Chapter Eight: A White Heart
Jesper Vallade was with the pony he most admired. It was a singular moment, slipping away like the rest of his orchestrations. Feign and wan, treasure of fawn, he thought. There is no adoration for me in those wondrously spaced pupils. I am ruined, but I will not be foiled. He sighed. With this breath and the ebbing ache of air, he felt unable to maintain the projection. “I am defeated. Ditzy, you would have enjoyed it. I would have given you everything.”
“What? Why do you say that,” she asked, uncomprehending. “I don't want anything from you.” She narrowed eyes skeptically, then lowered them. “What you said, your offer ... was very flattering.”
Vallade smiled. “That was my intent. I was smitten from the very moment first I saw you. Perhaps, then, I might be smitten again. Good bye, for now.”
For now? “Hay, wait...!”
The corridor, and Vallade, washed away as if captured by a receding flame. The empty hall was replaced by a chamber and the voices of two other ponies. Ditzy lifted her head and looked around at the storage room, stacked with bags of salt, empty wooden flasks and cheaply wrought metal plates hastily thrown on shelves of oak or tyon.
Tyon is cheaper, she thought, then wondered. Where am I? A cellar? She shifted her limbs and felt the soft air of silk upon them. My dress...
“Derpy Hooves?” rasped a nameless mare. Ditzy frowned automatically, then sighed, looking toward the lilting voice.
“Wilting Meadow?” she answered. Wilting's mane was as unlikely as her eyes: Black without a trace of highlight or color, and her pupils to match. Her grey-green body shook as she tried to move. Derpy rose uneasily but found her strength returning quickly. “Oh Wilting, are you hurt?”
“How'd you get here? Did you see the purple pony?” Wilting was so fatigued her eyes would not focus, producing an effect not dissimilar from what Vallade had called her 'quaint artifice'.
Ditzy suppressed a snigger and checked her over. “Hold still. Oh, I'm not really sure, but I don't see any swelling or broken bones. How do you feel?”
“I'd wager you're right. That crony-pony-phony didn't break nuttin' but my purse,” rambled a baritone of practised vocal skill and natural rhythm. “M-hm, m-hm. Th' pleasure is mane and yours is a gorgeous sight, Ms. Doo. Oh yeah.”
Ditzy blushed a little. The stallion seemed to be able to right himself, but collapsed after making an attempt to stand. “That makes me sad.”
“Um, thank you. I think you should stay still, um ... Who are you?”
His light grey coat contrasted his dark purple and emerald green mane, scattered carefully over clear, well meaning eyes. “Marefriend, I am from Mareshigan. Embarrassed and sad but oh-so grateful. Th' name is Bdown.”
“It's Bubble Dawn,” Wilting countered with an amused half-smile.
“That's Butter Dawn,” he snapped gently, and Ditzy giggled. “Ain' it a thing to have a name pretty as the sun? Ms. Doo-”
“Ditzy, please. I need to get some help now,” she informed him, rather bemused by his warm attitude.
“I s'ppose you do. Why dun' you let them nice coltfish up there know that there are six of us rejected souls down here? We are mighty grateful to you,” he stated in a comfortable but fading voice. “Ah think now I'll just rest a lil' bit now, if'n you don't mind?”
“No, but don't fall asleep. I think you ...” she squinted, nose inches from his face, blinked twice, then squinted again “... might have a concussion. Your pupils are dilated.”
“I think you might be right 'bout that.”
Butter aka Bdown seemed ready to let her carry on, but Wilting was more cautious. “Derpy, do you think it's safe?”
Ditzy reflected on Vallade's words. “Yes. It's safe. Blight let me go. He let us go, I mean.”
“You did see him!”
“I've got to hurry,” she said, turning away before Wilting could interpose a thought or reason to the contrary. I've really got to hurry. Those other ponies weren't breathing very well. The idea they were dead was a little much to bear.
Ditzy climbed the short flight of steps without fatigue, mindful not to catch the flow of her tresses on ensnaring plank or nail. Right to the floor, the way I like, but this ... isn't a dance floor. Where ... Ah. Okay. Judging by those crests, I'm still in the palace.
