• Published 13th Dec 2011
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The Ambassador's Son - Midnightshadow



A colt loses his family, Celestia deems his best hope lies not with ponies, but a dragon.

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The Journey Home

The ══════════
Ambassador's
══════════ Son

Chapter Twelve
The Journey Home
An MLP:FiM Fanfiction by Midnight Shadow


The service had been boring, the function after moreso. Most of the 'mourners' had stayed at the hotel, not even invested enough to see Ingot 'Rusty' Irontail and Rose Irontail escorted to their final resting place.

The carriage procession had been slow and sedate, with Chip just staring out of the windows of the second carriage in search of the missing Sharphoof, obviously willing him to return. Pyrite furrowed his brow, the strange pegasus had accosted Pyrite in the foyer of the hotel before fluttering away, dropping the young Baron Irontail right into his hooves. To think! A pegasus mad enough to fly all the way home under his own power and crass enough to avoid the funeral itself, despite travelling all this way to bring the lad.

Chip's parents' remains had been in the first carriage, of course, with a full eight unicorns preceding in front. The unicorns trotted through the bustling city streets with the solemn coaches following at a respectable speed and distance, and Pyrite noted how the citizens doffed their hats or bowed their heads. The Irontail family had employed a lot of ponies over the years, and their business - whilst relatively small - still carried many more. The glory days of the Irontail empire were long gone, it was said, but Pyrite knew that the sort of wealth that could be found under the surface within Irontail lands could turn all that around in an instant. He settled into the wide flat seats of the second carriage, lost in thought..

Ponies in Neighvada went for two kinds of burial; flashy, and restrained. Irontails tended towards restraint. They had no ostentatious or glitzy tomb, merely neat plots of land, and simple headstones to mark their lineage, with dates to mark their passing. The Mayor herself officiated at the burial ceremony, as a sign of respect. Humble entreaties were made to Celestia and Luna both, but not the sort of prayers that had once been commonplace, despite how traditional such things were in certain locales. The eight unicorns, who were probably not naturally black but most likely dyed a glossy ebony all over, exerted their magics and the two caskets were lowered into two neat and simple graves, without a further word. An offering of food, water and a small gift of currency for the grim galloper to look kindly upon them as he took the shade ponies to whatever and wherever their final destination was, followed them. Chip himself picked two roses, dropping one into each, shedding tears that followed like rain. He cut his lip and never flinched, merely stood dumbly watching the crimson drops spatter against the bright silvery metal crests.

There was a strange, most un-ponylike keening that filled the clearing in the cemetary, as Pyrite's thoughts returned to the hear-and-now. It quite set Pyrite's hackles to rising, it was the sort of whining howl that sent shivers down the spine. Against his better judgement, he excused himself from the small group of ponies he was dealing with and headed for it.

Pyrite found the owner of the howl, more a baleful roar now he thought about it, sitting on his haunches in front of the two now neatly-filled graves, in the growing dusk and cold. It was the young Baron Irontail, the foal he'd been charged with looking after. Pyrite took a deep breath, "Hey there, kiddo, you wanna talk about it?"

The keening howl stopped, to be replaced by muted sobbing and the off-yellow colt hid his face. Chiphoof shook his head, not looking up.

Pyrite stood there for a few moments, looking up and around at the city, "You don't have to. You got a ride home, right? Wanna take off? Literally?"

"I w-wanna g-go with Sharptooth!" Chip started wailing again, taking a really deep breath and letting loose that long keening howl.

"What? Why'd you wanna go with that flighty feather-brain? He dropped you here, didn't he?"

Chip snuffled, wiping a hoof across his nose, "H-he didn't!" the colt protested, standing up on all fours like he was willing himself to rise into the air after the rapidly-receding dot on the horizon.

"He did so. Come on, son, let's you and I make like a tree and get outta here. I ain't got no fancy winged chariot, and yours seems to have gone with the wind, so I'm afraid it's the train for us. North to Canterlot, then East to Stalliongrad. Easy-peasy. Good honest earth pony like you, gotta appreciate a good train ride, right?"

"We're gonna... go now? Right now?"

