Love, Sugar, and Sails

by DSNesmith

39. The Admiral

A hesitant knock on the cabin door broke Rye’s reverie. He blinked in the morning sunlight filtering through the cabin windows, lifting his head from the pillow. He was careful not to move the hoof draped over Tyria’s side. Though he’d woken some time ago, he had been taking pains not to rouse her from her much-needed slumber.

He thought for a moment that perhaps he’d imagined the knock, but another followed it, more assured this time. Rye gently extricated himself from the bed, tucking the blanket back over Tyria’s sleeping form.

Turning to the door, he took one step before he heard a murmur from behind him.

“Rye…”

Frowning at his foiled attempt to let her rest, he turned back to Tyria and sat on the floor beside the bed. “Hey.”

“Come back to bed.”

He smiled, brushing a strand of her mane from her face. “Aren’t you curious who’s out there?”

With a sleepy smile, she shook her head. Sliding a hoof out from under the blanket, she pulled him closer and kissed him. “They’re going to take you away from me for some stupid political nonsense, I know it.”

Letting his hoof run down her side, he nodded. “Probably. But they might have a doctor with them, Tyria.”

“I don’t care.” She traced the line of his neck down to his collar, her face creasing with sadness as she reached the huge hole that the snake had torn in his garment. “Oh, Rye… I’m sorry about your robes.”

Rye lifted the hoof and kissed it. “You know what the best thing about these robes is?” She gave him an expectant smile, shaking her head.

He winked. “I have a lot of them.” Rubbing her shoulder, he touched his nose to hers. “But I’ve only got one Tyria. And she needs medicine.”

The knock came again, more insistently. Rye slowly stood, letting Tyria’s hoof fall back to the bed. She sighed. “Don’t be gone long.”

He unlocked the cabin door, stepping outside and closing it behind him. Squinting in the sunlight, he lifted a hoof to shade his eyes. Before him were three unfamiliar ponies, two in breastplates and holding spears in the crooks of their right foreleg. The one in the middle was a pegasus in a white Navy uniform, with captain’s insignias on his shoulders. He lifted a pinkish, creamy-white hoof between them. “Good morning, Ambassador Strudel.”

Rye shook it with his free hoof, still shading his eyes. “Hello, Captain. You were expecting me?”

The captain pointed wordlessly to the left. Rye looked over to see the torn fragment of his robes, caught on one of the rigging pins and fluttering in the breeze. “Ah.”

“I’m Captain Telemachus, of the Polaris.” The captain gestured in the other direction, and Rye turned his head to see an Equestrian clipper pulled up alongside the Adder’s Bite. The sails were all stowed on their yards, and the two ships rocked gently together on the sea. “Are you injured, Ambassador?”

“Not badly,” Rye lied, massaging the bite mark on his shoulder. He hoped Breyr had been brushing his teeth. He’d get it looked at, but not before Tyria had been seen to. “There’s a gravely wounded Navy mare in that cabin, Ensign Metrel. She needs—”

“Metrel?” The captain’s back straightened. “Petty Officer Donnelly, please fetch the ship’s doctor immediately.”

One of the spear-ponies snapped a smart salute and trotted off toward the Polaris. Rye raised his voice and called after him, “Bring a stretcher, too. And be gentle!”

Captain Telemachus looked around the ship, his eyes falling on the mangled bodies of the pirates, and let out a low whistle. “Ambassador, what happened here?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” Rye yawned, rubbing his eyes. “Has the entire fleet arrived?”

“Yes, Ambassador. The Third Fleet got here about twenty minutes ago. The admiral sent the Polaris to investigate this ship, and took the Levanah inside the city. There’s so much debris in the water that he ordered the rest of our ships to wait outside the bay until we knew what the situation on land was.”

Rye felt a nervous lurch in his stomach. “He’s landing his troops?”

“I believe so. I wouldn’t worry; the Levanah carries nearly three hundred marines on deployments like this. They’ll be fine.”

“It’s not them I’m worried about. If an Equestrian army drops in on Zahira’s shores…” Rye gave a long-suffering sigh. Tyria had been right, naturally. It looked he wasn’t finished politicking, after all. “Captain, I need to get inside that bay before somepony does something rash.”

“Of course. I’ll get a landing craft prepared for you.” The captain nodded to the other spearpony, who followed the first. Rye felt a rush of love for the Equestrians. He didn’t have to cajole, threaten, or bribe them into doing what he wanted—they just listened to him.

A trio of ponies carrying a long white stretcher raced across the planks joining the two ships, heading for the cabin. Another, a unicorn in uniform, a sergeant that must be the ship’s doctor, followed them in. Rye moved to join them. “Excuse me for a moment, Captain.”

Inside, the ponies carefully set the stretcher down beside Tyria on the bed, then began to shift her over onto it. Rye stood behind them, watching with worry. “They’re going to take care of you, Tyria.”

She looked at him unhappily. “But you’re leaving, aren’t you?”

