the basin and splashes it on her face. It took her a full twenty seconds before she continued, “Seein' Rarity worked up, Sweetie Belle so frightened because of that there story, then seein' what happened, I started to get scared of it mahself. Silly, actin' like a filly and lettin' mah own imagination run right away. Ain't fittin', I know. But ah can see the worry.”

Nipping the inside of your mouth, you hold the towel out for AJ who accepts it wearily and dries her face. “It shows you care. I didn't think you two got along so, I'm surprised that it affected you that much. Twilight maybe, but Rarity?” You had always seen that antipathy between the two as something that seemed to be a divider.

When Applejack looks up, you see the red-veined and cloudy veil on those emerald orbs. But even that deep tiredness doesn't hide the half-horrified and half-baffled look that stretches across her muzzle, “Y'think ah'd wish that on a friend? That ah wouldn't be scared for 'er?” Incredulity was giving way to a rapid anger as she slaps the damp hand towel down.

“No, of course not.” You can't even claim that your horrid choice of words were lost in translation. Applejack would have helped anypony, anytime, but on earth that couldn't be remotely stated about so many people. Maybe Applejack was still the exception to the rule rather than the norm, but it was still Applejack. “I don't think you'd wish that on anybody, Applejack. That said, I thought that given your past bickering, it might have made Rarity unlikely to open up.” Yeah… the last part sounds stupid in retrospect, too, she'd spout her whole issue to anypony. You could blame it on tiredness.

A sideways glance at the mare shows that she is placated for the moment. Muzzle turned up, eyes closed, she sucks in a deep breath. “It's because of Apple Bloom. Ah'm probably better at talkin' to Rarity when Sweetie Belle's concerned, too. Not sure who's more of a filly, but they need a good bit'a reassurance now'n'then.”

Applejack shudders: her withers were tense, eyes closed, and hooves curved as she appears locked in the same place as before. Hair ties were gone, pretension wiped away completely, the older mare has finally run out of energy. Maybe she'd run out of the same confidence she had to display to Rarity, too “AJ, I'll protect the Apple family as much as I can, too.” If she was afraid of losing Apple Bloom but just never stated it, it could put her a little more at ease that you have no cruel or malicious designs and wouldn't just look the other way if it happened.

“What…” Applejack says as cold as stone. Rapidly you start to retrace your steps at that sudden rebuke. “Y'think that me and mah kin need protectin'?"

Oh, oh this is not good!

"AJ, AJ, look, that'snotwhatIme-" the rapid stream of babble went unheeded as you try to retract what you said.

The farm-pony snorts once, her muzzle turning up and approaching a snarl, "Think that we're what Rarity pretends tah be: some blushin', hah-falutin floozy who can't rightly put two hooves in front of the other 'less somepony else says it's safe?” she looks over, a glance that could split the same cold granite wrapped up in her voice. “Ah don’t need no help from nopony or no-body tah help keep mah family safe, ah done it for nearly fifty seasons and ah ain't no filly-in-distress neither!” Her voice rose a step or two and she'd turned towards you, poking her muzzle out as if to drive you back into the wall.

Applejack rears up, making you recoil, before slamming her hooves into the wall on either side of your head. Her dull emerald green eyes lock with yours like some horrid, furry medusa while her muzzle twitches. All she needed to do was wind up and smash even just a foreleg against your shoulder and she could probably shatter it beyond non-magical repair.

Something in those swirling pools, tainted with rage, catches your attention. A twitch of fear, the horror of loss, a steadfast determination to never show the same pain she had to safeguard others from. You can't close your eyes, and neither can you fortify your voice to be loud enough for your liking. Yet one word still made it past your lips, “sorry…”

The anger ebbs away from her and reason grips the mare. Those same vicious emotions are quickly replaced by a glimmer of self-reproach The farm-pony pushes herself back from the wall and settles on all fours. Unable to look you in the eyes again, she keeps her gaze down and wearily plods towards the entrance to the hallway. Her right forehoof is rested against the door frame to steady herself from swaying, interrupting an almost absent, ghostly movement that feels devoid of life at all.

Even as she disappears from sight you feel locked in that same state. Heart pounding, knees locked, but there is something so absent that you are as worried about Applejack as you are about your own safety in that last few moments as it replays in your head. The meaning wasn't lost on you but you had meant it merely as a 'if need be' scenario. Of course, you were no cavalier of old, no knight in shining armour, and no gallant hero. That was Rarity's little fantasy, the reality is quite different: Applejack was physically stronger, tougher, faster, and more capable than you. The need for such an incredibly clichéd and retrospectively insulting insinuation was non-existent. Again, that irrational anger was still making your heart pound and mind trace back over every word.

Slowly you make your way to the door and try to turn the oil lamp down. Your hands shake, breath rattles, and unsteadiness leads you to almost touch the scorched glass and burn your fingers rather than turning it off. Your legs want to give out from beneath you after that verbal rebuke you'd just suffered. You finally manage to get the light turned off and pull yourself into the hall. AJ had to be downstairs, the kettle was starting to pop and expand but the oil lamps were still dim as you leave her to her own devices and shuffle towards your room.

To say things could have gone better would be a woeful understatement. You didn't even check to see if the door had closed before inelegantly flopping out on the unmade bed. The first pangs of depression were already growing entrenched as the encounter was wrapping its tendrils deep into your mind, roots of sickness and doubt nurtured by the myriad of possibilities. They hadn't started off there, the mare had sown them, but damned if they didn't take root.

For five or ten minutes you think about the encounter: you could have said any number of things, and while you hadn't meant it in that fashion, you had settled on spouting the most conceited, patronizing, chauvinistic, outright ridiculous-

“C-can ah come in?” Applejack's voice echoes in the stillness as there another faint knock sounds at the door.

