The structure of friendship
This dome home looked pretty much like every other dome home, and Sundance wasn’t quite sure why he’d been asked to inspect it. The floor was gloriously smooth, but not too smooth. There was just enough friction to maintain a good grip going up and down the ramp. As for the split-level floor, it made Sundance think of a half of a pizza, or a pie. The wrought iron wood stove wasn’t very large, and one had to chop the wood down to a rather small size. Beds could be found beneath the split-level, a cosy, comfortable spot to sleep indeed. Everything seemed to be in order, and reaching out, he prodded at the wooden rail with his uninjured leg.
Double Helping grinned up at him from the floor down below.
“Alright, why was I called? What am I missing?”
“Oh, there’s something that makes this domicile special,” a rather husky griffoness said to Sundance. She smoothed back her feathered crest and cast a sidelong glance at Double Helping. “Pearly White over there, he did most of the finishing work himself, and, well, something about the process spoke to him—”
“It did!” Double Helping blurted out, and he turned himself around sideways. “Look! Look at me! I’m not a floor mopper! I’m a carpenter!”
Squinting, Sundance focused his gaze upon Double Helping, who was no longer blank. A trio of tools could be seen; a saw, a hammer, and a carpenter’s square. Double Helping was almost panting, his sides were heaving now, and his smile almost reached his ears. After taking everything in, Sundance was left with only one thing to say.
“This is fantastic.”
“He’s a natural,” the griffoness said. “You should see him go. He had a half-a-dozen hammers going all at once. Naturally, we tried to recruit him, but he insists on staying. He’s loyal, that one.”
“Hmm.” Sundance nodded; it felt like the right thing to do, the right way to respond.
“Commander Humblewood says it’s an odd application of magic. Most unicorns tend to just magic stuff together, but Double Helping doesn’t seem to have much in the way of magic. But his telekinesis is strong and he has exceptional mental dexterity. You have an asset, Lord Sundance.”
“I could move multiple mops,” Double Helping remarked, his face darkening as he spoke. “Could never quite get the cleaning spell to work. Always ended up with a mess. Had to do everything the hard way.”
“So you did most of this?” Sundance asked.
“Not only did he do almost all of this by himself, but he did it in record time. We’ve been giving him a crash course on the basics of carpentry for the past few days. Today, he just… well”—the griffoness shrugged—“he kinda exploded. He just goes to town and then his mark shows up. So, this dome… this dome is a testament to his good work, and—”
“I wanted to ask if I could live here. In this one. The place I found my mark. Gothcruz and I are willing to share. He’s my friend. I’d really like to claim this one, it would mean so much to me.”
“Sure,” Sundance replied without thinking about it. “You’ve earned it. Consider this one yours. You’ve done a fine job, Double Helping. I’m proud of you.”
The colt’s eyes glistened. “You’re proud of me?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I don’t think anypony has ever said that to me.”
“Well, I am.” Sundance paused when the first tear fell, which left him feeling squirmy.
“Thank you, Sire.”
Somewhat annoyed, Sundance had hoped that the younger generation, those new to the barony, would not develop this habit, but this did not seem to be the case. Double Helping was full to overflowing with worshipful adoration, and Sundance knew that respectful titles would just keep coming. Nothing could be done about it.
“Keep up the good work.” Sundance raised his wing in a gentle salute, it felt like the right thing to do at the moment. “Try to get as much training as you can while the Gringineers are here. Make the most of this time.”
“I will.” The colt nodded, eager.
“Now, if you will excuse me, inspecting the gatehouse is next on my to-do list.”
There was a sense of momentum now, a profound sense of weight to everything. Things, events, they continued to happen, introducing progress at a breakneck pace. Sundance could not help but think about what Paradox had said, about the land potentially preparing. For what? Just the current explosive growth? Something else, perhaps? Did the land know something he didn’t? Could the land have a possible sapience of its own, and could that intelligence somehow be aware of destiny?
His encounter with the owlcoon had left him thoughtful.