“Not for long, I hope. I’ve got to stop some puffed-up admiral from ruining all our hard work.”

Tyria’s lips pursed with amusement. “Yes, you do.”

Rye managed a small laugh. “Here, don’t forget this,” he said, lifting her hat from the desk and placing it in her hooves. “Or this,” he continued, lifting the heavy bag of Phoenixian gold. “Zevan must be kicking himself for not bringing this with him to the tower.”

Tyria laughed. One of the medicos took the bag at his prompting. The pony held the sack over his shoulder, grunting under the weight. The rest of the medicos lifted the stretcher and exited the cabin.

Rye trailed them out, chewing on his lip. “Will she be all right, Sergeant?”

The unicorn rubbed the back of his neck, grimacing. “I won’t make promises I can’t keep. I don’t see any mortal wounds, but she’s in a bad way. I won’t know for sure until I’ve completed a brief diagnosis. We won’t be moving her from the ship for a day, at least.”

Rye exhaled shakily. “Okay. I’ll come back as soon as the situation in the city permits.”

“I’ll let her know,” said the unicorn, nodding. He cantered off after the stretcher. Rye watched them go, feeling helpless.

“Ambassador,” called Captain Telemachus from the side of the ship. “The boat is ready. If you’ll follow me…”

Rye trotted over to the side of the ship, looking down and spotting the boat floating in the water just in front of the Polaris. Two earth ponies sat inside, one holding on to a rope ladder from the Equestrian vessel’s deck. “Come on down, Ambassador,” called one.

Placing a hoof on the Bite’s railing, Rye vaulted over and went splashing into the water below. All of the Equestrians gave a cry of unified alarm, before he surfaced and swam over toward the boat.

Wings outstretched, Telemachus landed lightly in the boat beside him as Rye pulled himself over the side of the hull, rolling into the boat. “Ambassador! You don’t need to—”

“Get moving,” said Rye wearily, waving the pegasus off. “We don’t have time to waste.”

“I—very well, Ambassador.” The pegasus sat, nodding to the other ponies, who began to row the oars.

Rye began wringing water out of his robes over the side of the boat as they moved. “Tell me, Captain, what have the last few weeks looked like from Canterlot?”

“The princess is… concerned, to put it lightly.” Telemachus frowned, looking toward the city. “When you disappeared, at first we thought that it might be a ransom attempt. Captain Petalbloom said that the pirates were suspected in your kidnapping, which was nearly enough for Celestia to send the fleet in—she restrained herself in the hopes that her Firewing would find you. When Milliden was arrested, however…”

“Well, she did send me to negotiate a rather sensitive military matter with the Marquis.” Rye rubbed his forehead. “Ugh… no doubt the Princess thought the Marquis was preparing to launch a retaliatory war for what she saw as an attack on her sovereignty. Zahira is rather touchy about that.”

“Yes. And without any word from you or Milliden, all we had to go on were scant military reports from the outskirts of the Isles and Petalbloom’s missives, which weren’t terribly informative. Then we got word that the Dromedarian fleet had mobilized… Celestia sent emissaries to the camel king, but they were returned with the polite message that he was busy overseeing important matters of state and couldn’t spare the time to see them.”

Rye’s head was really starting to hurt, now. “So, Celestia naturally assumed that he and Zahira had allied against us, and were going to launch a massive assault somewhere on Equestrian or Gryphan territory.” He groaned. “I trust Staff Sergeant Specklestraw explained the actual situation?”

“Mostly. The admiral was a bit confused about the Nordpony he mentioned. I admit I don’t follow most of the thing myself.”

“Short version: camels bad, green zebras bad, other zebras good. Zahira’s a paranoid control freak, but she’s not planning to attack us.” Rye looked up at the ruined chain tower as they passed under it, swallowing. “Now I just have to make sure we don’t attack her by mistake.”

“The admiral was rather, erm, agitated on the way here,” said Telemachus. “Understandable, I suppose. Still, I do think it’s a good idea to get you to him as quickly as possible.”

They were approaching the shoreline, where Rye could see a massive Equestrian cruiser docked at one of the piers beside the burned-out husks of the camel fleet. He placed his hooves on the side of the ship, leaning forward. On the street, two huge groups were squared off. One, comprised of zebras, stood at the intersection where the main road left the harbor to head into the city. The other, ponies with the solar standard of Equestria flying on a post above them, stood between the zebras and the cruiser.

Rye tugged a hoof through his mane. “Oh, no, this isn’t good. Can’t you go any faster?”

“We’ll be alongside the Levanah in a few moments, Ambassador; once we’re on board we can—”

Rolling his eyes, Rye stood in the boat. Telemachus’s eyes widened. “Ambassador, wait, please don’t—”

Rye dived in, breaking the surface and beginning his sloppy paddling toward the shore. He heard the pegasus groan in dismay behind him.

As he reached land, more details of the confrontation on the beachfront grew clear. A few members of each military party had met in between the two. There was Zahira, Rye was relieved to see, alive and clearly pissed. She was jabbing a hoof at the Equestrian ship and yelling something at the pony in front of her.

