Icon: Remnants of the North

by Vixavior

Act 2- Chapter 7: Idea From a Puddle

Idea From a Puddle

Proofread by TehSporkBandit

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The fresh sea breeze billowed past as the sun's cyclopian orb beat down from its precipice, couched in the unmarred powder blue skies. The slosh of water caressing the bow of the great gilded warship was accompanied by the throaty rush of water from the rowing crews.

Olaf stepped up on the forecastle of the vessel, the ragged raven banner now emblazoned with a single slanted cross fluttered behind him. Clad in a short red tunic and billowing white polar cloak, Olaf Tryggvason surveyed the seas ahead of him. The headlands jutted out on the starboard side, showing up like a cloud bank of soft grey and little else. Small fledgeling dots bobbed up and down in the distance. Not three, or four, but scores.

Ulf and Kolbjorn stood two steps behind their lord, in the midst of the small retinue that gathered aboard the Long Serpent. The glorious flagship towered over the lesser longships and vessels surrounding it. No one had spoken a word, only the faint flutter of the breeze disturbed Olaf. The stamp of feet up the steps leading to the forecastle resounded all the louder in that uncomfortable silence.

“Olaf, King.” Jarl Sigvald's gruff voice made Ulf tense, Kolbjorn stood aside to make room for the war chief.

“Jarl Sigvald.” the Bear was acknowledged as he stood among the makeshift council of war: Olaf, Ulf, Kolbjorn, two other thanes, and the Seer of Scilly. Below the forecastle was a veritable host of retainers, guards, and fluttering pennants.

The fully armoured warrior stepped in front of his Lord and peered out across the glistening waters. “A fleet?” He saw the bobbing shapes and blue sails.

The jarl was rewarded with a nod, “King Svein, no doubt, but how he amassed a fleet of that number I can't say. Soft-handed Danes, soft-hearted Swedes, it's practically a tribute force.” Olaf said with a croon of arrogant certainty.

“I take it your new wife's brother was not so happy. I heard he married your ex-wife as well, Sigrid.” It got an unhappy snort from the king. The thanes had doubtlessly avoided the subject, but it was clear in their mind as well, even if they wouldn't have voiced it. “Svein Forkbeard is still king of the Danes and the Heathen's flag-banner, with Haldor the Unchri-”

Olaf's growl was far harsher than Ulf had heard in months as he reached for a bow and nocked an arrow while turning to Sigvald, “Never mention that butcher's name in my-”

“Olaf!” The hitherto silent Seer interceded. It caused the king to pause and impassively blink at the equine. Clover stared right back, those glassy eyes almost locked with the blue of Olaf’s. The equine sat on the deck, clad in a soft grey habit and red cord cinched around his barrel.

It took a moment, a long moment, enough that Olaf had to ask, “Clover?”

“Olaf-” he started again with a far more amicable mien, “you are a powerful individual, but your temper blinds you. Conquer your passions and you conquer your own heart. Never mind the world, set the example you wish others to follow.”

Sigvald just vacantly looked at the creature, as if it had spoken an entirely different language. Olaf took a deep breath to steady himself and stiffly bobbed his head. The taut bowstring loosened with a creak, “If you say so, my friend. If you say so. Sigvald…” he stopped just short of offering an apology. Instead he swept a hand out, “Jarl Sigvald, Vikar here,” he patted the shoulder of one of the thanes that accompanied them on the forecastle, a tall raven haired man, “has counted more than three score enemy vessels.”

“Seventy one at last count, my lord.” Vikar's low growl was almost enough to match Sigvald's in depth but never in its vicious edge.

“Ulf and Kolbjorn, you shall be here with me on the Long Serpent. Jarl Sigvald, you shall stay aboard the Dragon with Captain Thorkel, just to our starboard. Between us is the Crane, where my seer shall be protected by Captain Einarr.” Olaf stood up, turning back to his assembled hosts that lined the decks of their vessel and those all around them. It was as if his voice stilled the breeze as it boomed out over the assembly, “Our foes will dash themselves on our bows like water crashing on the breakers! Lash the vessels together and ready yourself for battle!”

Amidst the cheering, clamour of struck shields, and hammering of spear butts on the deck, Ulf just peered to his left to look over the quiet seer. “Clover?” He asked, though his voice barely carried over the cacophony.

“Even the mightiest rocks are worn away by the relentless waters. More so if there are already cracks, whether you see them or not.” Clover’s monotone was far removed from the almost celebratory excitement. Among the upward thrust of a forest of spear points, the ringing crescendo of axes on shield edges, and the unceasing snap of pennants, they remained the sole void of uncertainty among the thong.

