Chapter One - Winny
i
For what it was worth, Wind Whistler was a lucky mare.
The castle maids all said so, after all, and what reason had she to disagree? With so many other ponies looking at her with wide, envious eyes, it seemed rather selfish to think otherwise.
So, she wore a small smile through her days. She greeted her husband's friends with polite bows and cups of steaming tea, and she garbed herself in well-tailored dresses with elaborate stitching and tightly-fitting corsets.
When her husband returned, she greeted him with a bow more formal than the ones she gave the others. She kept her voice low and her words calm, and she always spoke of his affairs and never her own. She had the right to nothing but gratitude, after all, for what had a humble mare such as she done in her life to deserve the royalty-like life she had been gifted?
Indeed, she was a lucky mare, she reminded herself, as she made her way through the crowds of staring ponies with glints of hatred and envy on their subtly concealed glares. She even ignored the subtle accusations hurled in her direction; the softly growled claims she was a 'whore' and a 'murderer' blending in peacefully with the rest of the idle marketplace chatter.
She was no such things, after all, and if these ponies chose to say them, it was their mistake.
Certainly not one they would make before her husband, after all.
Eventually, her scurrying hooves left the glowing torchlight of the marketplace behind, and Wind Whistler found herself standing before a stretching void of black arctic night, and furiously swirling snow. The dome-like heat shield erected around the marketplace ended here, and Wind Whistler took care to fasten the clasps on her parka before traveling any further.
A red cable stretched forwards into the dark, whipping about as it was battered by the blizzard that enveloped the shield. Wind Whistler reached into her saddlebag and withdrew a small rope attached to a sturdy harness clip, which she attached to the red cable and then wrapped several times around her front hoof.
The road between the marketplace and the housing district she was heading to was a relatively short one, but it was one ponies had frozen to death on nonetheless. Wind Whistler had no intention of joining their frigid corpses.
Through the snow she trod, her thick parka preventing her dress from catching the howling wind and dragging her off of her hooves. Eventually, Wind Whistler could once again make out tall buildings exposing themselves through the curtains of snow. At one time, they may have stood proud, but now the lengthy, three-story group housing buildings had long since been eroded by wind and snow and poor maintenance. Even when they had first been erected, some thirty-years ago, and when the less-than-wealthy were forcibly uprooted and shoved into them, they had been constructed with the cheapest available resources.
Of course, that was long before Wind Whistler's time. In her memories of playing hide-and-seek as a young filly, the community housing had already been fifteen years old.
Trotting quickly up the rickety, ice-coated wooden stairs and taking care not to stumble and fall, Wind Whistler swiftly found the apartment she was seeking, and rose a hoof to knock softly on the door.
Then, she froze, her hoof suspended in the air, fear and doubt swirling about in her head.
Before they could overtake her and send her back down the stairs she had come, Wind Whistler quickly rapped her hoof onto the door and took a single step back.
From within, rustling hooves, moving with calm grace but no shortage of urgency.
Then, the door swung open, and Wind Whistler forced a plaster smile onto her face. “Hey, ma.”
For all that had happened between the last time they had seen each other, Wind Whistler was at least happy to see that the sickness that was plaguing the Empire had yet to take hold of her mother. While she looked every day as old as she was, she was still quite clearly recognizable as her daughter’s mother. Even her mane, while greying, still bore the same traces of blue highlights within the more predominant violet, albeit not nearly as pronounced as they were on her daughter.
“Winny,” her mother breathed, as though some part of her didn't quite believe her own eyes. “You're… you're alone?”
“I snuck out,” she said, nodding and trading her shy smile for a mischievous one, “and before you ask, no, he doesn't know. Neither do the guards.”
“He will, you foolish child!” Winny's mother chattered urgently. “What were you thinking, sneaking away like that? With all those ponies getting ransomed! Not to mention the flu!”
Winny grimaced. She didn't need to be reminded of that. The pillars of smoke outside the city borderlines did that job plenty well.
“I was thinking I was going to go insane unless I saw a loving face again,” Winny replied. “And I'm thinking I'm going to be back long before my husband even knows I'm gone.”
“Well, I hope that doesn't mean you can't at least have some lunch,” her mother tutted. “Come in from the cold, Winny.”
Wind Whistler obeyed instantly, shaking her parka and boots clear of snow before entering her mother's apartment. The apartment was a humble affair—no more than a bedroom and a kitchen, but it felt more like home than the mansion Winny had grown accustomed to. A fire was cracking softly, casting the entire room in dancing orange light and soft waves of warmth.
“Your timing is rather good, Winny,” her mother was saying from the kitchen as Winny settled down onto a scrappy-looking and ancient couch. “I just made a pot of crowberry tea. I know how much you like that.”
Winny smiled, shuffling out of her parka and setting it onto the arm of the loveseat.
Looking around her, Winny didn't know whether to feel somber or satisfied. Her home was unchanged, even after being away for so long; the small coffee table before her still proudly bore the crude soapstone-carved inukshuk statue Wind Whistler's younger brother had made. The same four chairs were there, even though Winny and her Mother were the only ponies left who would ever be seated at the table. Even the cloth on the dining table remained unchanged.
Truthfully, Wind Whistler admitted to herself, it had only been several years since she had seen her old house last, and even with her mother being classified as a 'peasant' in status, Winny still saw her at the occasional gala or Crystalling—even if she had to sneak away from her husband in order to say hello.
Nonetheless, it felt good to be home.
Winny was torn from her thoughts as her mother emerged from the kitchen, holding in her mouth a platter of steaming tea and a large bowl of borscht, which she set down gingerly on the coffee table before Wind Whistler without uttering a word. Winny smiled gratefully and said a soft 'thank you.'
“So, how have you been, Winny?” her mother began, somewhat awkwardly. “Are you still painting?”
“Of course,” Winny said. “I was actually going to ask if I could have the guards bring you one. I remember you saying you missed the sunsets, so I did my best to paint one for you.”
“That sounds wonderful,” her mother said. It could have been a product of Winny's overactive imagination, but her mother's tone seemed more melancholy than pleased.
Whether it was melancholy towards the mere thought that it had been two years since the Angujaktuat had evolved from a seasonal fluctuation in the weather to an eternal curse, or towards Winny herself, she could only guess.