He was a big stallion, caramel-colored and built like a draft horse. The blue military uniform strained to encompass his muscles, but the epaulettes on his shoulder meant that this was definitely the admiral of the Equestrian fleet. His anger was more measured than Zahira’s, but just as evident. Jabbing his hoof on the ground, he continued arguing with the Marquis as Rye dragged himself out of the water.

Another pony was standing beside Zahira, speaking more calmly to her with plaintive hoof gestures. Rye smiled, pleased to see Wheatie’s familiar golden armor.

“Good morning!” called Rye, trotting up the sand bank to street level. All attention, even that of the masses of soldiers, swerved to the new arrival, making him feel tremendously self-conscious. “Apologies for being tardy.”

Both the admiral and Zahira relaxed visibly at the sight of him. The admiral’s expression rather abruptly jerked from amazed, to delighted, to terrified, then back to subdued anticipation. Rye’s hooves clip-clopped on the cobblestones as he reached them at last.

“Ambassador,” said the admiral with a rich baritone, sounding relieved. “You’re alive, after all.”

“Quite.” Rye gave him a polite nod, before turning to Zahira. “Marquis, I’m glad to see you well.”

“Where the hell did you go, Strudel?” Zahira looked extremely strung-out. She likely hadn’t slept at all last night, Rye reflected. “We were attacked shortly after you left. We could have used the help.”

“I doubt I would have been much aid to you in a fight, Madame,” he said, rubbing the red mark across his throat with a grimace. “You seem to have handled it, though.”

Wheatie coughed. “We got the situation under control.”

The admiral glared at him. “Against my orders.”

The staff sergeant hung his head. “I’m sorry, sir, but if I hadn’t disobeyed you, we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now. Marquis Zahira would be dead.”

“It’s true,” said Zahira reluctantly, yawning. “Zeke! More coffee!”

A zebra with a silver band on his ankle came running forward from the group of soldiers, bearing a flask. “Yes, Madame.”

Zahira took a swig, blinking and scowling. She thrust the flask back into the zebra’s hooves, and he raced back into the group. “I owe Specklestraw and Strudel my life, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to just let the Equestrians come marching over my island—”

Rye put up a calming hoof. “Madame, please.” He turned to the admiral. “Did Celestia give you any orders regarding the island?”

The admiral nodded gruffly. “She said that if we found you, you were to have free rein over the political situation. I’ll follow your lead, Ambassador.”

Rye closed his eyes and leaned his head back in the warm, beatific sunlight. Oh, Princess, I could kiss you. “Then please, Admiral, pull all of our forces back onto the ship for now.”

“Very well,” said the admiral, with a hesitant nod. “Third Fleet!” he shouted, turning around, “back to the Levanah!”

The soldiers, many of them looking faintly relieved, made an about face and began marching back up the pier toward the boarding plank. The rumbling of hooves lifted Rye’s spirits tremendously. He turned to Zahira, who looked a bit nonplussed. “My apologies, Madame, for the uninvited intrusion.”

Wheatie moved to follow the soldiers, but the admiral checked him with a hoof. “Specklestraw.” His eyes narrowed. “You disobeyed a direct order, Firewing. Just because you’re some hot-shot special forces type doesn’t mean you can do whatever you want.”

Rye fiddled with the clasp of his tattered robes. “Admiral, his actions did help save the city. If ever there were extenuating circumstances, these are them.”

The big earth pony’s eyes narrowed. He bit his lip—Sisters, why did that look so familiar?—and released Wheatie’s lapels. “Perhaps.”

Sighing, he set his hoof to the ground. “I’m not going to cause another political mess during all of this by court-martialing one of Celestia’s personal guard.” Grinding his teeth, he jabbed Wheatie in the chest again. “But you are not getting another bleeding medal for this, Specklestraw.”

Wheatie’s head bobbed in nervous relief, and he near-sprinted toward the Levanah. Rye tried not to laugh as he watched the Firewing go.

Zahira now appeared considerably soothed by the retreat of the ponies, her expression lightening several shades of emotion from enraged to merely put-out. “Well, Ambassador Strudel, I’m glad to see that at least one pony has some wits about them.”

Ever the charmer, he sighed to himself. “How are your forces, Madame? I hear that the ones outside the bay may have survived…”

“Yes, we’ve had them trickling in all night and morning,” said Zahira. “Addled by the explosions, I fear. They keep telling stories about sea monsters grabbing hold of them and dragging them to shore.”

“Oh, that’s right,” said Rye, turning toward the bay. “We’re still missing someone.” He cupped his hooves to his mouth and called out, “Meri!”

Zahira and the admiral traded quizzical glances, but Rye simply called out again. “Meri, are you out there?”

There was a lengthy silence, which Zahira broke with a cough. “Strudel, what are you…” her voice trailed off.

