Icon: Remnants of the North

by Vixavior

Act 3- Chapter 3: The Summons

The Summons

Proofread by TehSporkBandit

---

Throngs of ponies mill around the tightly shut doors of Canterlot's Royal Palace where a thin white line of Canterlotian Solar guards stand protectively around a small cabal of scribes. The Royal Guard number only twelve, not even a twentieth the number of the massing citizens.

“When will the skies clear up? The weather team hasn't said a word other than they're 'working on it.'”

“What's happened to the train? Is it true that the Express line is gone?”

“Why is it that nopony has gone inside the royal chambers for days, except one or two maids. Is there something you're not telling us, Kibitz?! Equestrians have the right to know!”

More agitated cries ring out amid the confusion. News of the train must have come about rather quickly, you weren't even sure how long you were unconscious but some uncertain pall had been cast over the Canterlotians.

An elderly Unicorn in an immaculate scarlet uniform looks up from a lectern overburdened with scrolls and parchments. He peers impassively at the crowd through cool blue eyes, “The Princesses shall hear your petitions one at a time when it is suitable for them to do so. Not a moment before.” His haughty tone carries over the masses and he returns his gaze to the papers.

“You said that yesterday and the day before yesterday!” calls a female from amongst the mob. It draws a scornful eye from the stallion trying to instill order. Kibitz twitches his moustached muzzle, ignoring the prompt completely. His steely demeanour separates him from the masses far more than the decorative golden braids of his garments ever could. Two scribes hesitantly glance back but a new wave of paperwork levitates from the stallion's station to their smaller compact desks on either side of the pale white doors.

You briskly walk through the crowd, hemmed in on four sides by the guard detail. Despite their bulk, their armour, and their station, you watch as they have to occasionally bull their way through the shouting crowds. Ponies aren't looking back to notice them, which also means they aren’t recognizing your large frame.

Ponies have good ears, better than yourself, but you can hear the sharp gasps when you pass. Whispers and chatter changes as you pass by, “By Celestia! That's him, that’s the Slasher!” You tense and look for the speaker as a thumping noise reaches your ears. You barely catch sight of a young grey-maned mare as she wobbles and faints.

A more collected voice mumbles, “Oh, calm down, it was here before.” As a myriad of other ponies twitter among themselves, your entourage takes advantage of the momentary attention.

“Make way.” One of the stallions grunts, sending several Canterlotians scattering. Others still shout at the front, but many other ponies are skittering, or at least trying, to part for the four guardsponies as they make their way towards the little enclave posted outside the throne-room.

“Senechal Kibitz!” The formation's leader calls just as a particularly large Pegasus steps back from angrily tossing a scroll at one of the lesser scribe. The muscled Pegasus pulls back sharply, slamming into the corner of the royal formation and knocking one of the guardsponies flat. Another of your detail shoulders you aside while rushing to intercede.

The mass of confusion and raised voices breaks up the little formation you had: two guards shunt the Pegasus away from their stunned companion while the last tries to help him to his hooves. The citizenry tries to scuttle away in a miasma of pastel coloured bodies that move aside as best they can, but often one runs into another, drawing reproach or equal shoves back. The murmurs around you turn from surprise to indignation. You feel the first harsh shove push you towards the small cluster of royal attendants guarding the door. 'You saw that?' a few shocked dissident voice trill out.

“Right, enough!” Kibitz stamps a hoof down, signalling the guard to do the same. The single stamp elicits six more concordant stamps from each of the enclave guards. All activity in the hall ceases with an unnatural stillness. You could have heard a pin drop in the stony silence that pervades that hall as you and your entourage shuffle forwards into the ring. The closest display you've witnessed before was riot-police rattling batons on their shield edges.

Finding your way behind the thin white line, you look over to the red-clad Kibitz who scrawls out a memo and passes it off to one of his scribes. The escort leader clears his throat, “Senechal Kibitz, we have the ward of Princess Twilight Sparkle here.”

Kibitz holds up a hoof as you hear a quill flick and scratch across a scroll. It is a few more moments before he glances back at you. You remember seeing him in passing the first time you were at the castle, but now he turns his full attention to you. “Very good. Rightly, if I'm not mistaken. Understand, Her Majesty has accepted no summons in the past three days and she hasn’t answered any calls to court in five. Were it not for her direct urging, you would not be permitted either. Relay that to your bellicose Cloudsdale compatriot. See this door?” He taps the wooden portal firmly with a hoof and waits for your answer.