With a shaky rustle of her left wing, Winny used it to lift the mug of tea to her lips and take a light sip, the move slightly impeded by her tightly-fitting dress.
Apparently, however, her struggle was more than 'slight', for Winny's mother noticed it immediately.
“Why don't you take off that dress, dear?” her mother said tiredly. “I can't imagine it is very comfortable.”
Winny sighed. “I'm… not trying to be rude, ma, but tying these corsets is a pretty troublesome affair, and I don't want...”
“...him to find out you were walking about in public without it anyways,” her mother finished with a long sigh. “You're right, I suppose. Still, it's so troubling to see my own daughter treated like—”
“Ma, I think you should drop it.”
“No, I don't think I will. Don't you realize you're nothing but his slave?!”
“We're all his slaves!” Winny shot back. “I'm no different! What I was given, mother, is a choice. And you've made it very clear I made a mistake, but sorry to surprise you, I already know it was a mistake. Yeah, cause I totally like living in fear. I just love having to wear what he wants or having to act like somepony else just because it's what he wants me to be! So, yes, it is troubling to live like that, but what choice do I have?”
The moment the last word left Winny's mouth, she felt a wave of horror overtake her at just how easily she had allowed herself to rant so openly about her husband.
It had been a fit of emotion, she internally consoled herself. A culmination of weeks of stress. Nothing more. Nothing that would happen again.
Her poor mother looked shell-shocked. Clearly, she hadn't expected such an outburst from her daughter. Then again, the last time she and Winny had been sitting together on the same couch, simply as mother and daughter, had been when Winny was fourteen.
Now, here she was again—both so much more mature and so much more like a frightened child.
“He’s been hitting me more and more, Ma,” Winny whispered. “For less and less. The other day, I accidentally cursed in K’anquitut and I honestly thought he was going to kill me.”
Her mother bristled. For such a warm and loving figure, Winny’s had little doubt her mother would have much hesitated to confront any stallion who saw fit to lay a hoof upon their wives. She was no modest, obedient servant like her daughter had become.
“It’s your tongue,” her mother growled. “The one your father taught you—spirits bless him—and his father before him. We are Crystal Ponies, and that is our language. If he refuses to see that—”
“Then what, ma?” Winny replied shortly. “What do you expect me to do? Lecture him? Do you think that’s going to end well for me?”
“No,” her mother confessed, sinking her head slowly and nodding. In contrast to her brief flare of fiery assertion, she was now meekly spinning her bowl of borscht into a tiny vortex with a spoon. “Winny, just… you need to understand how much I fear for you.”
“I know, ma,” Winny said, her gaze locked on the soup in front of her. “I'm sorry.”
“I still remember when… when she died, Wind Whistler. The one before you. I was only a filly then, but I still remember what she looked like. Such a pretty mare. Not any older than you.”
Winny simply nodded, not looking up from her food to meet her mother’s eyes.
“I don’t want you to end up like her, Winny. Please. Promise me you won’t. Promise you’ll be safe.”
Still, Winny found herself unable to divert her gaze from her soup. “You know I can’t promise you that, ma.”
ii
The night wasn't eternal throughout winter in the Crystal Empire, but it may as well have been. At best, one might be able to see the Sun in the dwindling hours past midnight, but hardly anypony had reason to be up then.
Winny didn't mind the near-eternal night, however. She dearly loved the rare occasion when the Angujaktuat ceased its fury, and she could see the cool purple glow of the Moon peering down at her, rippling like a reflection as its light was distorted by The Shimmer. No matter how frequently her life was torn apart and put back together again, the Moon was a universal constant.
As she made her way back home on hurrying hooves, her mother's words were repeating again and again in her head, and Winny didn't know whether she had made a grave mistake opening herself up to somepony, or if it had given her some much-needed courage and self-worth. For the first time in so long, she had actually spoken her thoughts to somepony, instead of burying them behind an endless stream of 'yes sirs' and 'no sirs.”
And that, as much as she felt the necessity to deny it, felt rather nice.
Winny wrapped her scarf around her snout several times before she once again clipped herself to the snow-cable.
The cable was, for all intents, a bridge between the marketplace district and the lower-tier housing. Between them lay several hundred feet of seemingly unused space eternally trapped in perpetual snow-storm. The Empire had a layout that, when looked at from the top of the Crystal Tower, slightly resembled a wagon wheel—the Tower itself was the hub, and the snow-cables branched off in nearly every direction, leading to the various housing and market districts of the Empire.
The result was a scattered Empire that had about it a perpetual sense of artificial vastness.
The marketplace was relatively busy even in the midst of the Angujaktuat's fury. Pausing beside a fishstand to get her bearings, Winny spotted two guards laughing and conversing beside a large bonfire. She doubted they would be able to recognize her, but she tightened her scarf just in case.
Still, even if the marketplace were a conduit back to the Tower, Winny was in no mood to travel through it. Besides the frequent harshly whispered remarks spat in her direction, one of the Empire's guards could easily be milling about, and being spotted out and about in the Empire without an escort was rather low on her list of priorities.
No, all she had to do was sneak back home and hide her parka and boots, and all else would be fine. The guards would just chalk up her several hours of disappearance to her simply taking a nap or becoming too engrossed in a book, and they wouldn't think twice to question it.
And so, she diverted her path from the cacophony of talking and street music, and instead ventured into the dark and narrow back-alley that snaked through the peasant district to the main hub of the city, where the castle soared abruptly above all else.
Of course, she wasn't used to navigating the labyrinth-like back-alleys, so she truthfully shouldn't have been so surprised when she found herself lost.
At first, it simply resonated through her mind as an inconvenience. But, with each ensuing echo, Winny slowly realized she was in a greater degree of danger than she had initially believed.
For getting lost meant being late. And being late, meant being seen. And being seen, meant being caught.
Which meant, her husband would find out she snuck away.
Horror brought her walk to a trot, then to a gallop. The alleyways were deserted—the peasant district had more red crosses on her doors than any other district in the Empire, and nopony quite wanted to mill about in their streets—and the Angujaktuat's fury had blotted out any point of reference Winny may have used in the air above the alleyway. Her corset would surely prevent her from actually flying to any sort of altitude, but to abandon it would surely be to raise questions when she returned.
“You lost, lady?”