Before them, a huge mass began to rise out of the ocean. One of the mutated seaponies, his torso mostly unchanged, strode out of the water on six giant crab legs. Perched on his back, her tail drooping over his side, sat Meri, resting back on her hooves and smiling. The crab-pony bowed to the gathering of ponies and zebras, before turning around and sitting. Meri turned and leaned back, kicking her tail up and over his jointed legs like a chair. “Hello there,” she said, her voice chipper.

Zahira and the admiral stared. Rye swept his hoof out in a bow. “Allow me to introduce Meri, leader of the seaponies of New Pheonixia.”

“Hi,” said Meri, with a little bow of her own.

Rye gestured to the Marquis. “This is Marquis Zahira, leader of the Zyrans. And this is Admiral…?”

“Metrel,” said the admiral absently, still boggling at the seaponies.

Rye’s smile became very fixed. His eyebrows threatened to rise off of his head. OH, he thought, RIGHT, the Levanah.

Meri extended a hoof. “I’m pleased to meet you all.”

As Marquis Zahira strode forward to shake it, Rye licked his lips, thoughts reeling around in his head. “We-he-he-he-ll,” he stammered, “great! Now we know who everyone is.” Oh gods, do we. “I’m Rye Strudel,” he babbled, quite unnecessarily, “Equestrian Ambassador. We, uh, we all have quite a lot to talk about. Quite a lot.” He slapped a hoof against the back of the other a few times.

Shut up shut up shut up. He blinked, taking a deep breath. We’ll deal with this in a moment. First, Zahira. “Madame, I would like to formally extend the offer of Equestrian aid in Zyre’s time of duress. We can allocate troops to help you and your forces remove the remaining Dromedarian and Pit Viper invaders, as well as lead any rescue or firefighting operations that the city may require. We will, of course, only send in the number of troops you request, and only to the places you explicitly ask us to. Our soldiers will remain billeted on the ships throughout the operation.”

Admiral Metrel gave an unhappy grunt. “The sailors were looking forward to some shore leave…”

Rye grinned nervously. “Well, perhaps after the negotiations are concluded.” Turning back to Zahira, he spread a hoof. “Is that proposal acceptable?”

Zahira grimaced. “I don’t like it, Strudel. But… I’m having some staffing problems right now.”

Yes, I’ll bet, thought Rye. I’ve never heard of such an infestation of traitors and double-crossers. Maybe if she was less of an insufferable paranoiac fewer of her servants would have turned on her for gold. He coughed politely.

The Marquis sighed, nodding ruefully. “On behalf of Zyre and her oligarchs, I accept. Zelly!”

Another zebra came trotting out of the crowd. “Yes, Madame?”

“I’m promoting you to Captain. Get a report from the various units we’ve recovered and put together a picture of the city and enemy force positions. We’ll need to coordinate with our Equestrian allies.” That last word sounded like it was being yanked out of her with tongs.

The zebra’s face lit with terror. “Cap-captain? Madame, I’m not even an officer, I’m just enlist—”

“Captain Zelly.” Zahira turned to her with a dryly raised eyebrow. “There are literally fewer than twelve zebras on this island that I trust right now; you’re one of them. Go put that report together.”

Zelly saluted, her eyes wide. “Y-yes, Madame.” She sprinted back into the crowd, beckoning a few other Zyrans to follow her.

Rye swallowed, thoughts churning. He forced himself to look back to Admiral Metrel—her father, oh Goddess—and smile bracingly. “Admiral, I don’t suppose the princess thought to send a team of economists with you, did she?”

“Er… no,” said the admiral. “We can send for some, but it’ll take at least a week and a half for any message to summon someone from the mainland.”

“That’s fine,” said Rye, nodding to Zahira. “I expect the Marquis will need some time to clean this mess up.”

Zahira sourly looked around her harbor at the wreckage of her navy. “Likely more than that. Yes, Ambassador, I think a formalized treaty is in order after this fiasco, but we’ll need to send for many more attendants. Since it seems that every other ambassador in the city was part of this plot.”

Equestria, Grypha, Dromedaria… eesh, she’s not far off. Rye smiled sheepishly. “Two weeks devoted to cleaning up the city, then, before we begin negotiations?”

“That will do,” said Zahira, suddenly sounding utterly weary. “I’ll begin sending letters after I handle some military matters here in the harbor.”

Rye nodded. “Admiral, I’ll pass a list to Captain Telemachus. He can handle the summons.”

“Very good, Ambassador.”

Zahira tapped a hoof. “Well, gentlecolts, if that’s all…”

Rye inhaled, bracing himself. “Yes, I’ll let you get to it, then.” The zebra gave him and the admiral a bow, then walked toward Meri, caution and faint wonder in her eyes. She began speaking with the seapony as Rye turned to face Admiral Jerric Metrel.

The admiral nearly ran up to him, but with clear effort managed to restrain himself to a quick walk. “Ambassador Strudel.”

