A Beginner's Guide to Heroism

by LoyalLiar

XVIII - Family Matters

XVII
Bear With Me

“Morty! Morty, wake!” growled a deep voice. Due to the limits of ink, quill, and parchment, you probably suspect I was implying that Graargh woke me up the next morning, when in fact, the voice was far deeper than Graargh’s. I opened an eye, observed the bear leader ‘Smokey’ no more than three inches from the tip of my muzzle, and emitted an entirely justified and masculine expression of shock.

“Why scream?” she asked a mere two seconds later, when I was standing on my hooves and halfway to the door.

“You… startled me,” I explained. “Good morning. I think. Is it morning?”

“Yes.”

“Excellent. Good morning. How can I be of service?”

The bear sat up onto her haunches. “Gale, wake? Umm… rock, wake?”

“I am most certainly awake,” Angel pronounced. “I do not sleep.”

Gale groaned. “Uuugh. Yes, I’m awake. Morty’s scream could have woken the fucking dead.”

“Well, almost,” I noted. “It would have needed to be about an octave higher, and I would have needed to attune it to at least a lesser resonant field, but you’ve got a good ear to even come that close.” At her worried expression, I offered a quick bow. “Necromancer.”

“Right.” Gale rose to her hooves. “Well, fuck it, I’m awake now. So, Miss bear, what’s such a big deal that we need to get up at the asscrack of dawn?”

“Your friend. It is… difficult.”

Pregnant silence settled in the room as we waited for further explanation. When none came, I sighed. “Yes…” I prompted, making a sort of pulling motion in the air with my hoof.

Smokey sighed and turned to look straight at me. “His parents skinwalkers. Evil. They kill three bears. We… we drive away.” For just a moment, she hesitated. “Probably, we kill.”

I took a few seconds to parse this before swallowing heavily. “What does Graargh know?”

“Not here,” she answered. “Maybe gone.”

“How did you explain it to him?” Gale asked, and I noted a hint of her unusually formal accent from the previous day’s discourse. “That is very important.”

“Our throat,” she replied. “Different words. And much time. We tell him we knew names he say. Tell him not here. Were here, but gone.”

Gale nodded. I was less forgiving. “It took you all evening and this morning to convey that to him?”

Smokey fervently shook her head. “No. No! We… we worry. Check health. Check body for eggs.”

“Eggs?” At that, I couldn’t help but laugh. “He’s a male... well, whatever he is. He’s a colt, and he turns into a male bear… at least, I think.” Gale snorted. “I’ve never actually checked.”

“Is male body,” Smoke told me. “But skinwalkers not care. They change. We know. We also check Graargh healthy. But well fed. Even fat. You parent well.”

At that I blinked. “Um… Really? I mean, we haven’t mistreated him, but we haven’t exactly been going out to restaurants every day. He must really like hardtack and stew.”

“Morty, there isn’t a creature alive that likes your stew.”

“I happen to like my stew.”

“Well, as you fucking love to say, necromancer.” She added air-quotes with her forehooves. “So maybe I’m still right. Now, Miss bear, why are you telling us this? What are we going to do?”

“Wants leave,” she told us. “Wants family.”

“Graargh still wants to find his parents?” I shrugged. “With what you told him, that sounds about right.”

“No,” we were informed. “Wants you. Family.”

Gale and looked at each other slowly. Our gazes stayed together, faces slack but eyes trembling with worry.

“He… he’s your kid, Morty.”

“My kid? I seem to remember you saying very explicitly that I wasn’t old enough to have ‘squirted him out’.”

“As if I’m older? I’m not some inter-species slut, Morty! And at least you have the freedom to give him time and whatever. Once we’re done with the Windigo, I have to go back to Everfree. Nopony’s going to judge you if you show up wherever you’re headed with a colt. And I’m not exactly trusting that Tempest or Typhoon or whoever wouldn’t just cut his head off the first time they saw him turn into something else!”

“So what am I supposed to do?”

She shrugged. “You’re the one saying you’re the best wizard all the time! Why not figure out what he actually is?”