Royal guard crests did indeed en-mark the location, but the without even a salttender, Ditzy could not be sure she was safe.
“Miss?” The voice was deep and unknown to her. Attached was a stocky stallion of rose-red mane, spiked and short under golden feathered helmet and white skinned body. “Miss Hooves? Here, here she is! I've found her!”
The large stallion trotted in a manner that was taught to comfort a concerned subject. Derpy's strength left her limbs and she began to lose her balance. The stallion was swift to her side, steadying her and uttering words of comfort. Two guards poked their large heads into the doorway.
“Miss Hooves, where were you?” asked the shortest of the triad, young voice low and focused. He studied her, gauging her ponyage and all of its indicators. “You smell like salt and cider. Did you come from the cellar?”
Ditzy's head spun, but she managed a nod. “Y-ugh ... yes. Please help the ponies in there. There are six of them.”
Ditzy noted that his hair was pale blue as snow under his commander's helmet, drifting over his eyes in a romantic sway, contrasting the intense icy crystal of his eyes. He gestured with a nod toward the cellar door, which his subordinates seemed to take as a cue to action. “We'll do everything we can, Miss Hooves. Come over here and sit.”
“Brae, lend me a hoof here.”
Ditzy couldn't tell who had said that as a half dozen guards had entered the room to follow the guard commander to the cellar. “Pom will keep you safe. Wait here.”
“Yes sir, Commander Aufeis,” acknowledged 'Pom' with a stern nod. Ditzy could only echo the motion, barely steady on her own legs, leaning against a bolted down table.
Pom explained his full name was Iron Pommel and that he was an expert swordspony. Judging by the lightness of his armor and lack of scars, he was that, or an inexperienced greenhoof. His musculature and calmness seemed to suggest—Ditzy caught herself. Who'm I kidding? I'm no detective. I don't know anything about ponies, except maybe what they like to read.
Iron adopted a concerned look. “Are you okay?”
She giggled. “No. I'm not, but you're very kind to me, so I'm going to say thanks. Thanks.” What was that? He didn't offend me.
Iron seemed to understand. He smiled a comforting smile and left for a moment. When he returned he was levitating a blanket which he draped around her shoulders, wrapping so that it would not fall away. Then he sat and said nothing while Ditzy noticed that she was shivering quite a lot.
“You are in shock, Miss Hooves. Look over there. They're retrieving the victims now.”
The ponies Vallade kidnapped ... are they, are any of them ...
“Dead? I think not.”
Ditzy turned sharply, falling away from the table. Iron's rock-like build caught her once again. “Doctor!”
“Will you keep your voice down, sir? She is in a state,” Iron advised him. The Doctor huffed impatiently, but did not object. They watched quietly as the ponies in poorest condition were brought out on stretchers first. Eventually Bdown and Wilting, too, each locking eyes in gratitude with Ditzy.
“Ditzy is the mare! The! Mare! Hoo-yeh!” Bdown ejected, to which Ditzy responded with a blush.
“You made quite an impression, I see.”
Ditzy's head was clearer, and when Iron resisted, she only insisted that she was feeling much better. He was convinced when she was able to push back. “Vallade's gone, Doctor. Did we win? Is he gone?”
The Doctor's pulled-lip expression was difficult to read. “What did he say to you?”
Should I ... tell him? “He said I was like him. That we are both destructive, but then ... he suddenly,” her heart skipped a beat and she felt a rush in head. She closed her eyes.
“Take it easy, Miss Hooves,” Iron recited.
“I'm okay. He wasn't scary. He didn't frighten me. Not at all.”
The Doctor looked distracted, but she knew him, he was listening intently. A vast part of his being was among the stars, but the part that mattered to her was attentive to her heart. “Yes, my dear. I believe you. What did he say?”
“He said he was defeated.”
The Doctor pursed his lower lip and made a sound of confirmation. “He was. Celestia turned his ship into dust. Luna has recovered fully, now.”