Rye held out a hoof. “Hello, sir. I’m—” your future son in law—Tyria’s fiancé—the stallion who’s been sleeping with your daughter—his courage failed him. Tyria would just have to handle that particular announcement. “—very happy to meet you,” he finished weakly.

Jerric shook his hoof, swallowing with concern in his eyes. “And I’m very happy to see that you’re alive and… mostly unharmed.” He gave Rye’s shredded robes a worried glance. “Please, Ambassador. Do you have any idea what happened to my daughter, Tyria? She vanished at the same time you did, and—”

“She’s alive,” said Rye, with a reassuring hoof pat that instantly felt more awkward than he’d planned. “And she’s incredible. Saved my life at least a dozen times over. But…” he faltered, “she was injured in the fighting. She’s being tended to on the Polaris.”

“Injured?” Jerric’s voice sounded very small.

“A camel soldier w—” Rye inhaled with a shudder, “wounded her left eye. I… I don’t think they’ll be able to save it.”

Jerric paled, his hoof scraping the road absently. “Will… will she still be able to paint? She loves…”

A little touched, Rye smiled and nodded. “Yes.”

The admiral gave a grateful sigh, but his eyes still held a father’s terrible worry. “Did… when the two of you were captured, did the pirates… hurt her, in—in any way?”

Rye winced. “No. Not like that.”

“Thank the Sisters.” He exhaled, relieved. “Apologies, Ambassador; I realize the situation here is important, but… do you require my presence at the moment?”

“No. Go see her.”

“Thank you, Strudel.” Jerric smiled at him.

Rye nodded, smiling anxiously. “Please, call me Rye.”

Jerric gave him a short bow. “You can find me on the Polaris if you need me.” He turned and cantered at a speedy clip toward the Levanah and the waiting boats that would take him from the bay.

Letting his chest deflate and the tension seep out of his body, Rye blew out a breath. He found that his hooves were shaking slightly. Adjusting the clasp of his torn robes, he turned with relief back to the vastly more comfortable realm of international politics.

Zahira and Meri’s conversation had grown heated. They were arguing strenuously over something. Rye walked up to them, still trying to calm his heartbeat.

The Marquis appeared to be getting quite worked up again. “Strudel!” she said, turning at his approach. “This—this—child is demanding I give up my territory!”

Rye blinked, looking at the seapony with a raised eyebrow. “Meri?”

“Not demanding,” said Meri, calmly, “politely insisting. New Phoenixia must establish our sovereignty if we’re to pursue diplomatic ties with Zyre and the world beyond. Fifty kilometers out from the city in any direction seems fair.”

Zahira spluttered with anger. “That’s nearly eight thousand square kilometers!”

Rye coughed politely. “Madame, if I may—the Golden Isles are at least forty times that size. And half of the territory in question is under the Serpent’s Maw and that storm. It’s not as though you’re using it.”

“Actually,” said Meri with a sunny smile, “the storm broke up some time after you returned from the Black. We’ve had clear skies for nearly a week, now. The water’s still very rough, but my uncle thinks that it will settle in time, once it runs out of momentum.”

Zahira looked boggled. “The—the Serpent’s Maw is gone?”

Rye huffed in surprise. “Well! Nice to know we’ve made the sea a little safer.”

“That’s going to open the entire area up,” said Zahira, her mouth slack. “The route between the tip of the archipelago and the Firetongues has always been too dangerous for shipping because of that storm. If it’s gone…” Her eyes flashed. “It’ll go right through that territory you’re demanding!”

Meri smiled. “We’ll be happy to facilitate trade, Madame. For a small toll, of course.”

“A toll? What would you even do with money?” Zahira sounded almost ready to cry. Rye tried to stifle his amusement. The poor mare had had a very difficult twenty-four hours.

“Not money,” said Meri, her eyes sparkling as she looked up into the air. “Surfacer food.”

At that, both Rye and Zahira’s heads tilted. Meri nodded. “Plenty of it got into the water last night with all those ships going down, so… we may have sampled a bit.” She bit her lip and rubbed her stomach. “And let me tell you, those little… what do you call them? The little round things with the crosses on top?”

“Rolls,” said Rye, faintly.

“Right. Those blow seaweed right out of the water. We want more of that sort of thing. And we’re willing to trade, too. Just so long as you recognize our claim to the area.”

Zahira gave an aggravated sigh. “I’m not letting you extort me just because—”

Rye lifted a hoof. “Zahira. The seaponies are already there, anyway. They’re not going to go away just because you’ve suddenly learned of their existence. Besides, I think the last few days have shown the usefulness of having nearby, trustworthy allies, no?”

“I…” Zahira tapped a hoof.

“And, if I may make a suggestion,” said Rye, sweeping a hoof toward the harbor and the swamp of shattered sailing ships, “seapony aid could be invaluable in dredging up your lost war materiel. You’ll be able to rebuild your fleet in months instead of years, if you can salvage those wrecks.”

“That is… a reasonable point,” said Zahira, looking back to Meri. “Is that something your people can do?”