Winny froze, her entire body going rigid. Slowly, she turned towards the mare's voice.
The mare had a frown on her face, one that only grew when Winny did not immediately answer her. “Well, you certainly look it. That, or you were just mugged.”
“I wasn't, thank you for your concern,” Winny said. “I'm just trying to find my way back to the Crystal Tower.”
“You look like you belong there,” the mare tutted, stepping closer, her curious eyes examining Winny's form from head to toe. Her voice was somewhere in limbo between haughty and peasant-like. It was a mixture Winny had seen before, amongst ponies of a middle-class who wished to distance themselves from their peers deemed ‘worthless’ by the rest of the empire. “What are you doing in the peasant district?”
It was a somewhat hypocritical remark, Winny thought, for this mare—while hardly looking like a princess—surely was no peasant herself. Her mane was well-groomed—albeit not the mighty length that Winny’s was‚ and she appeared to be wearing a set of fairly valuable-looking earrings with some manner of gemstone imbedded within. If the stone served any practical purpose (as gemstones oft did) Winny could only venture a guess.
Perhaps not a peasant, but no high society citizen, either. Somepony from a family of worth—agriculture, perhaps, or even the arcane arts.
No, Winny reminded herself. That might perhaps be pushing things. Nopony practiced the arcane arts except those related to the unicorns. And the unicorn of Winny's generation had died at four months old, leaving her peers to a magic-less world.
“Hello? I asked you a question. What are you doing in the peasant district if you're from the Crystal Tower.”
“I'm… I'm sorry, but that's none of your concern.”
The mare laughed. “Look it, lady. I'm not gonna beat around the bush. You made a mistake coming here. You're going to get kidnapped and ransomed wandering around these back alleys.”
“I believe I can take care of myself, but thank you for the warning.”
“It's not a warning. You're going to be kidnapped and ransomed. By us.” The mare gave a small grin. “Sorry, I guess.”
Winny's eyes grew wide, and she took a fruitless step back. She opened her mouth to retort, but her words ended as her world fell to black.
And yet, surprisingly, her last thoughts were still of Sombra.
iii
It took Winny a few moments to realize her consciousness had actually returned at all, because her eyes fluttered open to perfect blackness. Still, she knew without sight that she was inside, for she could feel and smell a nearby fire. Something seemed to be over her head, blocking out her sight, although Winny figured that, even if it were off, she'd be able to see nothing anyways.
Her right front hoof seemed heavier than her left, and giving it a little shake, Winny instantly knew why. Her hoof seemed to be chained to something sturdy nearby.
Slightly muffled, as though in another room, Winny thought she could hear voices. A stallion seemed to be speaking, his voice a high and panicked shrill.
“...dead! All of us, we're dead, Opal! You've killed us all!”
“You need to stay calm, Cottonfoot! You aren’t helping anything!” A voice Winny recognized as belonging to the mare in the alley shot back. “Anyways, I did exactly what Fox Trot told me! This is on him!”
“I said to get a rich-looking mare! Not the wife of the tyrant king himself!”
“Well, I didn't exactly know who she was, alright? She was wandering around the back alleys, and there were no guards. Tell me when that ever happens.”
Slowly, Winny's racing mind slowed. Her confusion faded into clarity as she realized exactly what was happening to her.
She had been mistaken for somepony else. Or perhaps kidnapped solely based on her obvious high-society affiliations. This mare… Opal, hadn't recognized her as Sombra's wife.
These ponies were some vagrants, possibly. Desperate for bits, willing to do anything. It was an old story Winny had grown used to hearing.
Or, they were the others. The rebels. The ones even Sombra feared, if only for the abstract notion that anypony would think to rebel against his ultimate rule.
The ponies who had no desires for ransom, and felt more at peace harming those close to Sombra in an attempt to make him yield to their demands.
No, this was the unlikely option, Winny told herself, and one over which she would get nowhere from fearing. She had to keep a level head. They were not rebels. Such was a silly notion. They were desperate ponies, and nothing more. It was all a simple misunderstanding. A nigh impossible one that she would be unable to explain to Sombra, but a misunderstanding all the same.
“...just, y'know, let her go?” Another, younger-sounding female voice, was saying. It still had the distinctive squeakiness of fillyhood—this mare surely was no older than twelve, and yet here she was amongst a group of criminals.
“No,” Opal replied, her voice a low hiss. “We can't do that, Amber. She saw my face.”
“Well then what are you proposing, Opal?” A stallion retorted. “We send an innocent mare to the farm cause of your poor judgement?”
“I don't know why you insist on putting words in my mouth, Fox Trot. But, unless you see another option...”
Winny felt her stomach wrench in terror. Rebels or not, these ponies were desperate indeed.
And truthfully, as much as Winny feared what they would inevitably do to her, she did not quite disagree with their line of thinking. While she—the docile, delicate little housewife she was—hardly posed them a threat, simply letting her run to Sombra with apt descriptions of her kidnappers was akin to simply marching up to the Crystal Tower with written confessions.
“...hardly innocent, anyways. She's Sombra's whore, after all! We'd be doing the Empire a favor!”
“Shut it, Cottonfoot,” Opal growled “Look, so, we can't just let her go. I don't think anypony here wants to kill her, either. So. What if we went through with the ransom?”
“No way,” Cottonfoot said. Winny heard him give a squawk-like laugh. “No bucking way. If that's your plan, you can count me right the buck out.”
“Eh. Cottonfoot's right, there,” the second mare said. “Sorry Opal, but we've only got two options here. Threatening King Sombra is a death sentence.”
“Oh, so killing his wife is just a minor offense?!” Opal retorted. “No, you know what? Screw this. I'm going to talk to her.”
“What?!” Cottonfoot screeched. “Are you insane?”
“She's a helpless housewife, Cottonfoot. What's she going to do to me? Besides, I think she has the right to be a part of a conversation involving her own life.”
The sound of horseshoed hooves echoed as Opal approached. Winny shuffled into a more dignified sitting position, staring straight ahead at the source of Opal's approach. There was silence for a moment, as Opal undoubtedly hesitated at the door. Somewhere in the distance, a fire was crackling, and a floorboard creaked as one of the half-dozen other ponies in the dwelling shifted in anticipation.
Finally, a door creaked open, and Opal's hoofbeats ceased.