“Oh ... wow,” she gasped. Then she remembered: “Where is Forelock?”
“With John Trotson. He was injured, but it was minor. Do you think you can walk? We could go see him?”
Ditzy rose very slowly, and then smiled. “Uh-huh. I'd like that.”
“Iron, why don't you join us.”
- - -
Celestia showed no sign of ever having attacked an alien space vessel. Not a smudge of dirt, wisp of smoke, stain of blood. Tiara unscathed upon her brow, hooves healed and body washed. Mane flowing endlessly, the pure light of her authority pouring from her being atop the throne.
John, right forehoof in cast, raised his head from a deep bow. Forelock followed suit. Celestia's aura shone over them both. “Your deeds shall never be forgotten, John Trotson, Forelock Holmes. We are in your debt.”
John seemed impressed by this, but Forelock was not so easily swayed. Eying his companion, John gave a little sigh. He was never going to change.
“Gentlecolts and fairmares, come in.” The Doctor, Ditzy Do and Iron Pommel entered the chamber. At the base of the throne they stooped, bowed, and greeted the Princess. “We are glad to see you unharmed, Miss Hooves. We understand that you confronted the villain, Jesper Vallade.”
Ditzy blanched, panicking at the thought that she was wearing her gown. Then a comforting logic settled in: It was only appropriate to be formally dressed when holding court. Then she thought: Speak you silly filly, speak! “Yes, Princess.”
Silence pervaded, but any discomfort was drained away by her confident, trusting air. “Then you are a good friend to the Doctor. Thank you.”
“Yes ... Princess. Y-you're welcome, and thank you.” How do they do it? They talk to her like she's an ordinary pony!
The Doctor lifted his head and with it his voice. “I regret that we have only trapped Jesper here, Princess. Without a ship, he is less a threat, but in a manner of speaking, he is no less a threat now.”
“What are you saying, Doctor?” Celestia eyed him with particular curiosity.
The Doctor glanced at Forelock, who inclined his head forward. “Princess, the pony we called Jesper Vallade had two bodies. He is far older than we previously understood. Using his skills in genetics manipulations, he has, over the centuries, maintained multiple bodies, constantly hedging his bets against fate. When he fought his own creation, Blackpool, he was wounded terribly.
“He was faced with the loss of a body. He proposed to distract you during the busiest event of the year: The Grand Galloping Gala. It was during this time he kidnapped ponies in an attempt to restore the strength he expended fighting Blackpool. He failed, and we recovered those ponies thanks to Miss Ditzy Do.”
Forelock gazed at Ditzy appreciatively, seeing that she better understood the importance of her actions. He continued:
“It was a two stroke feint, for it was not the crown he desired, but the moon ... or its core. With that he could restore his strength, refuel his ship and steal away with his treasure. He did not lie, no, he merely misdirected. The source of Princess Luna's strength was nearly his. Why he revealed himself, we do not understand, but having done so, we were able to sweep down and destroy every tool he created.”
“Revealed himself?” Ditzy blinked.
“Why yes. When you returned to the TARDIS, no doubt to retreive your stunning gown ...” Forelock paused. Ditzy groaned guiltily. I was hoping they didn't know that. “When you did that, my dearest mare, he transported you to his territory, hoping to win you as an ally. I surmise he held you in high esteem because of your relationship with The Doctor.”
It wasn't that relationship he wanted ... Ditzy thought sheepishly. Did Forelock not suspect in the slightest? How was that possible? He was a stallion, right?
“You refused him, and at that very moment Princess Celestia burned his ship to the ground. He was utterly defeated.”
“I don't understand ...” piped a voice. It was John. “How did the Princess know I was aboard his ship?”
Princess Celestia eased forth her subtle, hinting smile. “Friends know these things, Doctor.”
#The#End#
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825265
Wouldn't be the first time he's forgotten things.
Each incarnation has different psychological traits.
870562
Picked up another new reference too - though he's a little less known and perhaps not quite so brony-ish.
828997
So after deciding not to wait ... this baby is cooked!
825371
Your wish is granted!
1269006
Heheheh.