“Certainly,” said Meri, with another bow. The crab-pony she was sitting on shifted under her, yawning. “Sorry, Fillik, we’ll be done soon.” The pony nodded, waving a hoof at her to continue. Meri looked out toward the harbor entrance. “I’m not sure we can lift that huge chain out of the water by ourselves, though.”

“We’ll rig something up,” muttered Zahira. “That chain was a considerable investment by my predecessor.”

Her mouth twisted, looking at the remains of her navy. “Well… keeping a few dozen seaponies well-fed? I suppose I’ve paid higher bribes, in my day.” With a long, defeated sigh, she nodded. “All right, all right, I’ll consider your offer. We’re not settling anything permanently until these peace negotiations of Ambassador Strudel’s take place. I’ll ensure that you’re able to attend, er… Queen? Countess? What are you, anyway?”

“Princeps, I think,” said Rye, giving Meri a wink. “First Citizen of the New Phoenixians.”

“Ooh, I like that,” said Meri, beaming.

Zahira gave them both a curt nod and turned to leave, muttering to herself. “Zeke!” she suddenly barked, “More coffee!”

Rye watched her go, shaking his head slightly. The Zyrans began to disperse, now that the Levanah was pulling away from the dock to sit in the waters of the bay. Rye sat, lifting his hooves and stretching. He had a long few weeks ahead of him.

Looking up and to his right, he said, “Meri?”

“Yes?”

Rye grinned and held up a hoof. “Nice work.”

“You were right,” she said, slapping it with her own. “This is fun.”

* * *

The doctor was fussing over her entirely too much, thought Tyria. His horn glowed constantly as he poked and prodded points along her body. Every few minutes, he would shake his head and scribble something down on a sheaf of parchment that sat on his little desk at the side of the room. He’d put some sort of medicinal salve on her eye earlier, and it had left her feeling slightly lightheaded. She lay still in the cot, staring up at the ceiling of the medical bay and enjoying the comforting rocking of the ship.

The last time she’d been on board the Polaris was just after her graduation from the academy. It was the ship that took the newly minted officers down the coast from Fillydelphia to Cairoan, where most of them dispersed across the world to their various postings. She’d never expected to see it again.

But it was part of the Third Fleet, she knew. And the stallion who commanded that fleet…

The door to the medical bay creaked open, and the doctor turned. Tyria’s heart lifted as she saw a familiar caramel-brown hoof gently push the door aside. In walked a huge earth pony, his face filled with warring emotions. He paused, a tentative smile coming to his lips. “Hi, Paintbrush.”

“Dad!” She sat up and spread her forelegs, drawing a tut-tut from the doctor. Her father brushed past the irritated unicorn and embraced her.

“It’s been two years, Tyria. I’m sorry it took this mess for me to come out and see you.”

“No, Dad, I should have come to see you.” Tyria clutched him tightly. “I just… I was… I was being silly.”

“Admiral,” said the doctor, clearing his throat.

“Apologies, Sergeant,” said her father, letting her go and stepping back. He had a proud smile on his face.

As the doctor resumed his examination, Jerric’s eyes traveled across her face to focus on her left eye, and his steady expression crumbled. “How bad is it?”

The doctor’s horn flared, and a roll of gauze popped out of a desk drawer. “I finished cleaning it twenty minutes ago. You’re very lucky, Tyria, it doesn’t appear to have gotten infected. Perhaps because of all the salt water that got into it.” He began rolling the gauze around her head, sealing the salve inside it.

“Oh, wonderful,” said Tyria dryly. “Glad to know all that searing pain was good for something.” Her father winced, and she felt a little stab of guilt. Rye would have laughed. “Sorry, Dad, just kidding.”

The doctor’s mouth twisted in a wry smile. “You’re a very tough mare, Ensign. And I don’t just mean the eye.” The roll of remaining gauze levitated back into the desk drawer. His horn winked out, the examination apparently completed.

He lifted the parchment. “I found a number of serious contusions, the aftereffects of at least one concussion, a few sprained vertebrae, the beginnings of a crack in your front-left metacarpal, a growing case of Tetanus—which, thankfully, we’ve caught early enough to solve with a quick bit of alchemy—and most puzzling of all, what appears to be the remnants of a dose of snake venom that frankly should have been enough to kill a horse twice your size.”

“Snake…?” Tyria thought for a moment. “Oh, of course; the queen…” she rubbed the fang marks on her neck from where the Pheonixian queen had tried to kill her. Seems that short dip in the fountain water saved my life.

Jerric’s hoof squeaked as he scratched it against the floor. “Sounds like you’ve had quite the adventure, Paintbrush.”

“Oh, more than you know…” Tyria laughed. “Even Breslik’s never gotten in this much trouble.”

His eyes crinkled. “Don’t tell him that. He’ll think it’s a competition.”