Ulf rested a hand on Clover's withers and gave him a simple assuring pat, “Don't worry, you'll be in the safest spot. Right between us and the Jarl, no man could step on those decks and not be cut to pieces or pierced through and through with spear and arrow.”

Instead of some warm look of assurance, or being pacified and placated in the sureness of protection, the Unicorn shook his head to say 'you don't get it'. Gazing up, Ulf was certain that he could read every single saddened crease on Clover's face. During that moment, his eyes said everything. Moments later, a small spark of white pulsed from the deepest depths and he spoke again, deep and hollow:

“Hard pressed on all sides by gallant foes,
the Serpent will reel from awful blows,
In the midst of the cross inside a tomb,
life is remembered and hope may still bloom.
The last act as a king, his final flight,
may not be his end in eternal night.
If you follow that cross, beyond a sign,
your leader will live and his dreams align.”

Ulf stared again at the prophetic message. The Unicorn’s eyes clouded and, slowly, the light finally waned.

♣

Dawn had long since come and gone before anypony was in a state to travel. Sure, Applejack was almost certainly up at sunrise, but in the Everfree that didn't mean much. By the time you'd awoken the restless mare had made breakfast, swept out Zecora's lodgings, furnished an account of your supplies, then reheated breakfast again. Fluttershy had awoken not long before you and was still preparing herself for the day. The quiet Pegasus just smiled from across the room at the jumbled mess of blankets that comprised a serviceable bed. Your blue coat and shirt rested upon your feet near the draping hoof of the slumbering fashionista who had evidently passed out as she finished mending your garments. It took Applejack to finally rouse you into sitting up, which jostled Rarity awake with a loud inelegant yawn.

By early afternoon you were growing a little worried. Everypony was up and had gathered in an alcove on the opposite side of the chamber from Twilight. Still, the Alicorn slept among a few fitful twitches and kicks, barely seen behind the beaded rush veil that Zecora’s donated sleeping quarters. You weren’t actually sure the Zebra slept at all.

“Is she going to be alright?” Fluttershy's timidity might not be an unusual tone for her, yet at that moment, the unsteady murmur reflects what is likely in the hearts of everypony present.

“It is not a sickness of the body but tiredness of the mind. With peace and quiet she may find herself rested and realigned.” Zecora’s reassuring voice carries with it ages of wisdom, but her worried scowl directed back towards the Alicorn lessens the effect of what she said.

What is going on in her head?

Her amber eyes narrow, her lips purse, and the cogs in her mind seem to turn. “If this affliction is from some other cause, it should be enough to give you ponies pause.” A slow understanding nod circulates around them.

A languid groan of discomfort drifts from the bed chambers. “Twi?” Applejack's voice is quiet to prevent herself from disturbing Twilight if she was still asleep.

When the veil is drawn back with a rattling swish the sight isn't at all pretty: the Alicorn princess's feathers are ruffled and some even look to be missing, her fur lacks any lustre whatsoever and sticks out at odd angles, her bedraggled forelocks are matted and tangled, yet there is something far worse than just waking up with a bad-hair day. Her head hangs low and she sways from side to side like a lumbering giant lilting in a drunken stupor.

“Gracious, Twilight!” Rarity sprang up and clambers over, as did everypony else.

“Whoa-nelly, you're looking awful bruised suga'cube.” Applejack hushes herself quickly as the Alicorn fixes her with a stare. It isn’t anger, you conclude, but the look seems angry because of her red-veined eyes and deeply bruised sockets. Unnatural purple bags swell under her lids and she squints and blinks in a daze.

Dear God, it looked like she just got hit by a car.

“Is it morning?” Twilight asks with a wet crackle.

“Uhhh.” Rainbow Dash jabs a hoof at the window. Actually, the gesture wasn't all that useful. The day is shrouded in mist and fog that belied the late hour, it most certainly is well past noon.

You dispense with stupid questions and deal with something more concrete, “We'll get you something to eat and drink. Why don’t you go wash up, Twilight…” you don't quite trail off but creakily kneeling down in front of her and looking in her eyes shares an understanding with her: you have something you need to discuss with her. She understands the look and glances at the others as if searching for something in their expectant faces.

“I’ll go wash up outside, I think I need the cold to wake up.” The sudden, simple, and efficient excuse is met with no opposition. “Rightly, I'll need to talk to you, too. Girls, do you mind if we talk over breakfast?”