“…Sure.” It was her house, but you are already rubbing your eyes to fortify them against the few tears that welled up in the corners. Thankfully that same emotion hadn't choked up your voice.

“Ah acted like a brat, just… scared as ah was tryin' not ta be. Ah…” she meanders about for a second, door opening and the sound of rattling wood and metal was plain to the ear. She coaxes the oil lamp back to life and slips inside. The mare has a serving tray on her back with tea, a pair of small bowls, and plates. “Ah just wanted you ta know, ah appreciate what ya said. Hopefully you won't have ta' prove it, and even if ya only try then it'll be a might-bit more comforting to know it, too. Thanks. Ah, well, will ya accept a peace offerin'? Ye know, for gettin' all huffy?” she awkwardly scuffs the floor with a hoof and keeps her jaws clenched tight while waiting for your response.

You slowly look up, seeing your employer, your friend, red face and ashamed while appearing nervous. Slowly a smile spreads across your face, “Of course, I, well… AJ, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like it sounded and I've just been having some awful dreams so…” almost emotionlessly she edges closer to the bedside until finally the mare places a hoof over your mouth. A quick flash of a smile says you don’t have to apologize or explain any further. Yet there is still a lump in your throat. Aside from Twilight, you'd told no one about the dreams and she just cut you off.

Slowly she takes the serving tray in her teeth, tea-pot and all, and places it on the empty bed-stand. Quickly serving out the wooden tankards and uncovering the bowls she says, “Turnovers.” She points to the pastries laying on a plate. They smell good and with the faint white filling you figure it was apple and cheese. That momentary disappointment of being silenced passes, the midnight snack had become less about something to eat and more just a social thing with Applejack. The tankard was pushed to your hand by the farm-pony coaxing you to grasp the handle and cradle the vessel protectively.

The earth pony hops up, taking a spot that lay on your legs covered by the bed-sheet. She makes a quick and hasty apology, "Sorry, sorry, I get'cher legs? They all just sorta' lay out all funny, huh?” The mare awkwardly worms her way off them. It would have been strange but ponies did sleep curled up for the most part.

You wave her off saying it was 'fine' before trying a sip of the drink. Your eyes open, it's not tea but hot, fortified cider. It was strong, pulp still in it, and heavily spiced. The drink was thick already, like drinking some sort of apple concentrate but it wasn't sickly sweet either. “So…” she continues, “me and Rarity were talkin'. Seein' as the winter's comin' up, and work here ain't so common durin' the winter months 'side from a bit of feedin', how'ja like to stay here permanently? You know, as more of a guest and not just an extra hoof. Yer trustworthy enough.”

It couldn’t have been Rarity’s idea unless she’s just getting a morning’s worth of work in.

That wasn’t right, Rarity often had a lot of work but she was no slave-driver and your novelty had worn off. As you search her emerald eyes you found compassion, but you uncovered something recessed in a darkened corner said she didn’t want anypony or anyone to just leave. Her offer was generous, but your pensive stare made the mare nervously scuff her hooves against the floor, “Ah'm just makin' sure a friend of mahn has a place to stay for the winter. But if ya made other arrangements…”

“Yes. Sure, I mean, uhh… I mean I don't have any plans. This takes a lot off of my mind. So, what do you need me to do?” You flounder a bit but she gets what you mean within a second or so. Of course, even that was a bit of an overstatement but having a place to stay was always a peripheral worry. Twilight had set up a temporary residence and you probably could go about in the community without too much discomfort, so actually moving wasn’t that problematic. There had to be a catch besides feeding some animals, but after a second or two you realize it was Applejack, she'd do it to help anyone.

“Well, like ah said, there ain't too much: just help bring some of the feed 'round for livestock and help us make up a new room or guest room if'n we need it.” Well, there are some conditions but they are pretty minor. Beyond that, it seemed your term as their indentured servant was up.

The answer was a firm and clear, “yes.”

Seemingly comforted by that, Applejack lifts the next lid off with her teeth… It smells like butter gone slightly bad mixed with vinegar. Practically holding your breath, it looks like some thick cornmeal. Seeing you stare at it she lofts a brow saying, “Ain’t ya ever seen corn silage?”

She couldn’t have called it sewage.

Whatever silage was it smells vaguely familiar. Hesitantly, you raise the bowl to your lips and twitch an eye as you try your first taste. The scent and sharp aftertaste force most of the breath from your lungs. The mystery taste strikes you all at once: sauerkraut. Something else hits you hard as an aftertaste while warming your throat. “Alcohol?”

AJ just look at you, “It's silage.” She smiles a bit and shook her head. “Anyway, winter's gonna be a fun one for ya here, too. Ah mean, it'll be totally different from Saddle Arabia, but that means it'll be yer very first Hearth’s Warmin'! Promise ya, suga'cube, it'll all be great.” She shifts and smiles, seemingly pleased and in far better spirits than before.

Taking another nibbling sip, you just settle in a little more comfortably and let the fears of offense dwindle. "Is it Hearth's warming or Heart's warming?"

Author's Note:

Hope ya' had fun and take care of yourselves eh?

Post Scriptum: decided to change the Gore tag, still need some feedback though.

Comments

[KJay]

What exactly would you like feedback on?

[Vixavior]

4137181 Lets see, specifics, well I'd always like to hear what people think about pacing as it tends to be my achilles heel (and one of the reasons I actually started writing this). Is the use of non-English distracting? Lets see, characterization and premise are always good to hear about, and anything that sticks out good or bad. Thanks again mate