"Kiddo, yer ma and pa're gone. You did 'em proud, this sorry excuse for a party ain't got much for a pony like yerself now, 'as it?"

"N-no, I guess not." Chip sniffled again, looking forlornly up at the sky. It was well and truly dark now, the autumn sun fell quickly when it was time for Luna's moon to rise. He shivered.

"Right, get that box of yours I was told about and lets skedaddle then, eh?"

Chip sighed, he just felt empty. He couldn't focus. His parents, those... small boxes. They'd have each other, right? But what would he do if they missed him? What would he do if he missed them? Every time his thoughts dwelled on them, he just couldn't help but imagine them locked in that darkness forever, the fading slithers of light through the cracks as their caskets were lowered into the ground and covered with earth.

He wished he could be there with them, in the cold, dark ground. He shivered, it scared him, thoughts like that. What would he do whilst he waited for them to wake up, if he did?

"Kid?"

Chip sobbed, gulped, and stood up. He walked over to the stage-coach he had ridden in, ignoring the other ponies milling around and talking to each other, and pulled out the black leather-bound box that Sharptooth had given him with his teeth, from under the seat. Putting it down on the grass, he asked, "What should I do with it?"

"With what?" Pyrite asked, a strange expression on his muzzle.

Chip picked up the box, angrily, "Thif!"

"Oh, where'd you get that... just keep it safe, alright? It's important."

"Why?" Chip put it down again.

"Why what?"

"Why's the box important?"

"What box?"

Chip picked it up again, "Thif bof!"

"Oh, Sharphoof told me if was important, but I really don't have time to look after it. You're a big strong young colt, keep it with you until we get home, alright?"

Chip shook his head, the over-large box swinging painfully in his jaws. First Sharptooth, now this Uncle Pyrite. Were all adults this dumb? He trotted after the retreating silvery-gold stallion, casting one last sad look back at the two mounds of freshly-dug earth. Goodbye Mom and Dad, I'll always love you.

♦♦♦

Chip ignored Neighvada, now. He wanted to be elsewhere, somewhere where he didn't have to remember Mom and Dad all the time, especially somewhere where he didn't have to remember Sharptooth. He trotted through the glitzy streets behind the stalliion who had called himself his uncle, lost in thought. Now he was here, now today was over, he felt... strangely calm. Sad, painfully alone, but... calm. Of course, tthoughts of Sharptooth burned in his brain. Why did he have to leave me? Chip snarled to himself, did I do something wrong? Didn't he want me?

"Well I don't need him. He doesn't want me, I don't want him. He can keep his stupid home and his stupid models and his stupid fat box and his stupid fat head." Chip tossed the box to the street, where it impacted, bounced and rolled with a cacophany of sound. Inside were his training spikes. No, they were Sharptooth's... but... but Sharptooth had given them to him. The dragon had told his uncle they were important, that had to mean something, right? Chip glared at the box, and picked it up. Stupid box. He hoped there was nothing broken. It'd serve that dumb fat-headed dragon if it was all busted up. Chip shook the box. He was testing to see how broken, of course. Not at all testing to see if all was well.

"What're you playing at? Come on Kiddo, we'll miss the train. I don't want to spend another minute in this dump."

Chip glared at the stallion's flank as he was led to the train station, willing that stupid tail to catch fire. Mom and Dad liked Neighvada, what kind of Irontail didn't like Neighvada? Neighvada had been Irontail Country for... for... for always! For as long back... well no, thinking about it, Chip remembered hearing about his family history from his parents, when looking at family photos and portraits. A small group of settlers had left another tiny little town in the middle of nowhere hundreds and hundreds of years ago and not exactly founded, but had settled in Neighvada long before it was the sprawling metropolis it was today. The thought made him stop, forehoof half-raised. It couldn't be, could it? Naa, that wouldn't make any sense.