“Yes?” You answer despite his impassive glare. That disconcerned look resembles the whole demeanour of Princess Luna when you had first arrived. In fact, the chilly impersonal manner is nearly identical.

“When it opens, the citizens will not be pleased, because it means another opportunity to be heard will also be rejected in favour of somepony else. I've told the princesses of our problems and Princess Celestia insists on speaking to Princess Twilight Sparkle and yourself. She expects both.” He sighs and you feel the haze of magic flatten your hair back, straighten your collar, and otherwise primp and preen you for a royal audience. “Remain formal, wait until you are beckoned forth, and bow once you reach the first step. Keep your sentences short and to the point when speaking, and for goodness sake, if you have bad news then couch it appropriately. Never, under any circumstance, are you to upset the princesses. Our Majesties have been sorely taxed as of late.”

His scribes keep talking with ponies, writing down their various petitions: the weather was too poor to grow any crop, the reserves of coal and wood used for heating was dwindling, train service had been disrupted, and information was not forthcoming. Each complaint is dutifully recorded on parchment, then sealed, notarized, and stacked beneath the lectern in pigeon hole racks. It was like any other bureaucracy.

Kibitz looks to a surcoat clad mare lingering near the back. Her mantlet is quartered and bears numerous heraldic insignias of Equestria. “Belle Canto,” she stands up straight and waits for Kibitz’s direction, “announce our visitor as the one the Princess has summoned, the ward of Princess Twilight Sparkle.” His specific instructions sound significant.

“Open the door.” Kibitz orders two of his guards while the herald draws an unsteady breath, as if to prepare herself and run through what she is supposed to say. As the tall double doors creak open, ponies begin to mill about and surge forward again prompting the Solar guard to press back in an inadvertent shoving match. You quickly swallow and slip inside along with the herald.

“Is she in there?”

“Can anypony see them?” The inquisitive voices are quickly silenced by the thick door. It let only a quiet ghost of a mumble escapes from the crowded hall outside the splendid throne room.

The mare trundles forward, the quiet clop of her hooves sound out in the dreary silence of the inner court. “Your Highnesses, supreme Lady of the Light, Lady of Shade, may you ever reign. In accordance with your summons, w-we present thee with the ward of Princess Twilight Sparkle.” Her nervous tone stammers with a lick of her parched lips. It’s as if the herald is surrounded by darkness, placed before some indeterminable abyss, and stands alone on the brink of darkness.

Her voice trails off into the deepest recesses and reverberates back as mocking taunts. As if to make itself known, winter’s breath whines outside, rattling the tall bank of stained glass windows that line the wall. Various brass braziers in the corner of the room blaze with light, but their warming flames are dimmed by the hazy grey pall that listlessly pours through the windows. The loftiest vaults are the playground of whispering shades rather than the domains of twilight or the borders of shifting sunshine.

That long red carpet spreads out from your feet to the steps of the marvellous Alicorn throne. It resembles a seat of judgement, of power, to parcel out demands and proclaim edicts. This is no comfortable little study with a single table and warm arches of arcades where individuals could sit and talk, or even the informal bedroom of a castle tower, this is different. There are two dark cinder-tone guards with the sun-guard regalia standing beside the throne platform, and two more on the broad platform above the floor where petitioners could be recognized. Despite the size of the throne room, you can see one or two maids scuttling around the row of tall colonnades like spiders. There are no plaintiffs, no petitioners, and no advisers to be seen.

At the end of that long hall is that enormous throne with Equestria's ruling diarchy. Celestia sits enthroned, encircled by decorations of twisting brass and scarlet pennants. On Celestia's right side is her younger sister, ensconced on the smaller utilitarian throne fitting a steward. “Greetings and good morning. And where is Twilight?” Celestia's voice chimes deceptively fleeting and lofty. Her voice holds neither her regal elegance nor her theatrical presence, but it still seems bouncy and light.

The herald doesn't respond, instead, she backpedals with a bow and promptly bumps into the door with a nervous squeak.

Yeah, thanks a lot.

You adapt a prim and proper demeanour, bowing in front of the pair, “Your highnesses, I have come as you specifically requested of me.” There is no immediate response other than a pensive hum. Every step closer brings more discomfort as you see the rulers in more and more detail. Celestia's mane drapes around her shoulders in a glorious iridescent mop while her sister's falls in gangly strands as dark as coal. Luna's wings dip, folding against the floor as she strains to keep her head up.

