My Little Teelo: Masquerade

by Ardwolf

Rapprochement

In which our heroine dissembles, ancient powers stir, and a plot thickens.

Kongen Fjell stared in distaste at the thing standing before him. It was shaped like a pony, but it was dead, the fur and hide flayed from the body, the muscles clearly visible with bones peeking out here and there. It had swum out of the solid stone floor and confronted him in his private audience chamber.

“You dare, foul beast?” He growled angrily. “I will send you back into the Deep Dark from whence you came!” He leaped to the wall behind his seat and grabbed his great axe.

He spun to face the draugr, already swinging. The draugr stepped back far enough that the blades whistled harmlessly past.

“I come as emissary, Troll King,” the undead pony said calmly. “My Master sends his greetings.”

Fjell felt the horror of that voice crawling over him like a plague of spiders but halted his next stroke. The Law forbade harming an emissary, no matter how unwelcome they might be.

“Speak then,” he said reluctantly.

“He has heard of the misfortune visited upon you. He sends a gift to comfort you for your irreplaceable loss. It is his hope you are able to use it to bring justice for the wrong done you.”

The horrible thing twisted its head back and pulled something with its teeth from the tattered saddlebag it bore. It then laid a stone tablet upon the council table.

Fjell studied the tablet, instinctively recoiling from the dark stone upon which deeply graven runes glowed with the color of poisonous lichen, a sickly yellowish-green. The draugr stepped back three paces.

“Who is your master?” Fjell demanded.

“I am not permitted to say,” the draugr replied. “He feels knowing his name might influence your judgment, King of the Trolls, and that would be improper according to the Law. All he wishes is that you know the truth.”

“What price does he ask for this truth, monster?” The Kongen demanded.

“None, It is a gift, freely given,” the draugr replied. “My Master simply offers his condolences for your loss and offers you knowledge that may aid you in bringing the guilty to justice.”

It then turned and sank into the stone floor, swimming downward. It vanished as though it had never been, leaving behind only the faintest whiff of rotting flesh.

Kongen Fjell began to read the tablet. His eyes widened and his face broke into a silent snarl. He quickly scanned the entire text and then went back and read it slowly, weighing the words against what he already knew to be true.

When he was done he sank back into his chair, thinking deeply, the look on his face part grief and part rage.

After a couple of hours he hung his axe back on the wall. Carefully picking up the tablet he placed it under his chair and went to the door. He instructed one of the guards on what he wanted done. Then he returned to his chair and brooded.

ooOoo

By the time the train pulled into Canterlot Station the trolls had convinced their queen that the blood oath was less self-mutilation and more a seldom used but sacred ceremony. Teagan hadn’t approved, but let it go, knowing there was no way she would budge the trolls on the issue.

In addition she’d been given an overview of her entourage, their names and stations, how she should address them without giving offense, and a dozen other details.

The pomp and intricacy of a royal entourage was something she’d dreaded ever since she learned thirty trolls made up her personal train. But, of course, she’d been expecting a human entourage, with all the political intrigue that entailed.

Trolls, it turned out, were much more practical. Half her entourage consisted of a troupe of guards. They were part of the klanen av formålet, and thus family, but like Skrent and Flint were under her personal command. Their primary task was to protect the entourage as it made its way back to Hejm.

The klanen also contained three “runners”, troll messengers that could literally run for hours on end. Their job, as Søyle explained it, was to carry messages like some two legged pony express, and wasn’t that a surreal image? Like the guards they were military personnel.

Five more trolls were porters, each of which drew a large wagon loaded with supplies for the journey back. Being trolls whose profession was transport, each massively muscled porter could haul five tons of cargo in their enormous wagons. Given how much trolls ate when on the march twenty-five tons of cargo might not actually be enough, which is why the guards also doubled as foragers and hunters.

The porters weren’t military, Teagan was shocked to learn they had volunteered, rather than been assigned. Apparently, being part of her klanen was very prestigious, and being trolls, patriotic (to the queen, not the World Below). The thought made Teagan shiver, and put even more load on her shoulders.

The rest of the klanen were the ones that gave her pause. Alene Hule in particular made her worry. He was, apparently, second only to Alene Avgrunn in the ranks of the Alene. She supposed it made sense for him to be part of the klanen but she planned to keep a close eye on him until she knew where his ultimate loyalties lay. Unlike most trolls, the Alene could see shades of gray, and were exceptionally intelligent. Teagan had long ago promised herself she would never take an Alene lightly.

