Part Ninety-Eight
Grover signed the official ceding of occupied Manehattan to Governor Kingfisher with his looping, swirled signature. The quill ran out of ink after the V, so the I was a faded, scraggly line. Grover stared at the signature and debated if anyone would even notice.
Might as well be signed by my departed father. Grover V, the Sick Bird of Griffonia. He tapped the quill into the inkpot and retraced the line, finishing his signature. By the will of the Kaiser of the Griffonian Reich and Kaiser of Griffonkind, Grover VI.
He tucked the quill back into its inkpot and switched to a ballpoint pen, leaving the page out to dry atop the imported desk from Griffenheim. It matched the carved, plush velvet chair dragged from the Castle of the Two Sisters and hauled up the tower. Behind it, the room consisted of a matching, elegant bed, drawers and an armoire. The special stand for the Reichstone, a gilded pillar, had also arrived.
Grover left it in the corner near the interior door. The golden crown sat upon its cushion, awaiting polishing from the servants in the morning. For now, he had blessed silence except for the patter of guards outside as they walked the hallway and balcony.
One of the flying guards landed on the roof. Grover angled his head at the muted thump echoing through the bulbus roof, then the ceiling creaked as they took off again. The shelves around the upper level were empty, but clean.
When Twilight Sparkle was just the faithful student of Princess Celestia, she lived in this tower. The Changeling Commissariat had cleared everything of value years ago and reused the tower as a Queen’s Guard office. The fighting through the castle had not damaged it; when the city rose up at their Princess’ words, the Queen’s Guard left through the spiraled staircase to fulfill their Queen’s final orders in case the city fell.
Kill Twilight Sparkle. Grover stretched his wings and leaned back in the chair. Bare shelves. Knowledge replaced with nothing, false trophies and effigies to a Queen whose very foundation is lies. It was pure luck that Princess Twilight Sparkle survived, that the former Generalmajor had a desperate change of heart and her former Royal Guards still cared enough to throw themselves into a meatgrinder to save their Princess.
Who would do the same for me? Grover picked up his glass and took a sip of water. He had to tilt his beak back too far, belatedly realizing there was only dregs left. The Kaiser sighed and rose from his chair, padding across the wide room to a jug sitting in a bowl of enchanted ice.
He poured his own water. A servant could have and should have done that for him, or one of his ever-present dog guards, but they were outside the tower. Grover looked up to the crystals glowing on the balcony ringing the room, and the wide window opposite the balcony. The curtains were drawn mostly across it. No wall outlets, only magic. Truly a unicorn’s tower.
Canterlot Castle was one of the wonders of the world; the entire city was an engineering marvel rivalling the work of the best griffon architects on Griffonia. The supports and magical buttresses keeping the city hanging off the mountain had supported years of academic study. The Griffonian Reich had tolerated the snub of Equestrian aid to Griffonstone to have an informal chance at seeing Equestria.
And the entire city’s architecture and infrastructure was dated, even the castle. Especially the castle, Grover snarked in his head. The Changeling Hegemony had been too busy tearing it down and building monuments in Chrysalis’ image to actually pave the roads or install a robust electrical grid in the castle beyond charging crystals that required a unicorn’s horn.
Celestia always preferred to take a chariot. Grover sat back down and ran a claw over his head feathers. I wonder if she preferred the simplicity. He pushed it out of his mind. Canterlot is the Princess’ business, regardless.
He picked up his quill, ignoring the lingering headache and tense neck from the long, droll ceremony where the Kaiser nodded at his subjects in thanks for their services over his past year of life. It was always connected griffons, the scions of nobility, or the knightly orders; not everyone was permitted to see the Kaiser. Thank Boreas for that. I would scream in rage halfway through holding a Day Court.
Grover signed another authorization for a new round of drafts in the Evi Valley. The Reichsarmee would need to bolster its garrison outside the prison camps, and he would not spare seasoned soldiers for the task. It was risky to trust green griffons with guarding the shapeshifters, but it might be safer for Chrysalis’ “good little ‘lings.” Let’s see how much sympathy they get after they steal a guard’s face and try to escape.
Grover was seventeen years old, and it was the first time he had not celebrated his birthday in his royal palace at Griffenheim. He tapped the quill on the table, spattering ink over an old casualty report; he purred as his mind wandered. The Princess celebrated somewhere different every year. I should have done that, insisted after Eros said it was too dangerous. We needed unity. Could have driven somewhere.
His eyes narrowed at a sudden thought. Can the Princess even drive?
The door to the balcony burst open at a gust of wind. Grover felt it blow through his feathers and he whirled around from the chair. Rain was coming; his feathers twitched at the microscopic dew and moisture charging the current. Although a pegasus was better at weather management, griffons could sense the pressure fluxes in the clouds. He breathed in through his nostrils as he glared at the balcony.
“My apologies, my Kaiser!” the knights standing guard crowed in unison. They struggled with the double doors and pulled them shut, assault rifles swinging under their wings. The wind howled around the tower with another gust, then silence resumed with a sharp clang of metal. Grover stared out the windows in the balcony doors for a second, then clacked his beak and sat back down in the chair.
The lights were dimmer; the crystals glowing by the empty bookshelves hummed and flickered slightly. Grover rolled his head towards the large hourglass, the last remaining item truly belonging to Twilight Sparkle. The sand had emptied into the bottom. After midnight.
There was something macabre about the Changelings keeping that on display and nothing else, especially knowing that she had been stuffed into a cave and later ensconced with utter secrecy in the guest rooms. She was meant to be a battery of love extraction lasting for a thousand years. But nothing lasts forever. He gave a wry glance to the crystal batteries fading on the upper level, then stood with grunt.
Grover crossed to the hourglass and flipped it over in its framework. It swung around, hinges creaking as the sand shifted to begin counting down again. He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes with the back of a claw before hooking the ends back into his feathers.
There was a rustling sound on the second floor and one of the crystals finally died. Grover turned back around. That section of the bookshelves was shrouded in darkness. Wonderful. He walked back to his chair and settled down.
A zephyr rolled across his bare head and down his nightshirt. Grover’s wings twitched as air was displaced somewhere above him. He did not look up, remaining focused on a report.