Things he might have once dismissed outright now felt possible. He’d met a good diamond dog—something that shattered all of his preconceived notions and perceptions. There was a tiny crystal tree that had sprouted. The ebb and flow of magic permeated all things, including himself. Grandmother Oak somehow gave the barony new magic, new life. Had the owlcoon somehow been touched by Grandmother Oak’s magic?
This sudden realisation gave Sundance pause, and he froze in place mid-step.
“Your Grace!” A pegasus ravaged by cruel adolescence plopped down with a hard landing. “We’re making plans for the Royal Family’s arrival. I’m Private Fluffernutter, and I was sent to ask if you had any ideas for a shindig.”
“Fluffernutter?” Pulled from his thoughts, Sundance’s head cocked off to the right, then the left, and then back to the right again.
The poor pegasus reddened a bit, and rubbed his head with his wing, flustered. “Me mom had a cute nickname for me as a foal. It just sort of became my name. Don’t listen to the rumours, it’s not because I keep tuggin’ on my winky.”
Unable to help himself, Sundance had to ask, “But… do you tug on your winky?”
“Of course I do. I’d never be able to get to sleep otherwise. So, you have any ideas or not?”
Sundance thought about winky tugging, and twenty-one gun salutes, but kept his thoughts to himself. One wing extended on its own, without thought, without bidding, and he stroked his chin while inquiring if the bit of cloud between his ears had any ideas. Though great effort was made, nothing came to mind. What could he possibly do to wow his guests?
“So, Fluffernutter, what is it that you do in the Gringineers, anyhow?”
“At the moment, I feed about four-hundred and some-odd mouths. Having a rough go, but I just started. Natural cook, I am. But no desire to work in restaurants. One day, a few months ago, I was listening to the radio, and there was this program, and it’s about disaster relief. You know, that big tidal wave that Grogar’s wizards launched at the coast of Zebrabwe. They say it was a half a mile high wall of water traveling almost at the speed of sound when it hit the coast.” The pimply pegasus paused, perturbed.
“That’s an awful lot of devastation, you know?” The colt’s head turned off to one side, and his eyes narrowed. “The radio program talked about starvation, and how tragic it was that some poor creature survived the tidal wave somehow, only to die of hunger. When the program was over, I left the apartment, and I enlisted. Me mom is furious, and me dad, he’s not too happy either. But a pony has got to do what a pony has got to do, and I gotta feed the hungry.”
“That’s admirable,” replied Sundance.
“I’m not much of a fighter. What am I gonna do, threaten somepony with my spatula? But I’m fighting hunger and starvation. I don’t feel powerless like I did, you know? All that despair. I grew up in Baltimare. Couldn’t see a future for myself. It’s a bit bleak. Sure, I’m not fighting in the trenches, but I’m doing something meaningful. I’m doing something. What I do matters. My parents… I think they’re too crushed by depression to understand what I’m doing. All the fight has been squeezed out of them by hard living.”
Sundance nodded; he understood, perhaps a bit too well. As he stood there, thoughtful, reflecting on what Fluffernutter had said, he had an idea. It was a strange idea, sure, but it was an idea. His wing, still moving autonomously on its own, reached up and smoothed back his mane, sweeping it away from his face.
“I don’t have an idea for a party, but I do have an idea.”
“Let’s hear it,” Fluffernutter said.
“Might be nice for Princess Celestia and Prince Gosling to know what’s going on. Why all this matters.” Sundance took a moment to transmute his thoughts into words, and he drew upon his own brief stint as a writer. “We need a monument saying why all of you are here. Just a short paragraph perhaps. A reason. A purpose. Put into words. We could carve those words into stone.” Tilting his head, he glanced at the gatehouse. “You know, the gatehouse is made of stone.”
“A bit of graffiti, then?” asked Fluffernutter, who now also rubbed his chin with one wing.
“Just cover every available inch with uh, what’s it called—”
“Etching?”
“Yeah, that. Have everypony write out a short paragraph or two about why they’re here and what they hope to accomplish. Then have some unicorns etch those words into the stone. Everypony who passes through the gatehouse will be able to read those words, and be inspired. I could be wrong, but I think Princess Celestia might like something like that. It’s not much of a party though. In fact, it doesn’t seem exciting at all.”