Besides, neither Tacksworn nor Neighvada was his home any more, now he was being passed along again, like an unwanted parcel, re-gifted from place to place. It angered him, really. Nopony wanted him, they just... wanted what he had. Sharptooth hadn't though, had he? As Chip stepped onto the train, dutifully following his uncle, the dragon's words returned to his ears, remember, this is yours, it belongs to you. Chip hardened his heart. He had nothing, now. He didn't have a home, or parents, or friends. He had acquaintances, places he lived, guardians - he would bide his time, and then one day he would take what was his by birthright. That would show them, that would make his parents proud. It was what they'd have wanted, he told himself.

The steamtrain's whistle sounded shrilly for last boarding, it was followed by the customary, "All aboard who's coming aboard!" from the conductor, followed by the clattering of said pony's hooves as he or she left the platform. Chip looked gloomily out the window at the hanging lanterns of the Neighvada station as they whizzed by and out of sight now that the train was picking up speed. By the feel of it, even though Neighvada was a large city, this was a horse-drawn steamtrain. The great boiler in front heated water so that the relief teamsters could bathe, and the passengers enjoy tea, and heating during cold weather. The heat also somehow made the iceboxes work, heating them up on the outside made them cold on the inside. Strange magic indeed, but stranger still was the relatively new-fangled contraption that somehow allowed steam to push a train along. It had to be mixed up with pegasus magic, but Chip didn't understand how. Maybe he would have learnt if- he stopped himself. That avenue was closed, now.

Chip sank back into the plush red velvet seat, eventually rolling on his side and curling up. He missed Sharptooth. He was angry. He was tired, worn out, confused. He didn't want to be alone. His last thoughts, as he drifted off to sleep, were that he didn't want to be a lonely dragon on a mountaintop somewhere. If Sharptooth didn't want him, then maybe his uncle did - an uncle, a real relative, a pony. It was the way it should be, surely? It was what he would have wanted, if he'd been asked, right?

♦♦♦

The Neighvada train made many stops, travelling into the night, before stopping near Canterlot. From there, they hopped on an East-bound train towards, eventually, Stalliongrad. This train was one of the newer ones, but with all the power somehow used by steam to push the engine, it wasn't so warm. It was larger, but colder. Stalliongrad was in the North East of Equestria, near the Northern Mountains - domain of the Pooka. Autumn and Winter this far North came earlier, though Chip couldn't understand why anypony would want that. The wintry howling of the windigo rattled the panes of glass, which were fogging up on the inside as the external temperature dropped.

Three days of travel passed, then four! Were trains just that much slower than pegasi, or was Stalliongrad really that far away from everything Chip knew? He had no idea. Eventually the train stopped. Stalliongrad, end of the line. As the train pulled into the great iron-clad station and stopped with a final jerk, Chip woke. He shivered. He'd hardly said a word the entire time, and Pyrite had sent word on ahead, conducting business via the mail mares and postal dragons that were permanently stationed on these trains, even passenger lines.

The postal dragons watched him oddly. He had no idea whether they saw him as one of their own, any more. He began to doubt such things were possible, even, as those strange happenings which the past week had contained. He could remember eating gems, but... in the cold light of dawn, so to speak, it didn't seem real. One nightmare to the next, he reasoned, smiling wryly at his own joke. He just wished he hadn't made it this close to nightfall.

Stalliongrad was looming and cramped, in the dark. Streetlights flickered and illuminated the cold streets, but alleyways drifted off into blackness. The smoggy cloud-cover meant the stars couldn't be seen, and though that should have meant a warm night, Chip shivered. He yawned, as he stood there on the platform, hopping slightly from hoof to hoof as even his fur-covered extremities succumbed to the chill. Crowds of ponies flowed around them, each setting off on his or her own way, disappearing into the night, wordlessly.

"Chip, kiddo, wakey wakey. Coming? Got your box?"

Chip nodded, and picked it up. As soon as Chip had it in his muzzle, Uncle Pyrite set off without so much as a second glance, almost as if he had forgotten he even had a guest that would be staying with him.

Chip gazed curiously at the stallion as they trit-trotted through the icy streets, it was almost as if he were... a nuisance, sometimes. An unwanted flea. Then again, Uncle Pyrite would tousle his mane like his dad used to, and nudge him, laughing, pointing out some landmark or street musician.