He was not alone in the room.
Grover shifted his head to the side, listening. A wing lifted in a feigned stretch, and he unholstered his pistol with his right claw, flicking the safety off with a talon. He always kept it loaded. The griffon kept that claw against his chest while he shuffled papers and folders around his desk in a show.
Supposedly, all the Changelings had been shipped east; he had certainly used enough armored supply trains to remove them from the city, including civilians. But that was not a deterrent to VOPS. Chrysalis’ spies were the best in the world. Even if they serve a narcissistic idiot.
There was no sound, but another slight draft of displaced air came from Grover’s right, behind him and near the hourglass. He clenched his beak. Shout for guards? No, that gives up the game. He shifted in the chair. Heavy wood. Might stop a few bullets. Turn, fire, knock the chair over and crouch. Guards will come at the gunshots.
The fur on his neck prickled where his head feathers stopped. Something was close and watching him. He unhooked his glasses and set them on the table, blinking as if he was tired. He took a deep breath and exhaled; his heartbeat slowed.
Grover twisted in the chair, knocking it down with a crash and landed hard behind it on all fours. He laid low, crouched over the narrow back with the pistol braced atop the wood. It swept the room and stopped by the hourglass. A shape stood in the fading light.
It was a black pair of sweatpants; a few old stains were visible in the glow from the crystals. Grover frowned and his tail curled. The pistol did not lower.
It was just sweatpants.
Standing sweatpants, filled out and angled as if covering someone’s hind legs. Somepony, Grover squinted and corrected himself. The angle and bend of the legs favored hooves.
Grover recognized the sweatpants and closed his eyes. “Oh, what the fuck!” he snarled in reflex. “Do you want to get fucking shot!?”
“Well, you didn’t actually fire so that’s an improvement on Bronzetail,” a voice called out in Equestrian. The sweatpants trotted forward silently. “Lower your voice unless you want the guards to hear.”
“Is this some alicorn bullshit?” Grover hissed.
“Happy birthday,” the sweatpants deadpanned. They stopped in front of him. Wind hit his beak from a silent wing flap. “Saw the lights on.”
Grover lowered the pistol. “Reckless and insane.” He glared at the pants. “Did you get past the guards like that?”
Flurry Heart faded into being, starting with a golden glow in the shape of a long horn. “Yep,” she smacked her lips. “Black on black at midnight blends in well.” She was only wearing sweatpants over her flank, pink fur unkempt with bags under her eyes. “Invisibility and muffling spell. Can’t cast without breaking the illusion.”
Grover gestured to her with the side of the pistol. “Do you think you could shield yourself in time if I fired?”
“Nah,” Flurry waved a bare forehoof. “Just catch the trigger.”
He openly rolled his eyes. “Really?”
Flurry stepped to the side. “Well, go ahead and test your reflexes,” she offered with a mild smirk. “I’m tired. Maybe you’ll get lucky, griff.”
Grover gave her a hard look, then raised the pistol at the hourglass. He squinted, aiming at the top half as the sand slowly counted down. The griffon adjusted his grip to be two-clawed, standing on his paws with wings extended for balance. The alicorn watched him placidly.
He stood in place for several seconds, eyes down the old iron sight of the pistol. The broomhandle grip on the Changeling pistol was well-worn and slightly awkward to hold with claws, but Grover had practice. He exhaled with a low growl that rumbled in his chest.
He broke his stare to flick deep blue eyes to the alicorn. “What if the guards hear it? Are you trying to be clandestine?” he asked in Herzlander.
Flurry rolled her eyes. “I can ward the room if-”
Grover pulled the trigger.
Or at least, he tried to, but the talon stopped short after the slightest depression. He shook the pistol and angled it to the side. The trigger was suffused in a golden aura, halfway to firing. He hummed and gave the alicorn a side-eye.
Flurry puffed her lips at him. “You dick!” she whispered. “You were trying to distract me.”
“And it almost worked,” Grover remarked. He flicked the safety back on and stuffed the pistol back into its wing holster. “Is that part of your weapon sense? That you know when someone will shoot at you?”
Flurry blinked, surprised. “No. I just practiced a lot on quick telekinesis. I can fire a bolt-action rifle like an automatic.”
“Wouldn’t other spells be more efficient while firing?”
Flurry raised a chipped forehoof and wiggled it. “You wanna try to work a bolt with hooves?” Grover noted the white, swirling scar just above her hock. The fur had grown back in a perfect pattern, albeit white.
“We’ve switched to carbines,” Grover responded. “Some snipers still use bolt-action for stopping power, but most of the regular Reichsarmee has semi-automatic rifles now.”
“Well, damn,” Flurry approved. “Can I buy some?”
“You’re broke,” Grover responded without thinking. He suppressed a flush at the insult.
Flurry Heart laughed like a crystal windchime. She raised a wing to stifle the giggle with a glance at the balcony. “Oh, you’re funny now. Is seventeen when you develop a sense of humor?”
“No, only on my birthdays,” Grover quipped back. He shoved the chair upright, then scowled at the door with a lashing tail. Did my guards not hear that? “Did you land on the roof earlier?”
“Just for a second.”
“My guards should have heard that,” Grover stated. “How close did you get to any patrols without them noticing?”
Flurry raised a brow. “There’s a little bit of a gap every ten minutes when the circling knights overlap and break apart again.”
Grover used his pen to note it on a folder.
“Have the Changelings tried to kill you?” Flurry questioned.
“Nothing that Benito will confess to,” Grover answered. “One agent was caught as a rat in Manehattan. She hid in the walls for days. Loudbark was…too enthusiastic in his questioning.”
“Should’ve given her to Thorax,” Flurry noted.
“I did not trust you at the time.” Grover set the paper down atop the stack for the morning. Close the gap first thing tomorrow. I’m sure Benito bark a storm.
Wings fluttered behind him. “Yeah, you know changelings can be small, right? Thorax’s runners used to disguise themselves as rats in Ponyville.”
“That wasn’t dangerous in the forest?” Grover clacked his beak in belated realization. “Ah, you mean the ghetto.”