“…sure, suga'cube.” Applejack smiled hopefully but her worry was there for everypony to see.

Opening her mouth, even Pinkie hesitates for a moment, “Sure, we'll make it a special breakfast with lots of bobs, bits, do-dangles, and sweets. They perk you up for a little bit and by then it'll be second breakfast so you can do it all over again.”

Huh, for Pinkie, that’s pretty restrained.

Their well-meant gestures are met with a nod before Twilight leadenly plods for the entranceway. You are in tow, shutting the door behind you and giving you two some privacy.

The icy breath of winter had descended on the glade during the night, leaving the covetous tendrils of the breeze to clutch at every scrap of fabric you wore. Between the twisting coils of mist and the thin blanket of hoarfrost that clung to every surface, nature’s silent white void enfolded the world in a deceptive embrace. Almost nothing looked the same compared to the previous day which felt disorienting. A small basin encrusted with ice rested next to the door. You didn’t know who put it there, but it probably attracted whatever prowling creature was around the dwelling last night.

But as you two meander around one of the roots, you can’t help but look at the window where you’d seen that fleeting figure the night before. It had been scuffed bare, but you do see some three-toed claw marks around the sill. They aren’t too big, certainly not paw prints from a timberwolf. Strangely, there is a pair of broad black feathers there, too.

Twilight stares into the icy reflection of the water like it was a mirror and recoils a few steps at the hideous reflection of herself. “Dear Celestia, I’m a mess…” she trails off, prodding at her puffy cheeks and letting out a squeaking note of distress.

There isn’t much to do but wrap an arm around her neck and pat her shoulder. “You’re still Twilight, still our princess, and you aren’t that bad… really.” That last part might have been a lie, but a well-meant one. “You just need some more rest.”

“I’ll rest when we know what we’re up against. So, what did you find out?” Her question could have sounded authoritative if she didn’t have to lean against your side to steady herself.

“I was talking to Zecora last night. It looks like we might have a proble-” the sudden crack of ice startles you as Twilight smashes her hoof through the film of ice on the bucket. “Problem.” You wait to see if you should continue.

Taking a sip before plunging her face in, she comes out spluttering and wheezing at the sudden cold. You hadn't put on your coat so the hair on your arms prickle up from goosebumps. “What kind?” She pants heavily to regain some heat.

“Well, Zecora said you need to either know the pony well or you need to know the location well for the potion to work safely.” That much isn't a secret, so you don't feel like taking any extra steps to hide what you are saying. Staring inside the house, you catch the faintest glimpse of the group of ponies chattering and working, but they still cast the occasional glance out the window.

“And? I know Equestria like the back of my hoof. After all, I've done this before. The Hindsight elixir might be uncomfortable and labour intensive, but the hard part is done.” She is a little more snippy than normal, but it could easily be excused because of the state she’s in, the cold, or because she’d just awoken.

What can't be excused was letting her brave the danger without the appropriate caveat, “Hard or painful?” She doesn’t reply. “You're an Alicorn, so unless you wanted Princess Luna, Celestia, or Princess Cadenza to do it, then it’s left up to you. Look, I'm just thinking here, so it's nothing concrete. If he had instructions from before he got here, then you wouldn't see anything, you'd be left to wander forever in some coma.”

Twilight pensively hums then shakes head, “Yes-yes, I know. But I will accomplish this. Princess Celestia has a kingdom to run, Princess Luna does as well, and no offense, she didn’t seem to like you-”

“Actually, she was a lot more pleasant than the first time we met.” It is true, Princess Luna might be warming up to your presence in Equestria after all.

Twilight snorts, not liking that you cut her off, but that irritation melts away as her ears perk up, “Really? That was nicer than the first time?” The Alicorn’s muzzle twitches in disbelief. Shaking that away, she continues “Anyway, they have their own responsibilities and Princess Luna left this up to us to discover. Princess Cadence is too far away. Olaf had to get his ideas from somewhere, so it stands to reason that he learned it from somepony here. Therefore, it shouldn’t be dangerous.”

“... eeeh.” You cock your head to say 'maybe'. After all, the statement is both true and untrue.

“Yes? What’s the matter?” Twilight turns towards you and nudges the bucket forward so you can wash your face if you want to. After the scuffle in the stream, you don’t want to see cold water again. The Alicorn’s bloodshot eyes says she wants answers, not opinions. Your breath freezes as it touches the air, but you watch it billow out from her nose and mouth in great white geysers like a dragon snorting smoke and brimstone.