“He can be bear.” Smokey told us. “Want you, but can keep. If he stay bear, he stay here. We take care. Trust.”

I blinked. “That’s… why you didn’t bring him down?”

She nodded. “You brave. Caring. But young. Not need burden. Pony say ‘takes village’. We village. You alone.”

Everything was quiet in that little room of the lodge while I thought. It must have been a minute before I spoke up. “Not really. I’ve got Angel. For the moment, I’ve got Gale. And when I get where I’m going, I might even have Star Swirl. If he does want to find his parents, I’m best equipped to help him. And if he doesn’t… if he considers us family, I’ll carry that burden.”

Being a hero isn’t always about traveling to the far corners of the world. It is always about doing the right thing. Even if I didn’t know it at the time. I felt like I’d signed one letter of my own death warrant that day—at least until Smokey returned with Graargh, and the little cub outright tackled me with a hug.

---

The bears gave us a raft, and more edible supplies to supplement our hardtack and root vegetables. They easily lasted our trip down the Volgallop, which we spent talking about bear culture and utterly failing to teach Gale a bit of magic. I won’t pretend she was a fantastic student, any more than I was a cleverly disguised brilliant statespony. Everypony has their talents, after all.

What we guessed was two days out of River Rock, visibility on the Volgallop was bad enough that I could barely see either bank. Gale, Graargh, and I were all huddled together in the center of the little craft, wrapped in a combined bundle of blankets and jackets and whatever other fabric we could pull together. It was perhaps the first time that I felt incredibly grateful to have our little ‘skinwalker’ doing his best to curl up into my side: his coarse bear fur and wide body gave excellent warmth.

I don’t remember exactly what we were talking about; conversations from those long days on the river seem to blur together in my memory. What I do remember is how abruptly we dropped into silence when Angel spoke.

“Sir, I believe somepony is coming.”

Two seconds—literally two seconds—after that delightful warning, four steel-shod hooves planted down on the corner of our raft, causing the vessel to lurch violently. Our fabric huddle quickly became a shared straightjacket as Gale lost her balance and failed to break free of the fabrics’ embrace. Her tumble left all three of us laying on the rough planks of the bear-built raft, looking up at formidable armor and a lazy stance.

“D-do you h-h-have any idea h-how long I-I’ve had to fly around i-in t-this blizzard, G-Gale?” Tempest was much less terrifying when his formerly solid voice was broken up by constant shivering.

Once Gale got loose of the blanket net and up to her hooves, she did something I wouldn’t have expected: she leapt to her feet and threw a heavy winter coat over the soldier’s shoulders. “Holy fuck, Tempest! What are you doing out here?”

“L-looking for y-you!”

“Fish pony!” Graargh shouted exuberantly. “Morty, you need fish?”

I snorted back a laugh. “No, Graargh. He’s not going to hurt us. Not alone, half-frozen.” I adjusted my collar as I turned to look Tempest squarely in the eyes. “Congratulations, you found Gale. However, you’re not exactly about to take her back to your grandfather.” I stopped mid thought. “He’s not standing right behind me or something, is he?”

“You’re being a dipshit, Morty,” Gale informed me gently. “Now get over yourself, shut up, and help me warm up Tempest.” Gale huddled under the frost-covered pegasus’ blanket, pressing their sides together.

“I’ll just sit over here if it’s all the same to you.”

Tempest managed to roll his eyes despite the shivering of his body. “It’s no weirder than— grrrngh!” That last strange noise came from Gale unsubtly delivering a hoof squarely to the scout’s gut… or maybe lower; under the blanket I couldn’t actually see. Regardless, Tempest collapsed fully onto his belly on the raft and groaned quietly for a few solid seconds. Gale reclined beside him.

“Well fuck,” she muttered, mostly to herself. After rubbing a hoof to her face for a few seconds, she looked up at me. “Morty, when we get to River Rock, there are probably going to be ponies waiting for us. Commander Hurricane might be with them. Please, please don’t do anything fucking stupid. Okay?”

“Um… alright.”

“No teleporting away. No trying to kill them.”

“No b-b-blasting holes in-n inn walls,” Tempest added, still shivering.