“Come, come!” Celestia beckons joyfully. Taking a few steps up to that first plaintiffs’ platform, you wait for her to start again. “And where is my faithful student, Twilight Sparkle?” Her voice is still upbeat, but being this close leaves you with little room for doubt: her veined and bloodshot eyes calmly regard you with a flickering glimmer of recognition. Her ribs are showing, just like Twilight's. Every single motion, from her beckoning wave to the stretching of her neck, carries with a trace of nervous energy.

“Your highnesses,” you bow low as the pair remain quiet, “there was an incident on the train to Canterlot. Twilight Sparkle was abduc-”

“An incident? Where is she?” Celestia looks about as if this was the first time she has heard of it. Luna's letter echoes in your mind:

'My sister knows, but wishes she did not, and chooses not to.'

Celestia's appearance still looks strange: her gorget, sandals, and crown are faintly tarnished or mussed so that they reflected poorly. In fact, no surface seemed very shiny or reflective at all.

Celestia's somewhat happy, albeit untidy, look is a mere oversight compared to her sister. Luna's mane hangs in ratty tangles, slicked down flat over her shoulders in kinked braids of grey and pale blue. Her stance is wider, as if spread to keep herself from collapsing forward, and her wings aren't even folded against hher side. The proud dark plumage droops to the ground like a carpet of fallen leaves. Luna's chin slowly sinks to her chest, but her eyes remain unsullied. The bright teal spheres beam out from a desiccated form that speaks of a soul buried deep within.

Celestia stamps her hoof down, “Where is Twilight!?” She gasps, surprising herself at the resonating clatter that echoes like a shot around the room. Her neck shakes and her eyes widen, “I-I'm sorry. I'm sorry, my dear subject. I didn't mean, I didn't, I didn't...” like a broken record, she slowly tapers off in a repetious murmur.

“She was abducted, my Princess!” You drop to a knee, hoping to appeal to her more imperious spirit, “But we have a pla-”

“Abducted?! My favourite student has been abducted?!” Each rising word brings with it a force like a hurricane which drives you back several inches and leaves a ringing in your ears. You chance a peek only to see that Celestia had bared her teeth and narrowed her eyes into pinprick slits.

Alarm bells went off in your head as you backpedal, “Yes, but we're almost certain she's perfectly fine...”

Oh, oh that didn't come out right.

“Almost?!” Several tremors course through her body, causing her to tremble and rise. A slow pulsating throb of magic pops your ears as it crackles and fizzes around you. Twilight and Rarity's magic could feel like bubbles of dish soap, but this feels like the prick of an electric shock. Celestia climbs down the steps towards you. “You were on the train, too, yes? Did nopony else intervene? Are you, or are you not, one of her friends?” Her voice is as firm as iron.

“Yes, yes, of course we did!” You call out in surprise, trying to recover. “They surprised us and had some kind of mon-”

“Of course you are her friend! You are her charge, like Spike!” She reverses herself immediately, beaming brightly as a swelling glow forms behind her in a scintillating halo. The nimbus slowly flares, showering you with rays of sparkling sunlight radiating from behind her and illuminating her dishevelled mane in a silhouette of magnificent madness. The sheer brilliance makes you bow low and raise a hand to shield your eyes from the glorious aura, “I shall gather the Royal Guar-”

“T-thou shall not!” Luna's unstable bellow momentarily dims the radiant aura like a flickering lamp.

Celestia draws in a deep breath and turns on her slighter sister, “Mind your place, dear Sister. Twilight is in danger, captured, and we, as the bearers of the elements of harmony-”

“We no longer wield the elements! You have responsibilities, duties... Who t-t...” she wobbles while trying to stand and collapses to a knee. It is a pathetic and painful sight as Celestia bolts back up the steps to assist her struggling sister. The Princess of the Sun cranes her head down, driving Luna up by her ribs in a soft and caring way. The impetus to charge off at the head of an armed host swiftly drains from the solar regent as her mind clears and reason takes hold once again. Luna finds her voice once again when properly returned to her seat. Her exhausted huffs and labouring breaths belie her state, “Who told me I had to lower the moon? That it was my duty, despite it feeling insignificant at the time? Who told me that my place was here, in Canterlot?”