“Well, I doubt that there’s any natural Unicorns on Earth.” You confirm with a shrug, to which she seems satisfied. “But most cultures have legends of something like them. And I know that I saw one Unicorn by the name of Clover the-”

Twilight's eyes snap open as wide as saucers as she surges forward to nearly bowl you over. “Clover the Clever?! This isn't a joke? Tell me that this isn't a joke.” She rears up, slamming her forehooves onto your shoulders to look at you face to face.

Your sharp gasp and watering eyes from her pounding the raw wound the splinter left sends her into a apologetic fit of “Sorry-sorry…” She winces and drops back down on all fours. At first, the Alicorn appeared angry, but now it seemed that she is spellbound by the idea as a slow smile reformed on her muzzle.

“Clover the Clever. He looks kind of like you, male, blind, some prophetic talent and sea calming.” Twilight does seem to blink as if in a fugue.

“Really?” She let her ears dip and twists her head to the side to regard you closely for a moment.

“Well, if the dreams Princess Luna said are actually memories then that's what they called the Unicorn. I haven't heard of him myself or any other Unicorns… well, that horn is called an ‘alicorn’ and can neutralize poison. I don’t know why the term was like that, though. I mean, in most of our legends, Unicorns are typically protectors or predators of maidens. That depends on who you ask.” You didn't expect to ever have to tell a Unicorn about a Unicorn. Some lines between history and pop culture seem to blur, but that’s the gist of it. “Some say they have cloven hooves, beards, lion-like manes. Oh, Chinese legend says that they are portents and heralds of important events.”

It all makes Twilight think and mull things over quietly. She is still leaning against you, the barrel of her chest expands and contracts rather quickly. Finally she concludes, “Hmmm. That would help.”

“What would?”

“I know a fair bit about Clover the Clever, I had to do some research when I played him during the Hearth’s Warming eve pageant. It’s frustrating, he just disappears from record not long after the three tribes agree to the founding of modern Equestria. There was still quite a number of records left that made mention of him, he was a student of Star Swirl the bearded, after all, before Star Swirl took on Princess Celestia as a protegé and eventually became her advisor.” She explains quickly and looks ready to continue before there is some sort of mental slip that causes her to flatten her ears back against her skull in concentration.

Taking your chance you nod, “So he could have told Olaf something about a Unicorn horn. He was his seer and, hmm, advisor. Maybe mentor is a better wor-”

“Wait,” Twilight steps back before eying you again, “you’re not suggesting that a monster like that was mentored by Clover the Clever, are you?”

“No, not quite. It doesn’t mean he told him to do everything that’s happened, but it could be something he misunderstood. I don’t know, I’m just telling you… wait, so you didn’t see that part of the memory?” It draws a confused blink and a quick shake of her head. “So, Twilight, what did you see?”

“All I saw was a ripping veil at first. It was a sense of creeping distress, unease, it was… scary. They just loomed up, shadowy wavering shadows like oily black spots from a nightmare. Then I felt a sharp pain here in the base of my horn.” She taps against the indicated appendage then takes a moment to gingerly massage the root with a wince. “Then I saw them grab at it, I couldn’t move, so it just sort of broke… then I felt like I was falling.”

So she didn’t see much and it sounds really indistinct.

She continues after a half breath, “I mean, I’ve had nightmares before, everypony has, but this one has just gone on for almost two weeks. It’s been hard getting any sleep.”

“Is that when it started?” Your curiosity could be construed as prying, but Twilight seems comfortable talking about it. Gently reaching over, you pat her withers again and give the ridge of her neck a squeeze of sympathy and support. All it does is elicit a tired groan that sounds like the simper escaping someone rubbing the sides of their heads while under the spell of a migraine.

“That’s when I had trouble sleeping most, yes.”

“Alright, well I don’t know all the details yet, but he did find a horn…” you look at Twilight to see if she’s following your logic. After a nod you continue, “so maybe he threatened to take his, too. Could they be just collecting Unicorn horns for some reason?”

A violent shudder surged from the Alicorn’s nose to the tip of her tail as if her muzzle had been touched by an electric prod. “I don’t know what that would accomplish. No, my mind’s made up. I’ll do it.”

“Huh?”

“I'll do it, I'll drink the Hindsight elixir. If that’s what he’s doing we need to know why. There is a chance that it might be harmful, but I just don’t see any other way to resolve this.” You are forced to agree, there doesn’t seem to be any other alternative. Even so, it’s a tremendous risk and doesn’t feel right. With a sigh, you give her another caring squeeze on the withers. “I know enough about Clover the Clever, so I should be fine.” This is the same Alicorn who had nearly teleported you both off-course, hopefully that confidence isn’t a facade.