“We had a lot of rats to blend in,” Flurry whickered. “It was always a little awkward to see a rat in the hallway and have it wave so I wouldn’t teleport it to the garbage dump.”
“You didn’t kill them?”
“Teleported Falx to the garbage dump once.”
Grover did not recognize the name, but let the matter drop. “My Reichsarmee is currently hacking or shooting every scrap of wildlife that crosses the front. And if I had a Reichsmark for every time one of my knights or dogs shot at an oddly-placed rock…”
Flurry smiled. “Waste of ammunition?”
“Experienced soldiers are more precious than bullets,” Grover retorted. He looked to the papers. “The Changelings leave infiltrators within drained communities, disguised as ponies for a quick ambush. I have denied an order to disregard their health for the safety of my soldiers.”
Flurry’s smile collapsed. “I’m working on getting ponies to the front. We can do garrisons and aid, run supplies.”
Grover took a deep breath. “I need more unicorns,” he admitted slowly. “Embedded with the forward parties. They’ve begun to destroy the roads and rails to stall us. It is disorganized now, but their cohesion is returning. Synovial survived the battle.”
“The one with the fez? From Aquileia? He seemed like a smug prick.”
“Yes,” Grover said shortly. “How much time do you need?”
“Sunset and Tempest are onboard,” Flurry grimaced. “They aren’t exactly eager to lead the Imperial Army, but they’re doing it.”
“So, the Equestrian Liberation Front fades with a whimper,” Grover commented. He stood from the chair again, self-conscious that he was sitting while the alicorn was standing. “Is there anything else, Princess?”
Flurry blinked. “Happy birthday?” she said in a confused tone.
“Thank you,” Grover accepted, “but it is after midnight and no longer my birthday.” Another of the crystals dimmed above them, and the open study darkened. “Foolish of you to come here so recklessly just for that.” He offered her a slight smile with one cheek. “But I suppose in character.”
Flurry Heart bit her lip and rubbed her wings against the top of her sweatpants. “I should probably just go invisible again and sneak out?”
“I can open the balcony for a breath of fresh air,” Grover offered. “Sneak out behind me.”
Flurry’s horn glowed and she faded from sight with a flash. The sweatpants remained. Grover avoided looking into them, even though he couldn’t see anything. “Interesting spell. Is that common?”
“It’s, uh, seven of eight on the scale,” the pants answered. “Pretty difficult and took me awhile to learn. Far Sight insisted on it.”
“He teaches you magic?”
“He’s dead. In the battle.”
Grover paused halfway to the door. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine.” The pants laughed. “When I first learned it, I used to wander around with my bedsheet over me for Nightmare Night in Ponyville. Foals always loved it when they tugged it away to see the Princess, but nopony was there.”
“We have a harvest festival near that time. No candy.”
“We didn’t have candy either,” the pants nickered. “And I slept on the bedsheet I trotted around in.”
Grover reached the balcony door and turned back around. “You never wrote about that. And the Nova Griffonian papers made no mention of their poverty.”
“Are your papers honest?”
“No,” Grover said flatly, “but I make no claim of living in a democracy.”
There was a short silence.
“Thank you for inviting me to your party, Grover,” the pants said quietly. “Seemed pretty miserable, but the ice cream was good.”
“No one was trying to kill you,” Grover responded with lidded eyes. “We did profile the servants.”
“Are you sure?”
“No,” Grover clacked his beak. “I did not say I disapprove of your paranoia.”
“It’s not paranoia if they’re actually out to get you.”
“Just so,” Grover agreed. He did not turn back around to the door. “Did…” he searched for a topic. “Did you have fun?”
“Did you?”
“Your birthdays were not about you,” the griffon said. “Mine are the same.”
There was a gust of air from refolded wings above the sweatpants. “You invited me to celebrate our birthdays together.”
“I’m surprised you remember that,” Grover tilted his head.
“Why wouldn’t I?”
Grover did not have an answer to her question, so continued, “Eros would never have approved it.”
“Even if I just showed up?”
He felt himself smile. “That would have been quite the sight. Or perhaps not. Would it just have been a pair of sweatpants at the gates?”
“Maybe,” the pants said teasingly. “Would Eros have thrown Henrik at me?”
Grover stepped away from the door, walking back around the pants and hidden alicorn. “You met him? I asked Benito to take him out for his birthday; I believe Elias joined him.”
“They raided our bar, probably still dancing.” The sweatpants followed him silently, then shifted in place, moving in a circle around the room. Flurry snapped back into sight, eyes up on the empty shelves. “Didn’t know you had a double.”
Grover looked down at himself in his nightshirt and silk pants: tan feathers, brown fur, and darker gray claws. “Sometimes looking so generic has upsides.”
“Thorax always told me it took a lot of magic to change into an alicorn,” Flurry mused. Her eyes still wandered the shelves. “Something about how only Queens could really do it, or an overcharged drone. They could do my voice, but not much else.”
“Did they get the accent right?”
Flurry scrunched her muzzle and glared at him. “Some of us didn’t listen to our professional tutors,” she said in blended Equestrian. Grover had yet to hear another pony that combined the harder Nova Griffonian dialect with the archaic Imperial lilt. There was the barest hint of received Canterlot as well, probably taken from her family subconsciously.
“I take it that is a denial,” Grover deadpanned.
“No.” Flurry probably blushed, thought it was difficult to tell for sure in the low lightning. Her pink fur hid it well if she did. “Henrik was dancing with Katherine when I left.”
“I might make a joke about love and hate,” Grover remarked. “I checked on her village, by the way. Her family was released months ago.”
Flurry bit her lip. “I don’t think she’ll be grateful.”
“Some things cannot be undone.” Grover glanced to the side and flicked his tail. Wise advice, old bird. “I suspect not. Words are wind. Regardless, she is free to write them.”
“Will it even make it to Katerin?” Flurry asked sardonically. “Katherine’s told me stories about the forests and how most of the knights started out as monster hunters.”
“There has always been legends about witches in the Scheißwald, sneaking about in the night to steal young griffons away into the woods.”