“Yeah. In fact, just try not to cast any magic at all. That would be great.”

I gave Gale a long stare, waiting for and fully expecting some sign that she didn’t want to discuss the matter further in front of Tempest. I was certain she’d want me to provide some way to escape the stallion’s influence. But it never came. Maybe she was worried he’d notice, even if he wasn’t looking back at her at the moment. Regardless, I obviously wasn’t getting any answers while Tempest was sitting on the raft.

I laid down opposite the soldier, reached over to Graargh, and draped him across my back somewhat akin to a blanket. The tiny bear seemed to enjoy the position, so I then tossed a blanket over both of us, and proceeded to once more let the dips and twists of the Volgallop rock me as our journey went along.

Unfortunately, even without his speaking a word, Tempest’s presence made it very difficult for me to relax. He just sat there next to Gale, shivering and staring me down. I don’t know if my patience even lasted two minutes before I spoke up.

“So, uh, Tempest... no hard feelings?”

His stare deepened into a glare.

“I mean… I did stop the whole war problem for you, right? Just like we talked about?”

His glare deepened to rival Grievous Gorge.

“And now you’ve actually caught up with us and nopony is trying to pick a fight, so this has got to be better than before.”

Twenty Thousand Leagues Beneath Tempest’s Brow, by Mules Verne, became an Equestrian bestseller.

When Tempest finally spoke up, it was to say this: “Morty… the only reason I don’t hate you is that it would probably take even more effort than I’ve already wasted on your bullshit. It just isn’t worth it.”

“That’s wise.” Tempest nodded, before I continued. “If you’re going to invest in a vendetta, it needs to be a substantial priority. If you can only bring yourself to hate somepony on evenings and weekends, it’s easier to just forget about them.”

Tempest stared at me for a few long seconds. “Do you honestly think that way?” he finally asked.

Gale snorted in humor, producing a thick cloud of steam. “He’s crazy, Tempest, but he is pretty fun. You’ll get used to it.”

“Mobius, I hope I don’t.”

I sat back on my flanks. “I’m assuming ‘Mobius’ is a pegasus deity?”

Tempest offered me a tip of his head. “Grandpa’s patron. God of Mercy.”

Gale rolled her eyes. “You still swear by those old gods, Tempest? Even when Celestia and Luna are flesh-and-blood ponies you’ve actually met? Hell, Hurricane himself is more of a god than Mobius or Garuda or whoever.”

Tempest’s wings slid out from under his blanket and covered his face and ears. “Gale, nopony cares about your stupid hero worship.”

“It’s not stupid when he literally saved the world like three fucking times! But no, forgive me for preferring ponies who actually do things. I’m sure made up gods are great for ponies who waste their lives chasing pussy or asking the best pony alive if he wants to go out fucking fishing!”

Tempest buried his face further. Making a show of huffing, Gale stepped away from Tempest and planted down beside me—though facing the opposite direction I was, so as to ensure she wasn’t looking at the frigid scout.

I certainly wasn’t complaining about having her beside me. I could hardly call it silence, but the whistling of the wind was a pleasant break from Gale’s shouting. After a few minutes, Tempest pulled his wings back under his blanket.

“Help me understand something, Tempest. You never really answered my question before. Why come out looking for Gale by yourself instead of with your little team?”

“My orders aren’t to try and bring you back this time,” he explained wielding a scowl that I would describe as akin to a mild sunburn. “Apparently, Mom and Grandpa—sorry, for you that’s the Commander and the Commander Emeritus—decided it wasn’t worth it to keep spending ponies chasing ‘those dumb kids’ halfway across the world. So instead, my job is just to make sure you don’t do something to get yourselves killed on the way to River Rock.”

“...and then they’re just going to let us go?” I glanced over toward Gale, who still stubbornly stared away. “I mean, I know I happen to come with enough political baggage that you’d rather I did just go, but her?”

Tempest shrugged. “Once you get to River Rock, it’s not my problem anymore.”

---

River Rock was dead, and it would take a necromancer better than me to revive it.

Exactly zero of those have or ever will exist.