“Still a fine idea,” replied Fluffernutter. “I’ll go have a jabber at the Sarge. We can make this happen.”
“Excellent, I look forward to seeing how it turns out.” Without realising that he was doing it, Sundance saluted with his wing.
Fluffernutter returned the informal salute with one of his own, and then departed.
There was no door, but one would soon be constructed. Beyond the opening, there was a small room, an entrance area of sorts, and in the corner was a circular steel staircase. The stairs were steep and tight, not that Sundance minded, because he’d hardly use them, because there was a rooftop entrance. This room was cosy enough, with just enough space for a couch, maybe, a sitting chair or two, and maybe a bookcase. But then, after stepping through the arched doorway, he noticed the racks and shelves on the wall immediately to his right. Storage, perhaps?
Commander Humblewood made his way up the stairs, his hooves ringing out like death knells on each steel riser. The sound was like that of a tolling bell, or a gong, a noisy, though pleasant resonation of steel. Sundance waited for a moment, and then followed the commander up the stairs.
“This is the belltower,” the commander said as he continued up the stairs and into the next level. “There’s a room here, not much of a room, same size as the one below. The bottom floor is perfect for an armory. It’s good to keep weapons right near the gate. We’ll have the lift mechanism installed later today, and that’ll take up a bit of space down there. Our brightest and cleverest have a plan to use water pressure to raise and lower the portcullis.”
So much for using the lower floor as a sitting room.
The second floor was exactly like the first, but empty. There was a narrow window here, with no glass just yet, but the heavy steel shutter was already installed. Rough stone blocks formed the walls, and the floor was made from heavy timbers that had not yet been stained. Commander Humblewood was already on the third floor, and Sundance followed.
Warm sun struck Sundance in the face and he raised his wing to shield his face from the glare. There were a number of narrow slits in the walls that served as windows, but there were also skylights overhead. Above him, the roof was made of steel and glass, and the heavy steel plate that offered protection was in the open position. This room was much larger, though the stairs leading upwards did take up some of the space.
Doorways offered tantalising glimpses of other rooms.
Turning about, Sundance saw a massive stone fireplace, the inside of which was lined with thick panels of black wrought iron. A slab of granite acted as a mantle, and the hearth was made from a jigsaw of polished river stones. It was the perfect sort of fireplace, the sort that one could congregate around with guests. Stories could be read or told by firelight. Tired old bones could sit here and keep toasty warm. That is if those old bones could make it up the stairs.
“Sir, your face says everything.” Commander Humblewood smiled, cleared his throat, all while standing rigid near the stairs. “Everything is mostly done. Through that door is the gallery, the long, narrow room directly above the gate.” He pointed with his hoof as he spoke. “Two floors up you’ll find the bell. In the small room just above us, you’ll find a doorway to the outside, and a small space to land. There, you’ll also find the mechanism that slides the security plate in place over the skylights. This place is secure. We built it as an actual fortress. You and your subjects can take refuge in here, if need be. Might be cramped, but you could fit a few dozen in here, no problem.”
Clearing his throat once more, the commander continued, “Beyond that door is your bedroom. We’ve constructed a comfortable, respectable sleeping box. It is not a large space, your bedroom, but it is perfectly serviceable, I suspect. At the other end of the gallery, there are rooms that could be used as guest rooms. Both are heated with small, efficient wood stoves.”
Sundance, overcome with emotion, didn’t know what to say. The fact that this structure even existed was astonishing. It had been built in mere days, with much of the planning done by Nuance. It was a construction of stark beauty, a hard, practical, pragmatic aesthetic that Sundance found himself admiring. But the skylight overhead… that was beautiful by any standard, and he spent seconds looking up so that he might appreciate it.
“I fear the gallery will never be a warm place come winter.” Commander Humblewood also looked up to admire the overhead skylight. “That’s the nature of castles and fortresses and what have you. You might be able to get a wizard to cast some magic to keep things warm. Go on, go have a look at it. I do believe you will find it quite impressive.”