“Really?” Flurry perked up. “Any with large wings?” She flexed and curled her pair of oversized wings above her head, touching feather to feather with more than enough room to spare.
“No,” Grover clacked his beak. “And none were ponies. I suppose you could invent your own.”
“Give me your foals,” Flurry pitched her voice low and raspy. It still sounded like a kitten swallowing windchimes. She hunched down and bent her legs, shuffling like a crab from side to side.
“Cubs,” Grover corrected expressionlessly.
“Give me your cubs!” She lightly hopped in place, all four legs in unison. “Sell me your cubs! I wish to buy them! I need feathers for my wings!” The alicorn waved said wings above her horn. “My wings must be larger!”
Grover chuckled. “Don’t do that in public. They might believe it. And sell you their cubs.”
“I will have the largest wings!” Flurry vowed. “The largest wings in the Reich! In the world!” Her high-pitched voice was a breathy hiss as she tried to limit her shouting to glorified whispers.
“You are already a set of wings attached to legs.” Grover watched the alicorn straighten to stare down at him. She was tall and lean, barely resembling the oversized filly with hints of baby fat he met in a broom closet. The years had worn down any curves into muscle and a narrow muzzle. If he had not watched her devour nearly her bodyweight earlier that day, Grover would suspect she underate.
“My wings are the secret to my powers,” Flurry said teasingly. “My evil alicorn magic.”
“You have the makings of Elizabeak Bathory reborn.” Grover folded his arms.
“I heard the Archonate framed her for her land,” Flurry claimed. Her wings returned to her sides, feathers shifting and curling. "Should I be flattered?"
Grover squawked in laughter. “Did Aquileia teach you that? The Republicans mangled history in their need to make everything my family accomplished unjust. We found bones beneath her castle. She was guilty, regardless of the political motive.”
“Will griffons think I’m whispering in your ear?” Flurry flicked her own ears atop her short, ragged mane. “Or is that too much to contemplate? Benito asked about love spells.”
“You did not inherit your mother’s abilities,” Grover assumed.
“It didn’t work that like that,” Flurry groaned. “She could sense someone’s heart, like their desires and conflict. It was mostly talking. You can’t ‘magic’ someone into loving someone else genuinely. They act like lunatics.”
“Like putting up with you?”
Flurry guffawed and shoved a hoof into her muzzle to stifle the bell of laughter. She flashed Grover a wink. “You’re funnier when you’re sleep deprived.”
“I usually work late,” Grover dismissed. He waved a claw to the table. “The Reich does not run itself while I am absent from Griffenheim.” He eyed his dresser and crossed to it.
“I’m not a very good Princess,” Flurry nickered, “but I’ve heard of this thing called delegation…”
“My father’s regency was undone by corruption,” Grover stated. His brow furrowed. “I do delegate, and I verify. The Reich is the largest empire in the world, and half my court is staffed by opportunists that once opposed it.”
Flurry winced. “Sorry.”
“You,” Grover started. He cut himself off with a purr. “You’re fine, Flurry. I suppose you are in a similar situation.” The griffon regarded the old gramophone atop the dresser, simply set dressing and rarely used. He looked over a shoulder to the alicorn behind him. “There are records beside the table, in the gray box.”
Flurry twisted her head around and took the entire box in her magic. It floated over with a chime and she flipped through them quickly. “I don’t recognize any of these,” she shook her head. “Which one do you want?”
“Half are Aquileian.” Grover bobbed his tail. “What did the Republicans even listen to?”
“Anthems about how they were going to kick your ass,” Flurry replied. “I think there was a contest.”
Grover rolled his eyes. He reached into the hovering box, feeling the static rush of the golden magic envelop his claw. Cold this time. “Why does your magic change temperature?”
“It does?” Flurry questioned. “I never noticed.”
“What does it feel like to you?” Grover asked back.
“Magic.”
Of course. Ask a stupid question. Grover pulled a record free and slid it out, leaving the sleeve atop the dresser. The piano began mournfully, then gained volume. It was a singular waltz; the sound echoed on the empty bookcases above.
“Now we can talk,” Grover raised his voice. “It is a collection of Clawpin’s waltzes. It will go on for some time.”
Flurry Heart set the box down. Her ears twisted as she listened. “I don’t recognize it.”
“Most would not. He died young, from Gryphus in the Evi Valley.”
“I could just ward the room,” Flurry reminded him.
“My guards may have let a pair of sweatpants past them, but they will notice magic covering the windows.” Grover pointed at the large bay window behind the hourglass. “I would prefer not to answer why you are in my room on my birthday.”
“It’s my castle,” Flurry snorted. “Or it will be in two days.” She waved a wing at her bare head. “Obsidian’s adding some jewels to the crown.”
“You mean that cheap crystal band?”
“Yep. We’re broke. If Hayburger still existed I’d get a paper crown.” Flurry scrunched her muzzle. “Has Benito talked to you about the tank?”
“No.” Grover twisted his tail against his pajamas. “I suspect he pretends it never happened.”
“He glared at me the entire party.”
“You eat like a pig.”
“I’m pink like one,” Flurry winked. “These wings don’t grow on their own.” She backed up and began to step with the waltz.
“I wish to buy your foals,” she hissed again. Her wings flexed above her.
“Cubs,” Grover corrected for the second time.
“I need feathers for my wings,” Flurry trailed off with a raspy hiss, pitching her voice to follow the minor keys of the music.
“Do not do that in front of my dogs,” Grover warned. “The dogs of Bronzehill are averse to magic.” He scanned her half-shuffle. “And your dancing is awful.”
Flurry gasped. “How dare you! My dancing is at least twice as good as Aunt Twilight’s! I had a tutor!”
Grover cocked his head. “Really? In Aquileia?” He switched languages to Aquileian. “Which sets were you taught?”
Flurry shuffled a few steps with wings parallel to her barrel, then again with wings folded tight to her side. The alicorn moved gracelessly with her eyes pinched, clearly trying to remember something she had only done once. “They gave up pretty quick with the wings,” she volunteered.