Ponies moved inside the ancient capital’s walls, and more than a few flew above them, but the city simply didn’t seem alive. Perhaps one in two-dozen windows had even the faintest glimmer of light within. Gates on both the river and land-based roads had frozen solid or rusted open. Huge gouges from siege engines or magic taken out of some of the larger structures had gone unrepaired long enough to build up natural ‘patches’ from the volume of snow filling the city.

In absolute silence, a group of pegasi approached our craft as the river Volgallop—now thick with ice—approached the city. Apart from a nod shared with Tempest, their only action was to guide our raft ashore near one of the city’s gates. There, another group of soldiers were waiting. Instead of armor, all wore heavy fur coats. I only recognized them as soldiers for their plumed helmets and curved swords.

“Welcome to River Rock.”

The soldiers helped us up onto the banks of the former half of River Rock’s namesake, and we set our hooves onto the latter half of the same with no small comfort. From there, the pegasi escorted us on foot up to the castle: Burning Hearth, a towering spire of gray stones decorated in frost and pockmarks. I spent most of the walk wondering what the escort was for; we saw not a single other soul in the streets, equine or otherwise. The city was deserted, as cold and as quiet as the grave… well, probably moreso, since Wintershimmer was more-or-less ‘freshly’ dead.

Burning Hearth was completely unlike the Crystal Spire. Its hallways were filled with ill-maintained suits of armor, faded tapestries, and the occasional mark of a harsh burn cut through the very stones in the walls. The pegasi paid no attention to the marks of war, nor did they comment on the complete lack of servants. We only passed guards garbed identically to our escort, who gave us cautious glances as we passed their checkpoints.

Our route ended at a pair of solid steel doors, easily twice the height of a stallion standing even on his hind hooves, and each nearly as wide. They seemed like a rather poor defense against intruders, however, as an enormous hole had been melted clean through their center; wide enough that Gale and I entered the room beyond shoulder to shoulder, and neither of us brushed our coats (or jackets) against the doors themselves.

The throne room of Burning Hearth, with its stone pillars and raised galleries, was strangely devoid of color. The only tone that survived in the grayscale world was red: the red of the long carpet leading from the doors up to a dais at the far side, the red of the pony resting in it, and the red of what one might ostensibly call a ‘sword’, balanced with its tip on the ground and its hilt held up by his right forehoof.

Cyclone the Betrayer was a giant. Seriously, huge. Sitting upright on his flanks and his hind legs, he was still probably taller than Smokey, who I will remind those of you suffering with the memory span of a goldfish, was an adult polar bear. His coat was a vibrant red that ever-so-slightly evoked an image of blood, and his black mane was beginning to gray from stress. His cheeks and eyes were sunken, both likely from hunger, although his legs and torso still seemed lean and fit despite the relative lack of food apparent in the city. I took particular note of a scar running over his left eye, because it looked like his face was perforated. Not ‘perforated’ as a euphemism for having been stabbed, but in the same sense that one might perforate a scroll or fabric to let it tear easily along a clean line.

Or, to be more blunt, Cyclone’s face looked like a complicated Equestrian government form, although I couldn’t have made such an observation at that time.

In addition to his facial scar, his left wing hung limp, unfolded from his side and draped over his hind leg and flank almost like a blanket. A scar near the shoulder made it clear that the limp appendage wasn’t simply left slack for comfort.

He leaned forward slightly in his seat—the heavily burnt and blackened remains of what had previously been the throne of the Diamond Kingdoms for hundreds of years—and watched us with his tired, sunken eyes. Hidden by a rather dense stub of black beard, I couldn’t make out his expression. All I knew is that suddenly I could feel a cold sweat on the back of my neck.

“Gale,” he began, his deep voice reverberating in the empty stone room. “I’ve been expecting you.”

I leaned over to her. “That is how you know somepony is leading an evil cult.”

Comments

[Zennyth]

Nice chapter!

[djthomp]

Congratulations Morty, it's a boy colt bearish cub.

“Fish pony!” Graargh shouted exuberantly. “Morty, you need fish?”

I hope this sticks, too.