The unicorn doctor sighed, rolling up his sheaf of parchment. “Tyria, you’ll be able to recover from most of your injuries. Even the eye won’t be lethal. But… you can’t survive any more punishment like this. I’m…” he glanced at Jerric for a moment. “I’m going to recommend you receive a medical discharge.”

Tyria blinked in shock. “A medi—medical…?”

“What?” Jerric shot to his hooves. “How dare you? My daughter’s given everything she has in service to Equestria, and you want to—”

“Save her life,” interjected the doctor. “Her body can’t take any more abuse. She needs to rest. A lot. Likely for years. We can’t ask her to continue serving like this, it’ll kill her.”

“Ridiculous. She can still serve in any number of ways.” Jerric was fuming. “I won’t sign discharge papers.”

The unicorn stuck to his principles. Stiff-backed, he lifted his head. “I’m not going to change my recommendation, Admiral. And you are not her commanding officer.”

Jerric’s teeth ground together. “We’ll discuss this later, Sergeant. Now go file your report.”

“Yes, sir.” The sergeant gave him a stiff salute, which Jerric returned frostily. Then the unicorn left the room, shutting the door behind him.

All at once, Jerric sank to the floor beside her cot, sighing as if exhausted. “Don’t worry, Paintbrush. We’ll fight it. They can’t discharge you over a single eye.”

Tyria looked at the floor. “Dad…”

“I’ve been worried about you, Tyria,” he said, setting a hoof on her cot and leaning forward. “What happened with the pirates? How much of that list was from them?”

“Not much,” she said, lying back down on her cot to rest. “They were very accommodating, actually. Aside from the noose.”

“Noose?” His eyes widened.

“Yes. For a moment, I thought…” she almost laughed. She’d had so many certain-death experiences lately that she’d actually forgotten that feeling of terror as Zennan draped the rope around her neck. It didn’t even rate anymore. “Well, it doesn’t matter, Rye managed to talk us out of that one.”

“Oh?” Jerric gave her shoulder a friendly nudge. “He told me that you were the one who saved his life. Many times.”

“We agreed to stop keeping count.” She lifted her head from the pillow. “So you’ve met him? Good, I’m glad.” She gave a breathy sigh. “I guess you’re going to be seeing a lot more of him, huh?”

“Yes, I’m sure I’ll be dragged into these peace talks he’s putting together.” Jerric made an ugh sound. “I hate politics.”

“Wh—no, I meant—” Tyria suddenly rolled her eye and groaned. “He… didn’t tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

She muttered, shaking her head. “He’ll stand up to sea monsters and pirate kings, but one little pony leaves him cowering…” Suddenly laughing, she looked up at her father. “He’s my fiancé.”

Jerric blinked. His eyes opened wide. “Y—what?! You’re getting married?”

She nodded with a shy smile. “We haven’t set a date yet, but…”

“Were…” Jerric fumbled with his mane. “Were you planning on telling your mother or I?”

“I just did!” Tyria twisted a little to get more comfortable on the cot. “We only agreed on it a little while ago. This is quite literally the first chance I’ve had to let you know.” Not Rye’s first chance though… I’ll get him back for this, somehow.

“But—but he’s a…” Jerric rubbed the back of his neck, looking very lost. It was kind of adorable in such a big pony. “He’s a commoner!”

Tyria gave him an are-you-serious look. “Dad, our family’s the dictionary definition of genteel poverty. We don’t exactly have Bellemonts lining up left and right to marry us.”

“Well… no, but—”

“I don’t recall you getting this worked up when Breslik was chasing that Buttercream mare’s skirts on his last leave.”

“He didn’t marry her!”

Suddenly it clicked, and Tyria’s smile faded. “It’s because he’s a pegacorn, isn’t it?”

Jerric bit his lip, shamefaced. “I—I’m not proud of it. But Tyria, pegacorns… if they don’t die young, they go mad. The inability to fly or do magic, it destroys them inside; they all turn out bitter and angry and violent. I don’t want my daughter to suffer that.”

“I’ve seen what bitterness and anger look like when they consume a pony, father. And that’s not Rye.” Tyria thought briefly of cold blue eyes and shivered.

“Tyria, I’m sorry, but even if you think he’s wonderful, everyone knows that pegacorns are—”

“Heroic? Brave? Kind? Funny? Handsome? Yes, they are.” Tyria lifted her chin. “Rye’s the farthest thing from violent you can get and still have hooves. I’ve seen him try to fight. It’s not his forte, believe me.” She stared at her father with a keen eye. “Just how many pegacorns have you met?”

“I…” Jerric bowed his head. “That’s… fair.” He lifted it again, half-smiling. “I admit, he certainly seemed sane enough, if a little… skittish.”

“You’d be skittish too, if you’d nearly been strangled to death by a crazed Nordpony last night.” She sighed, suddenly slumping back down onto the cot. “Dad, let’s not fight. I had to fend off an army of camels and kill a stallion with an oar yesterday, I really don’t have the energy for it.”