“Now, if you don't mind-” she interrupts your musing, “I'll meet you inside.”

“Huh? But it’s cold out.”

Who wants to spend time out in this weather?

You glance around at the hoarfrost encrusted world and even scrape some of it off the window pane to show her.

“I have to use the filly’s room, so unless you have something else you needed to talk about….” By the time you show her the scraped frost she had already meandered back towards the back of Zecora's house where there was a simple unadorned outhouse.

Shivering and uncomfortable, you remember that flash near the window yesterday. “Actually, I kind of have to go, too, but I’ll wait over here… I should wash my face.” Twilight doesn’t turn, but she bobs her head in agreement. Ostensibly, the latter part is true, but you really don’t want a predator to snatch Twilight away. After your less than pleasant experience at the stream, that worry is still fresh in your mind. Suddenly, any royal guard job in Equestria, anywhere really, was looking far less glamorous.

You cross your arms and rest your back against the cold rough bark of the tall sycamore that made up the exterior of Zecora’s home. The passing moments let your mind wander. It was a real marvel that so many dwellings were crafted inside trees yet didn’t kill them. How they managed it was a really different question as wood had been cut, shaved, and shaped but none was heartwood.

People back home would be amazed at this. It seems to strike you all at once. Home. The very idea of it, the fact you still might not see it for more than a year felt like it finally hit you like a ton of bricks. The last little remnant of home you have is a cell phone and memories.

What day is it? What day would it be?

Family, friends, staring at that hollowed out sycamore, you realize that no one else would ever get to see it and if you told them about it there was no chance they’d believe you. Slowly, you fish your phone from your pocket and flick it on. It beeps a few times in protest, but there is still enough battery power left to tell you the time. 11:45 PM, Tuesday the 6th, 1 missed message, and no service. You tap the button and listen to the grainy crackle of your friend’s cell phone:

"Hey, bonjour, mate! Listen, I'm sorry about the other day, I guess I missed you, but C’est la vie, eh? Listen, I just wanted to make sure you were alright and not too mad about anything. You’re not mad, non? Mais bien, call me back when you can… it’s François by the way."’

There is a scrambling fumble then it goes dead.

That’s it, that’s all that remained of outside contact. How pathetic is that?

With a sigh, you slump down and stare up at the ecological marvel of the arbour home. It’s painfully apparent that there is nobody to really share this spectacle with. The ponies here see it as something ordinary, yet the smartest of earth's engineers, botanists, and other intellectual authorities couldn't manage it. Frank Lloyd Wright was famous for working so artistically with steel and concrete, but it isn’t like ponies couldn’t do the same, if the photos of Manehatten are anything to go by. Saying 'botanical architect' doesn't conjure up an aura of professionalism beyond laying sod and landscaping. Crafting something like this would require something akin to a biomancer.

Something buzzes in your mind about that: fame. You slowly make your way towards the other side of the tree, “Hey Twilight?”

“Still occupied.” Came the hollow sound of a voice as you shake your head.

“How exactly did you learn about Clover the Clever? I mean, is he that famous? Is there some Life and Times of Clover the Clever that I missed at your library, or is it just everypony saying what a great stallion he was?” From what Zecora said, she would have to really know Clover, and that wasn’t the same thing as knowing about him.

There was a moment of silence before she slips out from the outhouse. The posed question gets her to quirk a brow in confusion, “Like I said, there are a lot of books that mention him. He was the master pupil of Star Swirl the bearded and one of the first on the council of Equestrian seers. He is counted among Equestria's first reformers on equality and harmony, but most of his personal works were expunged from the Canterlot archives along with Star Swirl’s Mir-” her eyes sparkle and shine as a grin slowly creeps across her muzzle, “Rightly, you're a genius! C’mon, lets get back inside and tell the others! The Twin Sisters Library, that’s it! Why didn’t we go back after that?! Why didn’t I look?!” Twilight rears up and wraps her hooves around your chest before pushing you away and unsteadily galloping back towards the door.

“Yes… yes I am… Twilight, can you tell me why I'm a genius? Twilight? What’s the Twin Sister’s Library?!” The front door of Zecora's home slams shut with a loud echo, leaving you alone outside as the first flurries flutter down on their effortless descent. The raven’s plaintive note trails off into the ghastly forest as you make your way back inside.