“Hey. Are you awake in here?”
“Yes, I'm awake,” Winny said. “I have been for some time.”
“Then you’ve been listening to our conversation.”
“Yes.”
“So you know what predicament you're in?”
Winny nodded.
“Then… I just wish for you to understand… this is all a misunderstanding. I'm not going to split hairs or give you false hope, but regardless… what we may have to do to you… it wasn't any of our intentions.”
“Then don't do it,” Winny replied. As terrified as she was—not of Opal, of course; she seemed relatively understanding and sympathetic—she kept her tone as calm as she could muster. “You don't have to do anything.”
“I'm afraid it's a bit more complicated than that. You saw my face. You can tell your husband who I am.”
“I won't. I promise you, I won't.”
“Well, as much as I appreciate that, it really changes little. I cannot simply be betting my life and the lives of my friends on your 'promises.'”
“I won't tell him. Trust me. If he finds out I was out without an escort, I'll be punished. I imagine my mother, too, since I was visiting her without his permission. I can't give you ponies away without giving her away, too.”
Winny lifted her unchained hoof to her blindfold with the intent of removing it, but Opal's hissing voice stopped her.
“Hey, leave that on!”
“I already know what you look like!”
“Well, I don't need you knowing what my friends look like, too!” Opal barked. “Just sit there and listen, alright? Can you do that?”
Winny nodded again, lowering her hoof back to the floor slowly.
“For us to let you go, we'd need some sort of assurance that you're not going to rat on us. And unless you can give us that, I'm afraid you may be out of luck.”
“I told you already!” Winny protested, unintentionally raising her voice. “If I tell Sombra, he'll know I went out with an—”
“Escort. Yes, you said. But I'm sorry if I doubt he'd be angry at you if he found out you'd been kidnapped and nearly killed.”
“You're not married to him, so I don't expect you to know what he's like.”
Opal let out a long sigh. Winny had a mental image of her bringing a hoof to the bridge of her snout in irritation. “I'm sorry, Wind Whistler, but you're going to need to give me something more concrete. I'll give you a bit to think on where you want to take this.”
“No, wait! Don't go!” Winny exclaimed. “Please, I need to be back soon! Before Sombra knows I've gone missing!”
Opal shuffled, the ancient floorboards singing out her nervousness. “Wind Whistler, I’m truly not trying to be gross or morbid, but the next time Sombra sees you, there's a high chance it's just going to be your decapitated head in a cardboard box. So, I think you'd better start re-evaluating what you should be afraid of right now.”
“I'm afraid of Sombra,” Winny said firmly. “And if you had any sense, you would be, too. I'm not the one who needs to come to a decision, because if I were the one making it, it seems pretty obvious what I'd pick.”
“Oh? And what's that?”
“You can't negotiate with him—your friend was right, that's a death sentence. If you kill me, he'll find you, and he won't be content simply killing you in return. Last time he caught the Flu, he had the entire cooking and cleaning staff executed out of suspicions of poisoning. Ponies I knew, and considered my friends—cause what the hell else am I supposed to do trapped in a mansion my whole life? So, don't act like I'm an idiot to be afraid of my husband.”
“So what? Let you go? With the blind hope you won't rat on us?”
“At least then, you'll have a chance. I know you see it as a slim one, but any other option is a guaranteed death for you and your friends.”
Opal Charm may have had some remark or retort, but if she did she did not express it. Instead, she sighed again, and the sound of her hooves once again carried her out of the room, leaving Winny back into perfect darkness.
In the other room, the other ponies' voices were clamouring over each other once again, but Winny tuned them out as best as she could for sometime, and after what surely must have been a few hours had passed, they had gone silent—the only sound of note was a rather violent, hacking cough, that seemed to belong to the younger mare Winny had heard earlier. It was as though all internally contemplating their own approaches to the situation, but none wished to reprise the yelling argument Winny had heard earlier.
Winny, likewise, focused her attention on creating some manner of hasty plan in what little time she had left before they came to some sort of twisted, macabre decision.
Urgently, she ran over the facts again and again in her head. They were reasonable ponies, reluctant to the concept of killing but not unwilling to do so. They hated Sombra, and while they did not respect nor like his wife, Opal did not seem to see her as the whore who had backstabbed her family like many other Crystal Ponies saw her as.
They were obviously desperate for something, but that was hardly a rare occurrence in the Crystal Empire.
Obvious for what, Winny couldn't begin to guess. The Empire had no arcane families to ransom, so she couldn't imagine the rebels were trying to gain some sort of resource against Sombra.
A fruitless, foolish fight, but one that had been going on for decades in the shadows. One only brought back into resurgence by the flu epidemic, and Sombra's seemingly arbitrary distribution of medicines the entire Empire dearly needed.
At this thought, Winny's ears perked up.
Medicine!
She knew it was rather insane, giving her predicament, and the unlikely nature of her own solution, but nonetheless she smiled madly at its mere presence.
After several more hours the sound of hooves and the opening door repeated. This time, however, Opal approached Winny more closely than before, and, before she could speak, Opal ripped the blindfold off of Winny's head.
For several seconds, the two mares simply locked eyes and stared. Winny was the first to divert her gaze downwards, but she did so with a single word on her lips.
“Medicine.”
“What?”
“You need it, don't you?” Winny said. “I heard a younger mare coughing. Amber, I think you called her. She's sick, right? The flu?”
Opal was silent.
“Nopony has gotten the flu and survived without medication, Opal. But I can get some for you, if you let me go.”
“Oh yes?” Opal gave a patronizing laugh. “And how do you imagine you'll convince your husband to do that?”
“I won't convince him of anything,” Winny said. She was hardly familiar with lying when her life depended on it, for normally Sombra was quite adept at telling when a pony was lying anyways. “My mother has the flu as well. But she has medication.”
“So?”
“So, I can get you a jar of the serum for your friend. You let me go, you save my life, and you can save the life of your friend, too,” Winny said. Then, she smiled as she realized something else. “That's what you were going to ransom me for in the first place, isn't it? What else would you be looking for?”
“You're… offering to steal medicine from your terminally ill mother to save your own life.”
“Yes, that is pretty much it,” Winny nodded.
Winny had half a mind to grimace at her own remark, but if the Wind Whistler she was spinning in her lie was as much a monster as Opal was making her seem, she had no choice but to play along.