Celestia's pause returns the hall to its former oppressive silence. In a glittering flash she dispels the light, leaving only the shimmer of diamond dust and a faint glow of the golden symbol on her hips. “My apologies. Of course you're right, my sister. I’m merely worried about Princess Twilight’s safety. Her friends are more than capable of looking after themselves, surely they’ll find her. We will remain calm and focused to ensure the safety of our people against this menace. Many of the royal guard will be sent to safeguard my little ponies across Equestria without sparking a panic. We can not let fear and anguish overwhelm us.” She ponders something and lets her gaze descend upon you.

Luna spots the look and quietly continues, “We must not go. But we may, perhaps, send another in our stead. Might we pass an edict to name a champion, a familiar face to Twilight...” she trails off.

“A protector, a ward,” Celestia takes over from Luna who bobs her head at her sister's fledgeling proposal, “somepony to find and recover Twilight Sparkle... That Unicorn must have gotten herself in some trouble.” She was drifting, but Celesta has already been properly steered by the notion.

“You, stallion, step forward.” You look around for the indicated male. “You.” Celestia intones again before fixing her stare on you. Slowly and cautiously, you make your way forward to the step beneath her raised dais. The eyes that lock with yours seem to radiate that same nervous energy. You are being inspected again, much like Rainbow Dash had done that day in the library seemingly so long ago. A small glow of pure yellow light catches your attention as Celestia drags over a ruffled sheet of parchment.

The quill pen weakly scratches across the page in an uncoordinated scribble. Nevertheless, it rolls up and touches your shoulder like a baton, “Henceforth you shall be under my aegis, an exalted squire of the Royal Court, charged specifically with recovering Twilight Sparkle. My senechal shall garb you in the royal raiment of battle, so you shall go forth at once! Return to this royal city once you find my prize pupil, and return to the splendour and honours that await you. Take this to my senechal, with my hopes.” She releases the scroll into your outstretched hands. “Listen, listen how Our people cheer you.” She rests her head back with a bright smile, peaceful and sublime, while you can hear the frightened cries of inquisition from outside. The Solar regent closes her eyes, dozing off after a few moments.

As you step back from the throne, something bumps against your heel. Turning to look down, you see a small undecorated scroll resting against your foot. You stoop to pick up the item and glance back at Luna who shivers and shakes. From that bedraggled appearance, you might have otherwise guessed she was suffering from some terrible illness. A sudden shocked gasp draws your attention back to Celestia. Her eyes rove the room, peering at every corner with a fleeting anxiety, “He’s not… he’s got…” A trickle of sweat forms on her brow and the crystalline haze of magic slowly starts to coalesce around her like a blanket.

“Be at peace, Sister.” Luna coos and stiffly reaches out to settle a becalming hoof on Celestia.

“I saw, I mean, I heard that he had her. That monstrous-”

“I know, I know.” Reaching the door, you look back for a moment and see the sisters in a mutual embrace of support. You quickly slip out the door and pull it shut it behind you.

It’s probably best their kingdom doesn’t see them in this state.

From the moment the doors creak open you can hear mob outside baying for answers as they press forward. “Is the princess alright?”

“What did she say? Is there something wrong?” A myriad of other enquiries hurl your way as Kibitz and the rest of the guards take up the same ringing position around you.

“Kibitz?” You get the Unicorn's attention. “Celestia said I was to give this to you.” You produce the scroll that Celestia bestowed upon you.

Senechal Kibitz looks at you, then the edict, and then you once again. “Raiments...” he shakes his head and looks up in confusion. “You are to be given the raiment of battle from the royal armouries, but you are also to be escorted from the city by an honour guard and a watch is to be posted for signs of your return. With ‘miss’ Twilight Sparkle, of course. These instructions, as dubious as they are, mandate that you are to be seen to the gates of the city.”

Your mouth hangs open, “Wait, so I'm basically banished?!” That doesn't sound anything like what Celestia had said.

“I think that's putting it rather well on a technical level. It's all in the details. Still, I must follow my instructions to the letter. You aren't to be readmitted to Canterlot but you are to be equipped and provided for. Given your more peculiar frame, I should think that could prove to be an uncomfortable and fruitless challenge to squeeze you into battle plate. But, I'll have it delivered. You are allowed any material that may be required, so I will give you a number of royal writs of requisition. You just need to fill in what you need, the vendor will counter-sign the cost, you add your signature, and they are reimbursed. You're only to be readmitted when you return with Twilight Sparkle, then we’ll put on the fanfare, parades, confetti, and all the guff. But, in the meantime, I believe I can make this as comfortable as possible.” He whistles sharply as the somewhat recovered guardsponies gather into formation around you. Even as you are jostled aside with three stallions in tow, you have to quickly button up your coat. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch the fleeting conversation between the senechal and the leader of your detail.