Grover stepped up and studied her stiff, tottering hooves. He made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat. Hooves. Flurry stepped to the side with hind and foreleg in unison on the left. A wing extended as she trotted back, parallel to her barrel with the feathers twitching.
The griffon scoffed as he finally realized the dance she was attempting to do. “That requires a partner, you realize?” He shooed her back further to his desk, then stood beside her. “Blessed Boreas, you will have to dance in Griffenheim. It is bad enough that you sound like a peasant.”
“I can dance fine,” Flurry pouted. She broke the shuffling steps to a series of rapid stomps, alternating legs. She did not flex her wings. Hooves clacked on the floor, muffled by the piano.
Grover watched the bouncing dispassionately. “That is not dancing. Equestrian dancing is even worse than I imagined.”
“Fine. How do you do it?” Flurry challenged. She abruptly stopped and lowered a rear leg with a clack. “My dad took me to a military ball once. None of the colts or cubs wanted to dance with the Last Princess. Guess they were afraid my monarchism was contagious.”
“Were your wings concealed?” Grover questioned.
Flurry stopped to think. “No, it was a backless dress.”
“That was why.”
She sputtered. “Seriously? Wing envy?”
“The dominant partner in the dance leads with a wing atop the other,” Grover lectured. “Traditionally the male.” He extended his wings, exposing the holstered pistol under the left.
Flurry Heart raised her own. If she was standing beside him, she could wrap a wing across his back. Her legs already made her taller, although Grover suspected he might outweigh her due to her narrow barrel and flank. The sweatpants were too short at the hooves, but they were loose.
“Yeah,” she grimaced. “Other styles? Or can I get away with my stomps?”
Grover moved from her side to face her. He had to look up over the rims of his glasses on all fours. “Guidance with front and back legs in unison. Griffon clasp claws instead and use wings for balance.”
“I’ve seen that in Nova Griffonia,” Flurry dismissed. “It’s just a griffon looming over a pony.”
“I doubt that will be a concern,” Grover quipped. He rolled a claw. “May I?”
Flurry shrugged a wing. “Whatever you want to do, birthday-”
Grover reared onto his paws and flared his wings for balance. He was just above eye level with the alicorn, but it was a near thing. She remained still with cold blue eyes staring slightly up at him. Her muzzle closed with a clack.
The griffon placed his claws on her bare shoulders. Talons felt the muscle under the fur flex as her legs twitched. He leaned his head far to the side. Too close to her muzzle. But if he stretched his neck and if the alicorn hunched… No, the horn will be in the way. The alicorn’s pink horn was wickedly sharp at the point, not blunt like some unicorns.
“That will not work either,” Grover thought aloud. He stepped back and returned to all fours. “I am afraid you are too tall and your wings are too big.” Celestia must have had the same problem.
Flurry Heart took a deep breath. “Right,” she said in a chipper voice. “Just so.” Her wings fluttered.
Grover frowned at the large pink feathers with an internal sigh. Maar’s Hell, so be it. “We can try the other way. Watch my movements.”
Flurry extended her right wing.
“Your left wing and my right,” Grover said. He paced back to her left side. After he raised his wing, the Kaiser felt the weight of the holster and snapped brown feathers back to his side. Grover returned to his desk and undid the straps, leaving the pistol in a drawer before coming back. Flurry remained where she was, watching the sand trail down through the hourglass.
“Everything else was given to your ponies,” Grover said to her. “There was very little in the storage shelves. Lord Commander Lacin used a few of the bookshelves for wine bottles.”
“Sounds about right,” Flurry sighed. “There was a timepiece thing. I don’t know what it does. It’s unfinished I guess.”
“Must not have been important,” Grover agreed. "They took everything worth a trophy case away." He flared out his right wing.
Flurry bit her lip, then extended her left wing. The wing joint flexed outwards, spacing out a vast expanse of pink feathers. Grover noted that the alicorn’s feathers would have been naturally soft if she took better care of them; several of the primary feathers were ragged, and the tips of her outermost primaries were speckled with dirt from touching the ground too often.
“I have to ask where you inherited that wingspan,” Grover said flatly.
“Dark magic?” Flurry guessed. “Residual magic lingering from Sombra’s takeover? I was born in the Crystal Palace.”
“Be serious.”
“I don’t know,” Flurry whickered. “Mom called me Little Wings as a joke after they started growing with me.”
Grover twisted and aligned his wing under hers. He stopped farther apart than most dancing pairs. Any further, and her wing would go over his back and limit their steps. The griffon took a deep breath; their wings were a hoof apart.
“Lower yours. You are taller.”
Flurry bit her lip. “If this is going to be a problem, we don’t have to dance.”
“Ever?” Grover chuckled. “How would that look if I take my mistress to the ball and dance with her, but refuse my anointed wife?”
“Maybe don’t?” Flurry suggested.
“It is one of the things we are expected to do,” Grover scoffed. “It would be best to practice now.” He cocked his head to listen to Clawpin’s waltzes. “We have a moment before a slower piece. This is number seven.”
The alicorn lowered her wing. Brown primary feathers touched pink secondaries, then weaved together with a combined flex. Her larger primaries easily reached the base of the griffon’s wing joint and brushed against bare fur in the hole in the back of Grover’s nightshirt. The feathers shifted again. Grover and Flurry stared at the hourglass as they waited.
“Practice,” Flurry said as the piano continued.
“Yes.”
“Most would be ecstatic to dance with an alicorn,” said alicorn remarked.
“I can feel the dirt slough off your primaries into my fur.”
“I am sorry my large wings touch the ground too often. Consider it a birthday gift.”
“You are taking the phrase ‘dirt poor’ to new heights.”
“The gift of my company is priceless. Practice,” Flurry snorted.
“What else would you call this?” Grover asked back.
“A date?” the alicorn said casually. The pink feathers shifted around the brown, buffeting them down.
Grover glanced at her with a withering side-eye. “You broke into my room to torment me. Is this how alicorns date?”
“My mother and father were not a typical couple,” Flurry shrugged, as if that was all the explanation needed.
“Just so,” Grover deadpanned. He cocked his head as the piano faded, then began again, slower. He lowered his voice. “Step in time with me.”