No, she was a despicable rich mare desperate to save her own hide. Terrified of death, of her husband, and of these dastardly rebels. She'd heard it on the tongues of every Crystal Pony in the empire—selfish whore, who had abandoned her family to death and disease for a life of luxury.
It was hardly the truth, but the truth wasn't what Winny needed right now.
Instead, she smiled coyly, like the spoiled young housewife she was supposed to be. “Well?”
Opal simply rolled her eyes. "And they call us the savages. Between your husband and his affinity for mass executions of those he deems unproductive, and your willingness to save your gaudy hide at the expense of others, it seems to me like you two were a match made in the heavens."
Now that was something Winny wasn't going to simply sit back and agree to.
"You couldn't be any more wrong about that," she growled. "If it makes any difference to you, I probably hate Sombra more than you ever will."
iv
Winny knew defeat loomed on her horizon no matter her best efforts.
And so, she also knew better than to even make an attempt to the contrary.
Opal Charm had barked at her to put her blindfold back on, the whole while muttering disgusted insults under her breath. Then, she was marched down several flights of stairs that had the same tell-tale stench of community housing that her mother's apartment had had, but to a much worse degree.
Back in the snow, Opal had barked at her to count to sixty before removing her blindfold, and when she finally did, she saw she was alone in the middle of a deserted alleyway. Traces of elusive sunlight lined the horizon, the Angujaktuat low enough in its fury that Winny could see them rippling through the shifting surface of the Shimmer far beyond the last building in the Empire.
It was beautiful, but Winny couldn't bring herself to smile.
Before long, she was spotted by a guard. She didn't care—there was no getting around what had happened now. Instead, she fell into step willingly next to the guard, who led the way towards the great Crystal Tower. She did so without objection, and with a worried and apologetic frown already on her face. The guards, however, regarded her with cold annoyance, like she were some pestersome insect.
The walk to the Mansion seemed an eternity. Neither Winny nor the guards spoke, and Winny's blood was pumping so loudly she doubted she could even hear if they did. She kept her head low and submissive as she was led up the endless stairwells and down the endless hallways of the Crystal Tower.
Eventually, the door to the Mansion was ahead, and the scuffling of the guards' heavy armour ceased.
“Go,” one spoke. “He's inside.”
“Th-thank you.” Winny said, fear and panic bringing a warbling to her words.
A shaking hoof pushed the door open and walked unceremoniously into the Mansion.
Sombra stood, his back to Winny, facing the swirling winds of the Angujaktuat.
“Sir, I can explain.”
Sombra did not reply. His gaze strayed to the Angujaktuat, his head turned from her. Winny could not see if his expression was one of fury, and yet some part of her knew it was anyways. Perhaps not violent fury, but instead the cold fury Sombra reserved for his bouts of deadly calm.
Slowly, he turned. Winny instantly descended into a bow, closing her eyes and crossing her forehooves shyly.
Winny hated the bow—it was one more akin to admission of vulnerability than an expression of respect—but for Sombra she knew better than to stand proudly before him.
Even with her eyes closed, Winny knew he was looming over her. It was as though Sombra had about him some supernatural omnipresence that manifested itself beyond her senses.
With no attention given to reservation, Sombra struck her skull firmly with an armoured hoof.
“Ah!” Winny gasped, the impact sending a firm ripple of pain through her. “Sombra, please!”
“You said you could explain,” Sombra said softly. “Explain.”
“I… I didn't mean to be out so late, I swear! I was trying to hurry home, but I got lost in the Angu—”
Sombra hit her again, this time hard enough to knock her off of her weak, bowing hooves, and onto the cold marble floor. “I do believe I have warned you against speaking that prehistoric nonsense. It's a blizzard, Wind Whistler. Call it such.”
“Yes sir. I'm sorry.”
"It is okay, my dear," Sombra cooed. Winny felt his armoured hoof once more rest upon her still-stinging skull, but it was simply to stroke her mane which had been rendered unkempt from her sprinting. Winny opened her eyes gradually as he continued to speak in his abnormally calm tone. "I am sure this is a misunderstanding, yes? But we'll work through it, as we have before. Isn't that right?"
Wind Whistler kept her head low and did not speak.
"Answer me!" Sombra barked.
"Yes!" Wind Whistler chirped immediately, her head snapping up to meet Sombra's fiery eyes bearing down upon her. "I'm sorry, Sombra."
"You’re sorry? Is that so?"
"Yes, sir."
"Intriguing. And are you sorry because you feel sorry, or simply because you think you are going to be caught doing something you shouldn’t have been doing?"
Wind Whistler had to fight to keep her gaze from sinking again, for she knew that with uninterrupted contact Sombra would surely see the flicker of contemplation in her expression. "I meant what I said, Sombra. I swear I did not mean any harm, and I know now that I have made a terrible mistake."
"I see. You can stop shaking, Winny. It is alright. I am not going to hit you again." Sombra gave her a warm smile that nopony in the Empire would ever mistake as warm at all. "Now, are you going to tell me what happened?”
“I… I simply wanted to get out of the castle. I know you cautioned against it, but I… I know now I was a fool, but I—“
“Winny, I don't believe I cautioned you against anything. I believe I told you what I expect of you, and it seems to me you see it as otherwise. It seems to me like you knew I would disapprove of your actions, and you chose to perform them anyways.”
“Sir, I would not disobey you like that!”
“So you are saying I am mistaken?”
Winny was silent for several seconds. “Sombra, please. I only mean to say I meant no harm with my actions. I only intentioned to be out for the morning! I meant to be back before noon, I swear! I got lost in the Angu—in the blizzard.”
“And the guards?”
“They did not know of my absence, sir. I snuck out without telling them. I am solely to blame. Please do not punish them for my misdoings.”
“You do not get to make that decision, Wind Whistler,” Sombra growled. Then, as though flipping a switch, he blinked and in a split-second his persona was back to the unearthly calm. “Come, my dear. I have something to show you."
Winny obeyed, falling into step behind Sombra, who weaved through the polished Halls of Arkadia with authoritarian grace. Thrice they passed gleaming doors of solid crystal; doors that even Wind Whistler had not strayed through, for they bore the spindly tendrils of billowing dark magic that prevented anypony but Sombra himself from opening.