“If you don't mind, we'll take a back route, it might be faster staying away from the crowds.” One of the Unicorn stallions comments dryly. You silently nod, still getting used to the idea of being 'banished' in what was supposed to be good way. Hopefully, your friends won't come up empty-hoofed. With a sigh, you unroll the parchment that Luna had given you:

He was ignored before,
now we hear him gloat.
He has found a way,
And we hear Her as well.
A Carrion Lord yet bides his time,
while the lord of carrion hunts.

I shall try to stay my sister's hoof,
I was wrong at first: you have more uses than even you know.
I did my best to prepare you,
goodness go with you,
and grace be in your stride.
My hopes and deepest trust goes with you,
even when my dreams have died.

Farewell, Squire of Equestria.

Thank you Princess Luna, for being so damned cryptic.

With that, you find yourself guided into the secretive passages in the bowels of the Royal palace.

♣

The winter winds twist and turn, howling like the world itself is enraptured in its own torturous lament. A thin layer of frost covers everything as you proceed out from the hightown quarters along the old cobblestone streets. The bright blue and golds of the tiled roofs and painted domes mesh with the bedazzling sparkle of the bejewelled city. Yet the fantastic opulence and colour are muted by the frost and the dour skies.

Ponies aren't stopping to fritter away their time in the Equestrian capitol; many of them are quickly scarpering about, trying to avoid the chilly temperatures, while you and your entourage trot through the barren streets. It’s worth keeping up a quicker pace to speed the blood and give you some deluded notion that it will warm you up rather than freezing you to the core. It isn't as cold as Ponyville, but it feels more dismal.

Thanks to the heavy ceremonial armour, it looks like most of the guards have frostbite. Their noses are a surprisingly festive red and their ears show the same pained treatment. Had this been some prisoner detail you could surely make a break for it. With the slight slickness frost lent to the cobblestones, it was more likely that they couldn't catch up. But really, it is miserable enough without becoming an honoured fugitive.

Taking a turn into the main thoroughfare, you look at the denuded branches of the trees lining either side of the boulevard. But now you can see your destination, the open city gates. There is a single bulging gatehouse with a large swinging sign that reads 'The Gatehouse' in swirling Equestrian script.

That's a bit redundant.

Your escort hustles you along that last expanse, towards the open portcullis gate. Passing beneath the great stone arches, you feel a hoof on your back, directing you towards a small door reading 'The Gatehouse' as well. “C'mon, squire.”

A burst of warmth surges through you as one of your guards coaxes you to enter with a subtle nudge. A quiet tune from a flute or woodwind of some kind pricks your ears as you enter. It isn't some dreary stone guardhouse, you find yourself at the top of a landing with a row of coat racks, overlooking a homely little tavern.

Looking around in surprise, the lanterns illuminate a fairly large lower floor festooned with tables and packed with ponies as well as a smattering of other creatures. A motley looking gang of griffons is congregated in one of the back corners, half of them playing cards while the others hold animated conversation. There are even a pair of buffalo only a few paces in front of the foot of the stairs on the other side of a spindled railing just near the entrance itself. Scores of ponies gather around long trestle tables on the far side of the room, illuminated by the blaze of the hearth.

The aroma of cooking vegetables, brewing stews, and fresh bread catches you at an instant and injects you with a newfound joy that had been stolen away not long before. A large staircase leads upwards at the back of the room beside the hearth, but the front is dominated by a large oak bar table to the right of the small staircase.

The guard detail's leader smiles at you, “It's not the high-class place that Canterlot's famous for, but it's warm and pretty fun. Besides, this is technically outside the wall, so long as you stay in this half. Since most of these ponies here are probably waiting for the train, you'll know as soon as there's news. Oh, and your friends will get the message you're here, too. I'm sorry about all this. It's just, you know, technicalities. C'mon, let me buy you a drink before I go back on watch.” The taciturn stallion gives you a lighthearted pat on the back before heading down the steps.

“Sure... why not.”

That sums it up nicely.

You shake your head and make your way down the steps as well.