He moved slowly, placing his left claw forward. The alicorn had quick reflexes and copied him. They moved side-to-side around the room; the two wings were stiff, but kept them connected.
“Do you know how to pirouette?” Grover asked.
“Not on all fours,” Flurry returned. “I can spin on a back hoof.”
“We are speaking of different things. Lower your horn and fold your wing.”
Flurry did so, and Grover flared both his wings while bending his legs. He leapt with a strong flap, spinning across the alicorn’s back and landing on the opposite side. It was not as smooth a landing as he wished and the griffon suppressed a growl, shaking out his claw.
Maar damn it. He extended his left wing. Flurry raised a brow, lifting her head back up. Grover waggled the primary feathers with a grunt of annoyance. “Do not miss your cue.”
Flurry Heart rolled her eyes and extended her right wing, laying it atop Grover’s. They resumed stepping, sweeping around the hourglass and returning to the gramophone. The waltz ended just before they reached it, and Grover tapped a talon against the floor.
“That was the most boring dancing I’ve ever seen,” Flurry commented.
“It is a slow dance designed not to ruffle the Aquileian dress,” Grover explained with the cadence of lecturing to a foal. “You have seen their truffles. Movement is not a priority.” He rubbed his wrist and popped the ligament. “You are too tall.”
“You call that a pirouette?”
“It is intended to be an eye-catching move.”
“I can do that.” The alicorn bent her legs.
“The pegasi that perform it do not have horns,” Grover stated. His eyes wandered to the spike protruding from the alicorn’s skull. “If memory serves, your horn can pierce flesh.”
“It’s sharper now,” Flurry said teasingly. She straightened back up. “That’s a good point.”
Grover stared flatly at her.
“What?”
The griffon sighed. “Can you do hind legs with wings for balance?” He reared up and extended his wings, stepping around on his paws. The feathers flexed and compensated along with his tail. He could not stand completely straight, and his silk pajamas pooled just around his paw pads.
Flurry copied him and her sweatpants slid down to her cutie marks, nearly falling off her hind legs. Grover spun around with a tsk, clicking his tongue to his beak. Tan head feathers flushed.
There was a chime of magic behind him as Flurry adjusted her pants. “Stupid cheap griffons,” she muttered. “These are supposed to stretch.”
Grover stated the obvious. “They are too short.”
“They were like that when we bought them. You know how hard it is to buy something in my size? It’s not like Nova Griffonia catered to the ‘tall and leggy’ herd.”
“You mean the Imperial Coast?” Grover chuckled. “May I rename New Mareland?”
“Sure,” Flurry huffed. “Alright, modesty preserved.”
Grover turned back around. It appeared that Flurry Heart had cinched the drawstrings of her sweatpants tight and double-knotted them. Her wingspan was too impractical for traditional styles, and reared up she was absurdly tall. The tip of her horn exceeded a minotaur’s height, including the horns.
She placed her forehooves just above her flank, bending her forelegs awkwardly. “Now what?” The alicorn teetered and rebalanced herself. Hooves clacked on the floor.
Grover flapped his wings downward, in this case reaching them toward Flurry. She did the same and a gust of wind hit his beak. Their wings overlapped, so Grover stepped back until just the wingtips touched.
“You follow my steps,” Grover announced and began waltzing along with the song. The alicorn’s eyes narrowed and she began copying his movements. She stuck her tongue out as she concentrated.
“Some mares invest in weighted dresses for this dancing style,” Grover lectured. Every wing flap led to their feathers touching on both sides as they faced each other. “Spin.” The griffon spun around in a whirl of feathers.
Flurry Heart spun on a back hoof in a rush of pink. She nearly overcorrected and fell forward, but threw her head back. Only one wing connected to Grover’s. “This is like some hoedown shit.”
“This is ballroom dancing,” Grover corrected. “It looks better with a full group. We switch dancing partners.” The pair moved faster around the room, mostly due to falling forward as they stepped in time to the waltz.
“Spin.” This time, both wings made contact on a graceful pirouette. The alicorn’s wing flaps slowed as she matched Grover’s rhythm. Their wingbeats synchronized. The waltz ended and another, faster tempo began.
The alicorn began to stomp her rear hooves to keep up with Grover. They stepped more to the side and shifted around each other. Flurry Heart batted her forelegs in the air more often to balance.
Grover raised his claws up. He grimaced. Nearly above my head. “Step forward.”
She did so and their wings overlapped on the forward stroke. “Hooves.”
The Princess hesitated, then bent her legs forward. Grover caught her hooves against the flat of his palms, talons splayed out. He squinted at her behind his glasses, feeling the bumps and chips along her frogs. “You should take better care of your hooves.”
“I file and lacquer them like any other filly,” Flurry nickered. She glared down at him, then leaned forward until Grover’s arms tensed from her weight.
“You cannot swing your hooves around like some sort of ‘hoedown,’” Grover laughed. They kept their wings together, letting the feathers weave on both sides. “This is hardly proper form, but any dance with you will be improper.”
The griffon turned his beak to inspect both wings. Flurry Heart’s large wingspan made it difficult to see over her pink feathers. Dancing with other groups will be impossible like this, Grover decided. “Try a pirouette.”
They spun and Grover caught her hooves. Feathers interlaced again. “Pivot.”
The alicorn and the griffon switched positions smoothly enough, leaning on each other for better balance. She was taller than him, but that would be true in any position. With the right dress and a rehearsal, it would not be the end of the Reich. Flurry Heart technically had the lead position by her wings overlapping his, but as long as he visually stepped before her…
Yes. Grover smiled. This might work. He looked up. The alicorn no longer stuck her tongue out. She waggled her eyebrows and smiled toothily. Grover pushed his claws off her hooves and she spun alone, folding her wings tight as her body twisted, then snapping them open before extending her forelegs.
Grover caught her hooves on his palms with a deep chuckle. “Better.”
Flurry opened her mouth to say something, then her eyes widened and she stumbled back with a choked neigh. Grover froze as she crashed onto her back, one hind hoof caught in the leg of her sweatpants. The cutie mark on her right flank was partially exposed.