"Winny, do you feel you are of importance to me?" Sombra said after opening the third and final door.
"Sir?"
"Your life, my dear. Do you feel that it has value to me?"
"I... I do not wish to assume anything of you, Sombra. Your thoughts are far beyond the level a mare such as I could follow."
"I asked you a question, and you respond with insincere cajoling?" Sombra growled, stopping in his tracks and giving her an icy sideways glare.
"No sir! That was not my intent!"
"Then answer me."
Winny's gaze fell to her trodding hooves. "I... I can only assume that you see value in my life, for a mare of my lowliness does not deserve your presence and yet you grant it to me daily. And to an extent no other mare may know. And I am eternally grateful for--"
"Be silent," Sombra commanded. Winny looked up. They were in a long hall, adorned with three immense portraits of beautiful looking mares. "These ponies. Do you recognize them?"
Winny shook her head.
"That is to be expected. They all passed long before your time."
"Who are they?"
Sombra smiled. "Take a guess, Wind Whistler."
"Ah... mates? Past wives, perhaps?"
"Very good!" Sombra said, as though praising an obedient show dog. He pointed up to the portrait nearest him—one of a gaudily-dressed, peach coloured mare with an elaborately styled mane of multi-toned purple. She bore no smile in her portrait, instead wearing an almost disinterested scowl that Winny would never dare to make herself.
She looked several years younger than Wind Whistler herself was—surely no older than 17. There were no other paintings of any older incarnation of this mare, leading Winny to believe she had died quite young.
"This mare passed about fifty years ago," Sombra explained. "My last wife before you."
"I am sorry," Winny offered. "What was her name?"
"Doesn't matter. Why do you think I am showing you her, Wind Whistler?"
"I do not know."
“Do you know how she died?”
“No sir.”
“Then I will tell you,” Sombra said, with calmness like an old stallion telling a campfire story. “She was a beautiful mare, not unlike yourself. Younger, of course. But somewhere along the line of our marriage, she began thinking herself my equal. She began to lie to me. To sneak out. Speaking to me with stern tones I never gave her permission to speak to me in.”
Sombra ran a freezing hoof through Winny's frazzled mane again, smiling a devious smile.
“To be frank, I am still confused as to why she looked at me with an expression of surprise when I killed her.”
Winny gasped, and Sombra detached from her, still wearing his impossible smile.
“So tell me, Winny. Do you think she mattered to me?”
“N-no sir.”
“Do you think you matter to me?”
“No sir.”
“Do you think I will so much as hesitate to end your life if I feel you are being unfaithful to me?”
“No sir.”
“Good,” Sombra cooed like a dove. “Now look me in the eyes, and tell me again where you were today, and if I so much as sense a shadow of a lie, you will greatly come to regret it.”
Winny gulped. Slowly, she brought her gaze towards Sombra's cold, feline-like eyes, with their unnatural pupils, and perpetual wisps of magic swirling from the corners of his sockets.
“My mother is ill. I knew I was going to be in trouble for staying, but I stayed anyways, because I knew that I may never see her again. She has no medication, so I know her time is limited.”
Sombra kneeled down, no longer towering over Winny, and instead looking into her eyes at her own level. For what seemed like an eternity, he simply stared, as though reading a great story buried in the depths of Winny's wide lilac eyes.
Then, he turned, walking past Winny, back where they had come.
“Tomorrow, you are to rise early. I am going to provide Private Nigeq of my guard with a box of medication, and he is to escort you to your mother's. You are not to stay, and you are not to go anyplace else.”
Winny stared, her mouth agape.
“Well?”
Her mind caught up instantly, even when she still did not quite believe her ears. “Thank you! I cannot… I can't even—!”
“Be silent, Wind Whistler, for one ‘thank you’ shall suffice. Now, you are to return to our quarters and change out of that dress. I will be there shortly.”
“Yes sir.”
And so, like she had grown so accustomed to doing, Winny obeyed without objection.
v
For a reason Winny did not know but dared not question, Sombra had always seen fit for her to rise at the same ungodly hour as him, despite usually having no immediate use for her that warranted such.
Not that she really had any right to complain. Indeed, Winny liked rising early, for it was the only time that one could get a proper glimpse of the dwindling moments of sunlight. The Crystal Tower, tall as it was, often ascended past the lowest level of the Angujaktuat's frigid fury, which meant that they were sometimes granted small windows to the sky above.
Still, she rose groggy and tired, but dared not express such to Sombra, who was as stoic and unflinching as Winny had ever seen him. For all she knew, he was using dark magic to keep himself awake. He seemed to be using it for every other aspect of himself—his longevity, his stature, his magical aura impossibly frigid like an arctic sea—that she wouldn't be surprised.
When she had shed her corset and dress, she had done so with the assumption that her disappearance and the drama she had produced would be enough to warrant retiring early, but of course she was wrong. And so, in a sort of horrified afterglow, with her head still resting on Sombra's rising and falling chest, she had laid awake, the past day still swirling about in her mind. Glimpses of Opal Charm, and fragments of what the other reluctant rebels had said.
Since Winny had first been released from the rebels and brought to Sombra, she had hanging over her a sense of unshakable dread. It was as though she had inadvertently created a spark that, given time and fuel, would burn down everything she knew. Living with Sombra, she had learned to be obedient and submissive, for she had no doubts that the fear Sombra was so adept at radiating was senselessly founded.
No, she knew that her safety would only be guaranteed through Sombra's satisfaction with her. And so, sneaking out, betraying his trust…
Any safety she'd been building before was gone. And when the guard arrived to take her back to her mother, when he saw that there was no red cross on her door, no tell-tale signs that she was even suffering from the flu that was killing the rest of the damn empire…
And yet, there was intrigue amidst her fear. As much as the rebels now posed the largest threat to Winny's safety, part of her could not wait to see them again, even if it would only be Opal Charm and even if it would just be to deliver the medication. After all, with Sombra's trust towards her now at risk, Winny knew quite well she had to start planning some manner of escape strategy if she really did wish to avoid ending up in the same proverbial grave the rest of Sombra's partners were now lying in.
At that thought, in the early hours of the morning, with the feared tyrant-king that was her husband snoring and drooling beside her, Winny couldn't help but cry. She did so mutely, and not from any sort of sorrow. It was more akin to a near-indescribable sensation of conflict and fear.