Pyrite owned a large mansion, built of dirty yellow bricks, that rose out of the smoggy streets of Stalliongrad like some castle of old. Pyrite was a relatively well-to-do stallion of means, he owned his own iron ore smelting company and a string of iron mongers and blacksmiths. In his own words, though, when he had met the lovely Anthracite Irontail it had been love at first sight. "Initially I had wanted her for her assets, know what I mean? Haw haw haw! But then I got to know her better, and her other assets shone through. She was a lovely old lady, kiddo, and I miss her every day she's gone."

"Y-you said she died?"

"I did. Seems your family's cursed, lad."

"There's no such thing as curses!" Chip spat, snarling.

"Heeeyyy, woah, I didn't mean it like that, just... I lost my misses and my boy that same day. Near killed me, it did. It's dark times when your life leaves you like that."

"I'm sorry!"

"It isn't your fault, sometimes... sometimes the innocent get hurt i-in the crossfire of life's little... well, it wasn't your fault." Pyrite bowed his head in front of the door, silent and still for a moment, before raising a hoof and knocking three times. A gaunt, officious-looking unicorn opened the door, bowed and ushered them in.

"Silver Chalice, I want you to show young Chiphoof here to the guest room. He'll be staying with us a while. In the morning, you are to see to his continued education whilst I busy myself with what I've missed."

"Very good m'lord."

"And you were right, Silver, taking the first train to Neighvada absolutely made the funeral arrangements easier. Sometimes, I swear those dunderheads forget just how far away Stalliongrad is."

"Indeed, m'lord."

"Bad enough I had to sort out half of it on the trip down! I swear-"

Chip watched as Silver Chalice moved off, following Pyrite who had once again apparently forgotten Chip existed. He was about to follow, when the door to whichever room Pyrite had wandered in to opened again, and Silver Chalice, apparently the head butler, reappeared.

"Walk this way, young master Chiphoof."

"If I tried to walk like that, my legs'd fall off." mumbled Chip, eyeing the old stallion as he made slow and deliberate steps along the hallway and up the carpetted, wide stairs.

"Very droll, sir. Follow me."

Chip followed the butler, once again with his black leather box in his muzzle, as closely as he could. The house was spooky. Portraits adorned the walls, and the eyes seemed to follow Chip as he walked past them. Flickering gas lamps illuminated the upper floor hallway with small niches of warm golden light, surrounded by an expanse of dark blue shadows.

"This is your room, sir. I gather you are to retire for the night, and I shall be along smartly in the morning."

"Th-thank-" Chip turned around, after looking at the door, but the butler had ambled off and didn't seem to be in any mood to answer. Chip stuck his tongue out.

The door opened smoothly, revealing a room he could only describe as 'quaint'. Thick carpets, thick curtains, soft four-poster bed. The walls were cream, with faded gold inlaid roses. The curtains were purple, the carpet red. A brass, unlit chandelier hung from the ceiling. Chip moved to the window and opened it gingerly. There were bars on it on the outside, he noted. How strange.

Chip hoofed the black leather box under the bed and threw himself into the soft expanse of the mattress. At least he fitted in the bed better than he had the sofa. Not that he missed the sofa. Or the weir. Or Sharptooth. Chip whimpered softly, and clambered into the bed, wrapping himself up in clean linen. The bedclothes smelled clean and fresh, he wondered if they were changed daily, or if the butler or the maids or whoever had been expecting him. In contrast, he stank. First thing, next day, he would bathe. Many days of living with a dragon gave him an odour he hadn't smelled himself, until now. Add to that several days of train travel and his aroma was verging on self-aware.

He yawned, despite himself. He'd done next to nothing for the last few days, but still... he felt tired. Maybe he would close his eyes for a while. Just for a while. Just for a... short...

Chip woke up with a start. He blinked. Daylight? Bed? Not a hollow in the ground? No? Not a dragon, either, snoring beneath him. For a few moments he couldn't recall where he was. He threw himself out of bed, stretching as the muted sounds of birdcalls filtered in through the barred and locked window. Nature called, as it were, from within and without. He had to go to the little foal's room, freshen up as the fillies would say.

Chip strode to the door out to the hallway, and tried to open it.

It was locked.