“Shitty fucking pants!” Flurry whinnied. She kicked all four legs in the air, tugging the pant leg back with her horn.
Grover lowered his claws, still on his hind legs. I should have grabbed her. He shook his head to himself, blinking to focus. Idiot, you would have been pulled down with her. The griffon placed his dark claws on the floor. “Are you all right?”
He paused, remembering watching her stumble through a snowdrift and mud to shake his claw outside Stalliongrad. Cold metal was against her hoof when his claw wrapped around it, and he had suppressed disbelief at realizing she wore leg braces. Her ice blue eyes had red veins at the edges of the pupils, and there were patches on her muzzle of shorter, whiter fur as it grew back. She did not look like a pony capable of killing a housefly.
“I’m fine,” Flurry waved a hoof from the floor. She laid on her back for a moment with splayed out wings. “I sleep on a crystal bedframe back home.”
“My Kaiser!” a voice barked from below. The hallway door opened.
Grover twisted around as two dogs burst into the room; he registered a flash of golden light out of his peripheral vision, halfway blocked by the frame of his glasses. The dogs’ rifles swept over the interior and scanned the upper bookshelves. One dog saluted with a raised paw. “Are you all right, my Kaiser!?”
The Kaiser unhooked his glasses and rubbed them on his nightshirt. “I am fine,” he said casually. “Why are you disturbing me?”
“We…we heard a bang, my Kaiser,” the other dog added. Tails lowered with rifles.
“I dropped a file,” Grover said dismissively. He turned around and glanced at his desk. Clawpin’s piano played energetically from the gramophone from the other side of the room. “I was listening to music before you interrupted me.”
“We apologize,” the left dog whined. “Please, allow us to search the room.”
“We…we heard you speaking,” the right dog continued.
Grover crossed to his chair, but before he sat down he noticed the black pair of sweatpants laying very still under his desk. A leg twitched. The griffon moved away with a low, theatrical sigh, walking towards the gramophone.
“I was practicing the speech I will be expected to give for the Princess’ coronation,” he explained with exasperation. “I have precious little time to prepare it.” He shut the gramophone off with a cold look to the intruding dogs. “Dismissed.”
The dogs’ ears pinned back under their hats and they slung their rifles, but they stayed at the door. Damn, Benito must have given them explicit instructions. “May we search the room, my Kaiser?”
“Search the bedroom,” Grover ordered instead. “I will be down shortly.” The two dogs nodded and rushed out to ‘secure’ the sleeping quarters a level below him. Several moments after the door closed, he looked over a wing back to the pants. “I suppose that is the end of that.”
“Did you have fun?” the pants whispered. They slinked out from under the desk.
“That was not the point.”
The black sweatpants radiated exasperation, then collapsed into cloth on the floor. Another one of the crystals on the bookshelves faded, casting the room with a low glow. Hooves clacked along the floor from somewhere.
“So help me Maar,” a creaky, high-pitched voice vowed, “you will have fun on your fucking birthday, nerdbird.” The sound of hooves faded.
“It is no longer my birthday,” Grover pointed out.
“Really?” a voice said just next to his head.
Grover swung his wing at it in reflex, and was rewarded with a rush of air from a wing flap, then a light giggle from deeper in the gloom. “Nice try,” Flurry quipped with a whisper. “What do you want to say at my coronation?”
“That was a lie,” Grover hissed back. He crossed to his desk quickly, then opened a drawer. It slammed shut before he could take out the flashlight. Grover swung his wing again and another blast of air hit his beak.
“Do you not want to come?” Flurry said from somewhere above him.
“If I say this is fun, will you stop?” Grover sighed.
“No,” Flurry said from the other side of the circular shelves. Grover tried to guess her progress from echoing hooves, but she clearly anticipated it from the gusts of wind from her wingbeats.
Get her to talk. “I will formally acknowledge you as Princess and Diarch of Equestria.”
“Thank you.” Flurry sounded sincere. “Katherine and Cerie are taking oaths of fealty to me.”
Grover scoffed. “Just so. I assume they stand for all the others?”
“Yes. Duskcrest will as well.”
“It is a minor insult,” Grover waved his claw. “The fact that I am present at all at your coronation suggests influence regardless.”
“Should I say something about the Reich? I was going to say we are formally allies.”
“Whatever you wish to say.”
“I was going to wing it,” Flurry said from just in front of him.
Grover opened his beak, then tilted his head to the side. “One does not ‘wing’ their coronation speech,” he explained slowly.
“Twilight winged hers,” Flurry said with a hint of stubbornness. “My mother didn’t even give one.”
“Celestia was there to say it for them,” Grover countered. “She made them Princesses.”
“She didn’t make me one.” She was farther away now, near the hourglass. “I was born one.”
“Which is why whatever you tell your subjects will be remembered,” Grover pointed out. “They are your subjects, and yours alone.”
She did not say something for several heartbeats.
“Twilight Sparkle will recover.” There was a fire in her voice, but it wasn’t an inferno. It sounded like a sputtering ember struggling to catch alight in a storm.
Words are wind. Grover did not say it this time. He nodded to the room. “I will acknowledge her as well.”
“Good.”
The sand in the hourglass stopped.
“The hour is now so late it is technically early,” Grover remarked.
“I’m naked.”
“And I am ignoring that,” the griffon said placidly. “You appeared before Field Marshal Bronzetail in such a state, so I do not feel particularly special.”
The sweatpants lifted up, then filled out as long legs were stuffed inside them. Flurry Heart reappeared with a golden flash, frowning and sullen. “Yeah,” she said listlessly, “this was dumb. Sorry.”
Grover paused. “I had fun,” he admitted. “I did not get to dance very often beyond instructors.”
“You learned every language of the Reich and every dance style, but don’t use it?” Flurry shook her head. “What was the point?”
I ask that myself sometimes. “To know my subjects,” Grover answered, but his voice lacked conviction. “I am the Kaiser of Griffonkind.”
Flurry glanced to the side. “What do you do when you’re not the Kaiser of Griffonkind?”
Grover looked to his desk and the scattered papers. “Think about being the Kaiser,” he sighed. “What do you do when you’re not the Princess of Ponies?”