When she met Opal Charm, Winny decided, they would talk. For if these rebels really were what they claimed, then perhaps aligning herself with them would be a welcome option. Her proximity to Sombra meant she was feared by the Crystal Ponies in a similar light as him, but perhaps such could be used as leverage. For all the times Sombra had struck her or called her a whore or degraded her before his friends for a cheap laugh, Winny knew she had a better chance of tricking him than any other pony in the Empire.
Winny had been living a long time regretting traveling the road that was turning her into nothing more than a possession of King Sombra's. With all the fear it had birthed, the spark that the rebels had created was burning into the first bit of optimism Winny had truly known.
vi
Not long after Sombra had left to pursue his daily affairs, Private Nigeq of his royal guard made his presence known when Winny heard him flirting with a cleaning servant in the hall outside of her study.
Gently putting down her paintbrush and turning to the door Nigeq would undoubtedly be emerging from, Winny rose and tugged at the string to her apron just as the door squeaked open.
“Good morning, Miss Wind Whistler,” Nigeq said, smiling and bowing. Of all the ponies in Sombra's guard, Nigeq was probably Winny's favourite—he was one of the few who didn't seem to feel the need to flaunt what power he had been gifted, and instead carried himself with charm and maturity. He was, indeed, one of the more unlikely ponies in Sombra's guard that Winny had met—charming, sociable, young, and much to Winny's guilty chagrin considering he was married with foals, rather attractive.
...then again, Sombra's guard itself was rather small. The Empire itself was no more than a city, after all, and it wasn't as though crime and poverty seemed to be something particularly insulting to Sombra. It was as though Sombra trusted a desperate and dying populace more than he did a well-trained group of guards.
Nigeq was not wearing any of his traditional armour—instead a heavy parka and scarf—leading Winny to believe that he had not even been on duty today. Winny felt a tinge of guilt at having robbed this poor stallion of time probably better spent with his family, but Nigeq's smile was warm and convincing all the same and she didn't quite get the impression he was angry at her.
“And what a lovely morning it is,” Winny replied, finally turning around completely, giving him a quick bow in return. “The endless droves of snow are particularly wonderful, wouldn't you say?”
Nigeq laughed. “As always, Miss! Ah… I am to escort you to the Southeast Spire District, yes?”
Winny nodded.
“I'm sorry to hear about your mother, Miss. I hope this medicine helps her.”
“Thank you, Private Nigeq. That is very kind of you.”
“Of course. Now, if you're ready to go, we shouldn't waste any time. Typical escort rules apply as always, and while I'm not wearing my armour I'm still very much under oath to obey them.”
“I understand. I won't stray from your sight.”
Nigeq lead the way down the spiral staircase descending to the Empire below. The staircase weaved down through one of the legs of the mighty Crystal Tower—the other legs all had spiral stairwells of their own, but Winny knew that they did not lead to the same destinations. While the other three legs of the tower also contained stairwells which led to the more practical section of the Tower, the stairwell Winny and Nigeq had descended from led only to the section of the Tower popularly referred to as The Mansion simply due to that being its one discernible purpose.
It was in this section that Winny had the majority of nearly every day for the past four years, and while it was indeed as massive and luxurious as its nickname suggested, Winny was rather excited at the prospect of leaving it behind two days in a row.
The stairwell finally came to a stop in a large foyer built into the foot of the Tower's leg, a heavy and tightly-sealed door separating Winny and Nigeq from the cold beyond. The foyer was no more than a small room, and fulfilled little purpose beyond serving as a temperature-lock of sorts to prevent the cold from seeping into the one weak-point of the largely window and balcony-less tower.
On one wall of the foyer, several heavy parkas were hanging on hooks, and Winny quickly shuffled into one. Then, as an afterthought, she grabbed a scarf and an ushanka, too, and trotted to where Nigeq was waiting at the heavy, wheel-sized valve that opened the vault-like door to the outside.
As they crossed the marketplace, Winny noted that the whispered remarks she had heard yesterday were largely gone—undoubtedly thanks to Nigeq's presence. Crowds parted to make way for them, and while nopony bowed, nearly everypony refused to look up as they passed.
The whole walk to the snow-cable, Winny found herself scanning the crowds, searching for Opal's familiar form amongst them, but the mare was nowhere to be seen in the marketplace district. Still, as if by some sixth sense, Winny seemed certain she was there—she, or perhaps one of the other rebels that she had only heard. They would surely be tailing her all the way from the Crystal Tower, watching as they had promised they would as she brought the medicine to her mother's.
A proper meeting had been stricken from their options straight away—both Winny and Opal had agreed that such would only lead into fear of being lured into a trap. Instead, Winny would lead the medicine to one place and they would come later to pick it up—the whole while watching to make sure that her assertions of travelling alone were (mostly) correct. She doubted the rebels would be surprised by Nigeq's escort, after all, and so long as it was just him and not a guard party, she doubted it would raise much concern.
In a trance of familiarity, Nigeq lead the way up the stairs, down the causeway, and paused before his hoof could rap on the door to her mother's apartment.
Winny braced herself for his questioning remark as to where the red marking on the door was, but Nigeq offered no such remark, slowly lowering his hoof and raising an eyebrow.
Then, he shrugged and rapped gently.
Winny's mother opened it after a few seconds. To Winny's great relief, she didn't look terrified to see them, instead donning a curious frown.
“Hello again, ma,” Winny said, giving a shy smile. “Been awhile, huh?”
“Winny. What happened?”
“I believe I can answer that, ma'am,” Nigeq cut in. “My name is Private Nigeq. From His Royal Majesty’s Guard?”
“I recognize you,” Winny's mother tutted. “Armour or not. What do you want?”
“Well, first of all, Miss Whistler, I want to inform you that your daughter has apparently been spinning quite a tall-tale,” Nigeq said. “I think you should let us in, so that we may have a little chat.”
Winny tensed, even as her mother nodded and opened the door further to let the two of them in from the cold.
What the hell had she done? Involving her mother into her lie? What was she thinking?!
Nigeq calmly closed the door behind him, only slightly muting the howling winds outside. Out of instinct, Winny's mother was already in the kitchen, placing a kettle onto her ancient wood stove.