The gallery was, indeed, impressive. Stone walls. Steel girders formed rafters. It was a long, narrow space, but tall. Why, Sundance could fly through here if he wanted. The rafters were quite inviting, with natural nooks and ledges, places where pillows could be stashed. There were windows that overlooked the natural courtyard formed by the box canyon, and he now understood why this place was referred to as the gallery.
“Come winter, you’ll want to close this space off, so that you can keep the heat in your parlour. Winters are brutal here. We’re at a much higher elevation than you realise, and these mountains spawn feral storms. The summers are such that you might still need a small fire in the evening, though the days can be quite warm. But the winters… the winters will brutalise you. I only thought it fair to warn you.”
“That bad, huh?” asked Sundance.
“No,” was Commander Humblewood’s reply. “Worse. Much worse.”
Unsure of how to respond, Sundance stared the commander in the eye.
“That’s part of the reason why we built the domes. We’ve seen how they do in hot weather and tropical environments. And we know they’re not bad in the cold. But here… here… this place is practically boreal. The wind is a living thing that hungers for warm flesh. We get arctic masses that blow down from the north. I hate to say it, Lord Sundance… but there is a good chance that your subjects will be warmer in their homes than you are in yours.”
“That’s fascinating,” said Sundance, because he had nothing better to say.
“Oh, it is,” Commander Humblewood agreed, nodding. “Ponies used to be of heartier stock. Our physiology allowed us to endure deprivation and hardship. Modern living has softened us up a bit. Look, what I’m trying to say is, don’t give up. A lot of us believe in what you’re doing out here. You should know what you’re in for. If this place becomes unbearably cold, don’t be prideful. Ditch it and take up residence with your subjects. The last thing Equestria needs is yet another noble that’s a miserable cuss.”
“Thanks for the warning.”
“Don’t mention it.”
“Thank you,” Sundance said as his face flushed with warm gratitude. “Really, thank you for everything. You’ve been wonderful. Even when I badger you with questions. I have to say, I’ve learned quite a bit. You have my word, I’ll pay this forward. I will spend my every waking hour proving myself worthy of this chance, this assistance.”
Commander Humblewood’s hearty hardness softened a bit and there was something profound about his eyes. Sundance dared to keep looking, aware of the almost intimate connection, this open acknowledgement of emotion between two ponies. After a time, the commander nodded.
“I am honoured to count you as a friend,” Commander Humblewood said after the prolonged silence. “As your friend, I’ll be back to check up on you. Come winter, I’ll return, with bourbon. That is, if I’m not shipped off.”
“That’d be great, I’d like that. When you return, I promise that you’ll see progress…”
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She's even missing an emote! Alas poor princess.
I must be blind because I don't see what the author's note is talking about.
9606568
he is talking about pleasing Celestia and how there is no mention of Luna
but to be fair sun butt is sundance's grandma(of many greats)
9606709
If I remember correctly, he got along alright with Luna? I think he met her at one point.
Thinking of both Princesses is something practically required, but I can't see there being a problem in having a preference.
That said, I did notice that when it was said 'The Royal Family' would be coming, he only thought of Celestia and Gosling.
Poor Sundance.
I can see Sundance getting a battleaxe, call it a hunch.
I now have an idea for a coat of arms for the barony.
9607223
It's like nobody ever reads blog posts.
https://www.fimfiction.net/blog/797699/hints-at-character-development
9607942
9608459
Class Skill: Nursery Rhyme Rage. Functions as Berserker Rage skill, but all enemies must save vs fear with a -4 penalty. Failure to save inflicts the shaken condition, as well as fear, and enemies must make a fortitude save every round or lose control over their bowels.
HICKORY, DICKORY, DOCK!
The Gringineers definitely have a bunch of bright-eyed souls; looking forward to seeing how the etchings work out.
I eagerly await the arrival of the swan... Oh, and the princesses. But mostly the swan.
9608469
Yass! And now that I’m caught up here, I’m gonna go back and read skyreach.
It’s my goal to one day read all of your stories. All of them. I am a devoted reader of yours, and I’ll be here till the end.
So far I think Sundance is off to a good start.
If you haven't picked out a name for the owlcoon yet, I'm going to throw Tea Beast into the hat. Though I keep thinking of Hootie and the Blowfish...