“Think about being the Princess of Ponies,” Flurry echoed. She smiled tiredly. “Happy birthday.”
“To you as well,” Grover answered. “I should have said something a month ago for yours.”
“We were a little busy,” Flurry smirked. “You showed up. That’s a good enough gift.”
Grover regarded the balcony door. “I can distract the guards if you need a way out.”
“I can teleport out,” Flurry dismissed. “Your Aquileian mages aren’t warding this tower worth shit, by the way.”
“I do not expect them to stop an alicorn,” Grover retorted. “Why could you not teleport in?”
“I’ve never been here before,” Flurry answered simply. “It’s harder to do.”
Grover looked around the mostly empty, wide room. Another of the crystals along the bookshelves dimmed, and the light faded further. “Twilight Sparkle’s true home was Ponyville.”
“That’s gone, too,” Flurry said neutrally. “I came to see you, not the tower. There’s nothing here for me.”
Grover tried to think of something reassuring. He failed. “Goodbye, Princess.”
“Kaiser.” Flurry nodded, then snapped away in a flash.
Before he left, Grover made a note to shift another team to warding his personal quarters. Then, he made another reminder to have Prince Shining Armor’s body exhumed from the vault and prepared for transport. He tucked the paperwork into a spare folder.
Halfway to the door, Grover stopped and doubled back to the desk. He grabbed the holstered pistol and looped it back under his left wing for the walk to his bedroom. He tapped a talon on the broomhandle grip for a moment, then shook his head with a hum and left the room just as another crystal dimmed.
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My god these chapters are great. Ooh its little flurrys and grovers first proper date
These two are cute. Really excited to see where this goes
How cute.
Nerdbird with Maar's Daughter. Hah.
« remember,no kissing before marriage »
Old bird
I read that the Treaty of Versailles (ending WW1), the secretary typing it put the carbon paper in backwards so several copies were basically blank. Nobody read it before signing so it was YEARS before this was noticed.
They both have a Duty to there respective peoples and give themselves so little time. It's nice to see them trying to have brief snippets if fun.
I loved everything about this. I'm rooting for them to maybe actually fall for each other before they marry. It'd be really cute. They compliment each other very well.
After the utter rollercoaster clusterfuck of a week I've had, seeing this pop up in the feed was by far the best thing to happen all week and much needed for my mental being. Thank you
Delightful and satisfying chapter.
Drudgery of running a nation.
Surprise clandestine visit from magical ruffian ubercorn warlady waifu (that's, what, three different griffons now?).
Secrets and confidences.
A Princess plans for what matters to the Kaiser.
A griffon looms over a pony. The Princess is lost for words.
"A date?" --> (no denial) --> "Just so."
Grover's analytic mind calculating the optics of distant events with his betrothed.
Grover's regret at literally letting the girl down.
Royal Good Boys doing what they're told.
Princess and Kaiser confirming their next meeting.
"I came here to see you, not the tower." The Kaiser is lost for words.
The Kaiser plans for what matters to the Princess.
Thanks for this.
I love how much Grover cares about Flurry's health here. He may not love her romantically yet, but he does love her as a friend, and wants the best for her.
One thing I would love to see in this story is Flurry being interviewed by a griffin newspaper, to help those in the Reich learn about their allies, alla the old ww2 'Know your Friends' newsreel.
I keep having to remind myself that these two aren't even adults yet but they are running the carcass of a great empire and an empire reborn like a phoenix. I think again it is healthy for them to be comfortable enough with the other to drop their masks even if for just an hour
I squealed my heart out on how much wholesome Grover and Flutterheart interactions and shenanigans. :)
11676990
Archon Eros was most definitely the "abstinence" bird.
11677216
It's probably better that she doesn't get interviewed and whatever Grover VI presents is sent back to Griffonia. Optics are important for both of them. Grover spends the entire dance trying to strike a balance on social norms for griffons. I imagine Celestia never had many dance partners. Flurry's not at that height, but it's still imposing. He has to dance with her, and he needs to make it look like she's his partner.
11677093
Well, if Grover reached out and snagged her hoof when she fell over he'd just get pulled down with her. Probably would've landed on top of her. Very awkward.
hehehe
11676990
I can only imagine the magnitude of awkwardness - nay, scandal! - if such a thing were to happen during an actual dance in public.
Damn, hit her right in the insecurities why don't you?
This chapter was super cute, glad to see both of them unwinding together.
These chapters about Flurry and Grover just interacting are literally my life support 😍
Changeling pistol? did that gun belong to Thranx?
11681768
Nice catch.
*sigh* End of the world if the dude doesn't lead the dance - perfectly okay for the taller, stronger female to bend over backwards to accommodate it.
Notice how it's perfectly fine for Flurry to make concessions and debase herself but it's 'unreasonable' for Grover to even though he's apparently the more powerful and secure one. Right.
If he was really that powerful and confident it'd be no problem letting Flurry lead. But no, got to protect that fragile ego and position. Heaven forbid Flurry being the dominant one, or even them being equals. Nope, it's gotta be Grover as the dominant one. Anything else is crazy talk and unreasonable of course.
Everyone all like 'OMG they're so cute together' and 'they're perfect for each other awww' but If one 'partner' needs to weaken and diminish themselves to cater to the other then they're obviously not fucking good together. Flurry CONSTANTLY has to act weaker, or smaller, or more stupid, or less able than she really is and it's infuriating.
11695861
Different cultures; Ponies are matriarchal, Griffons are patriarchal. In this relationship, Grover is the superior, and that must be shown, since he still has a nobility to contend with, whereas Flurry Heart got rid of hers a few chapters ago.
Not to mention Flurry Heart went to him and the Reich for help, not the other way around.
Just two creatures, fighting their parents war. Once enemies, secret friends, now allies and secretly betrothed.
17 years old, barely understanding their own feelings, already leading both their respective Empires, and trying hard not to piss off too many creatures on both sides so there can be peace when the dust settles.
And yes, it was a cute 'date' for Flurry is correct; Her parents had an unusual relationship and I'm sure that half their early dates were secret rendezvous in dark towers after midnight.