“Now, what is it you want from me?” she asked without ceremony, walking back into the living room proper.
“Your daughter got caught long past the Empire's curfew. She had apparently been wandering about all day without an escort. To justify her behavior, she asserted directly to King Sombra himself that she was visiting her ill mother. Now, forgive me for jumping to conclusions, but this is a lie, correct? You are not ill?”
Looking from Winny to Nigeq with a cold, seemingly fearless glare, Winny's mother shook her head. “No. I am quite well.”
“Then, your daughter did lie to King Sombra.”
At that, Winny's mother's expression changed. Her lips curled into a small snarl, and her eyes glowed with intensity as she spoke. “I'm sure she can be forgiven for lying to save her life. Isn't it your responsibility to keep her safe, too?”
“It is,” Nigeq replied. “I did not know that she was lying to me until I saw you had no markings upon your door.”
“I can explain,” Winny piped up. “But… Nigeq, you… she didn't know about any of this. Please… don't tell Sombra...”
“I have my obligations,” Nigeq replied shortly. “And yes. Explain yourself now.”
“I… wasn't lying when I said I came to visit my mother yesterday,” Winny said. “But I only meant to be gone for several hours. But when I was returning, I was… well, I suppose kidnapped is the best word.”
“What?!” her mother shrilled. Nigeq, too, looked shocked.
“Kidnapped,” Winny repeated, her voice a low whisper. “By a group of Crystal Pony rebels. They wanted to ransom me, but I managed to talk them out of it.”
“You… talked down a group of rebels.”
“I told them I could get them some medicine. That's why I told my husband what I did. Please, I didn't want any of this to happen, I swear. All I wanted was to speak to my mother. You have to believe me.”
“These rebels,” Nigeq said. “Describe them.”
“I can't,” Winny said. “I didn't see any of them.”
“But you heard them?”
“Only one. All I can tell you is that he was a stallion. An older sounding one.”
“Winny,” Nigeq said somberly, “are you still lying to me now?”
“No! I swear, I'm being honest.”
“And you didn't tell this to King Sombra… why?”
“Because I thought that if the rebels found out that I told him, they would… uh, change our agreement conditions. I don't know how much they know about me, but I think they at least know where you live, ma. And I think we both know that Sombra doesn't care if you live or die.”
“He sent this medicine,” Nigeq pointed out.
“Because he cares about me,” Winny replied. “Look, please. Can we just leave this here? Sombra doesn't have to know. Everything will just go back to normal if we leave this medicine here. The rebels will come to collect it, and they won't have any more reason to bother us. Please?”
Instead of immediately replying, Nigeq rose and wordlessly started towards the entranceway again, giving Winny a glare that commanded her to follow. She did without argument, although she had half a mind to ask what he was planning. He had left the bag containing the medicine on the loveseat and was showing no signs he was willing to take it with him.
“Thank you for your time, Miss Whistler,” Nigeq said. “I have no doubt that, if Wind Whistler's story is not another fabrication, those rebels are undoubtedly waiting for us to leave to collect what is theirs. For your sake, I hope Wind Whistler is right, and they will see no reason to bother you.”
With his piece said, he pushed the door open and headed back into the Angujaktuat.
At the snow-cable, Winny finally worked up the courage to speak.
“You're… are you going to tell Sombra? Please, Nigeq, you don't have to—”
“I have my obligations,” he said again. “And your mother was right—protecting you is one of them. Nopony gains anything from letting this escalate, and it brings me no pleasure to see harm befall you.”
He clipped his parka to the snow-cable, and motioned for Winny to do the same.
“Letting things go back to normal seems a perfectly acceptable solution to me.”
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That cover art,...
That's your OC, isn't it?
Glad to see this is finally up!
8270700
Yeppers!
first things first
why oh why am I not following you yet
and second
Nigeq is pretty chill about all this...
I love the tension!
Chilling and tense, and particularly relevant for someone interested in FascistSombra worldbuilding. I look forward to more.
8293630
Well it is the Frozen North.
Inasmuch as a monarch can be a fascist, aye. Regardless, Crystal Empire 'historical fiction' is something I've always wondered why people are less gung-ho about, compared to Equestria/The Two Sisters historical fiction.
Very glad you like it so far!
8296062
I use the term because "Monarch" has entirely positive connotations in the MLP universe.
"Fascist" leaves far less room for doubt.
I can only say that this might not end well in the long run.
trod is already the past tense form of 'tread'.
This paragraph randomly stops without a period or, it seems, an entirely complete sentence.
8346448
Thanks for your edits. Have modified the story accordingly
Hey, I forgot to say this earlier, but awesome story you have going on here!
8296089 Considering that most people throwing that term around as they claim to be opposed to it simultaneously utilizing tactics almost universally applied by fascists, I don't think it's clear at all. Most clearly don't even know what that system of government entails and are too lazy to use a search engine to look it up.
It is a centralized autocratic system with a single dictator, with both economic and social details all controlled by the central leadership. Additionally, all opposition parties and movements are forcibly suppressed.
In a fascist government, the NATION (and frequently one race, but not always is this the case) are far more important than the individual... which is similar to communist philosophy in which the social collective is more important than individual liberties.
Interestingly, many communist nations actually become much closer to fascist nations once a singular dictator assumes power. Kim Jung Un is a perfect example of such a leader.
Sombra doesn't fit the definition of a fascist leader, as he's not espousing a particular populist or nationalist identity, but is rather simply dominating the populace through sheer power. This is a more traditional tyrannical monarchical role, along the lines of a Nero or Caligula.
Huh, there's something you don't see every day on this site -- a title in Inuktitut!
Are you a fellow Canadian, by any chance?
8376262
Aye! Northern Ontarian!
8376337
YAY!
Always nice to see fellow inhabitants of the True North Strong and Free around the site...
I stumbled on this fic a while ago- still halfway through reading it (got distracted a few times now
)
I love this concept and am curious about all these characters, and especially love how you weave in real-world words and ideas into this story.
Will definitely keep reading
8636344
Very happy to hear this! I sure hope it keeps your interest!
That was great and it was just a first chapter. As usual, you have a gift with words, this is DENSE with story and culture. I especially like the elements about the crystal ponies' culture and how oppressive you made Sombra with so little time. This is just a fantastic beginning to a story, I'm hooked.