Jerric did the smallest of double-takes. “Well… that explains that bizarre scene up on the deck.” He bit his lip thoughtfully. “I guess this wasn’t the quiet posting for you I thought it would be.”

“It was, for three years…” Tyria felt a sudden, sad weight settle over her. Three long, lonely years.

“I wanted to keep you safe, Tyria,” said her father, frowning with concern. “Military life can be rough, as you’ve learned. I thought that out here you could avoid the worst of it—no griffon invasions or civil wars this far out to sea. I’m sorry I was wrong.”

“If you didn’t want me fighting, then why—” Tyria inhaled, biting her lip, mirroring her father. “Why’d you even want me to join the Navy?”

“You’re a Metrel,” he answered, sounding almost confused that it was even a question. “It’s what we do. The service runs in our blood. It has for generations. We serve Equestria, and we serve her well.” His chest puffed up, and he gave her a proud smile. “You’ve certainly lived up to that reputation, Paintbrush.”

The pride in his eyes made it even harder than she’d imagined to break his heart. Tyria’s lips wavered. She put her hooves on his. “Dad…”

Why was this so much harder than blowing up a tower or dueling a Dromedarian soldier? Just two simple words: I quit.

She took a fortifying breath. “Dad, I’m not going to fight the medical discharge.”

Jerric’s brows drew together. “What?”

“I’m accepting the discharge,” she repeated.

“Tyria—” Jerric’s lips moved without words for a few moments. “That doctor said you can’t fight, true enough, but don’t let that scare you into quitting. There’s a lot more to the service than just frontline combat. You can still serve with distinction; maybe a position in procurement, or—”

“Dad,” she cut in, but he continued talking over her.

“—we could file for a transfer to another embassy, one somewhere safer. Maybe Antelluc—”

“Dad, I was going to resign anyway!”

A silence, cold and scary, settled over the room. Her father pulled away and up, his hooves returning to the floor. His eyes flashed with anger. “What?”

Tyria pushed herself upright. “I’m leaving the Navy.”

He ran a hoof unsteadily through his mane. “Why?!”

“Because this isn’t the life I want for myself.” Tyria swallowed. “I don’t want to kill for a living. I don’t want to be a glorified babysitter, either. I want to paint. To sail. To live my own life.” Her gaze faltered, and she looked at the floor. “Not yours.”

“Tyria,” he said, his hooves jerking in confused distress. “I—I don’t understand. The service gives you purpose, it’s a good cause, it’s—”

“It’s left your daughter maimed,” she said harshly, lifting her lone eye to stare into his.

That hit him like a punch. He sat back heavily, his mouth open, hooves limp. The silence threatened to extend indefinitely. She could see tears glimmering at the corners of his eyes. His mouth trembled. “Oh… Paintbrush…”

Tyria leaned over her cot and hugged him. Jerric gasped a little, wrapping his forelegs around her. “I never wanted you to get hurt. I never meant to…”

“I know,” she said, resting her head on his shoulder. “I know you just wanted to take care of me. But you don’t need to anymore. I can take care of myself.” She smiled, giving him a squeeze. “Your little Paintbrush grew up.”

“Yes,” he said, with a loud sniff. “Yes, she did.”

They rocked back and forth for a little while. Tyria buried her muzzle in the crook of his neck, feeling a sensation of complete peace at long last. “I missed you, Dad.”

He patted her on the back. “I missed you, too.”

After another minute or two of quiet, he released her and leaned back. Wiping his eyes, he gave a shaky laugh. “Well… I guess I’d better start saving up.”

Tyria, feeling a tear run down her own cheek, wiped it away with a smile. “Saving up for what?”

“For your dowry,” he said, a hint of playfulness returning to his voice.

“A dow—Dad, this is the fourth century!” Tyria laughed, her eye still wet. “Dowries went out with Nightmare Moon.”

“So it’s a little old fashioned.” He shrugged. “Point is, you’re going to need money.”

“Well if it’s about money…” Tyria reached under the cot and heaved. “Oof.” She dragged the sack filled with seapony treasure out onto the floor beside him.

Jerric lifted the bag, stunned. He reached in and removed a single gold piece, dropping it to his hoof and tossing it. “Is this a Pheonixian ingot? They haven’t minted these in nine hundred years…”

“That bag ought to pay for the wedding, the honeymoon, and maybe even a few months’ rent.” Tyria grinned. “Technically, it’s supposed to be in someone else’s posession, but…” She leaned over toward the cabinet and picked up her hat. Placing it on her head, she gave it a fond tug. “That someone foolishly gave me their lucky hat.”

Jerric looked askance at the hat, chuckling. “Where on earth did you get that?”

“Well, Dad, you’d better get comfortable. It’s a long story…”

Comments

[Bast]

no matter how brave you are, your fiancée’s dad is always the scariest xD.

[mustangdrew4]

Oh boy. Meri is going to enjoy politics too much it seems. Don't worry Rye. No one wants to face their future in-laws. Doesn't meen Tyria won't find someway to make you regret passing the ball her way.