The remaining trolls were a mix of male and female, all in the prime of life but still high-ranking representatives of the major troll clans. Søyle made sure Teagan was aware of the influence those trolls wielded with the actual clan leaders, and thus in turn, with the Council.

Although Teagan was beginning to wonder just how much pull the Council actually had over the rest of troll society…

Stepping off the train she was immediately surrounded by a wall of trolls, who knelt on one knee and bowed their heads. Even kneeling, all the males were taller than she was and the females were at least as tall as she was while she was standing. Only the Alene, an elderly troll, didn’t kneel, but he did nod when meeting her eyes.

“Velkommen, Dronning,” the words rumbled around the assembled trolls like a minor earthquake. Knowing trolls never lied (any that did not truly welcome her would have remained silent) Teagan relaxed a bit, even though Søyle had said half the group viewed having a non-troll as their queen with misgivings.

“Takke dere alle, jeg er glad for å komme hjem,” Teagan said with a smile and more than a little genuine warmth.

Thank you all, I am happy to come home.

Søyle had coached her on that phrase for a good fifteen minutes. She’d stressed that Teagan needed to mean it when she said it. Strangely enough, Teagan did. She already counted Skrent and Flint as friends and had no trouble being clan with them, as well as Søyle, who had proven herself to Teagan by her unflinching protection of Emma during the ambush and that unnerving blood oath.

Home is where your family is, she thought, a warm feeling welling up.

Of course the whole clan situation was bizarre. She was soul bound clan to the ponies—there could be no doubt of that. They absolutely were clan O’Gara, one third human, at least their spirit was, no matter what their bodies might look like.

She was also queen of the trolls, there was no doubt about that either, not with Crush’s eyes lodged in her mind and its soul wrapped around her own. She was legally a troll—and thus clan O’Gara was also a troll clan, no matter that her body was human.

And these thirty trolls had willingly bound themselves to her as a new clan, a clan of purpose rather than blood, but a clan none the less.

Given the trollish mindset it meant she was safe with them, even Alene Hule, because they were family. And trolls took family bonds as seriously as they did oath breaking. Of course trolls tended to take everything seriously, but if there was a conflict of loyalties, family came first.

The only problem was she hadn’t had time to ask Søyle which family was more important, klanen av blodet or av formålet. Given what she knew about trolls she bet Søyle wouldn’t even make a distinction between the two. That made it her responsibility to see such conflicts of loyalty didn’t arise.

Joy, she thought, her mood dimming just a bit.

“Dronning, forventet vi deg til å komme flere timer siden,” A female said.

Teagan shook her head. “I’m afraid I can’t speak Trollish yet.”

“Ynsiv, Hest språk,” Another female said chidingly.

“Jeg snakker ikke Hest,” the first female replied. She slumped slightly, her face turning slightly darker green.

“Ynsiv doesn’t speak pony, Dronning,” the second female said, giving the other troll an amused look. “The Langtpunkt have little exposure to the World Above. They are more comfortable vandre i den dype mørke.”

Ynsiv flinched before drawing herself up and staring at the other troll, lips parting to reveal the slightest gleam of very white teeth.

“Hjördís, bare vi gå dypt mørke. Du bør være snill mot fetteren din,” Alene Hule said to the second female, his tone mildly reproving.

“I can relate, Ynsiv,” Teagan replied, smiling at her. “You don’t know the World Above and I don’t know the World Below. That’s why I came, so I could learn.”

Ynsiv smiled, and gestured helplessly.

“Hun sa, Jeg kan forholde seg, Ynsiv. Jeg har ingen erfaring i Verden Nedenfor. Det er derfor jeg kom, så jeg kunne lære,” the Alene translated, and then nodded his head to Teagan.

Now that she knew her name it was easier for her to identify the troll woman. She wore a loincloth and halter like the others, but hers was plain gray cloth, clearly sturdy but nothing like the richly patterned and embroidered material the other females sported. Her harness leather was also plain and lacked the elaborate tooling the other trolls (even the males) wore. It clearly eschewed form for function, with abundant steel attachment points for gear but no ornamentation of any kind. Even the guards had ornamentation of copper and silver on their harnesses, unlike Ynsiv.

“Dronning, is this your sister?” A male asked in the slightly uncomfortable silence. He had the typical lanky troll build, but was slightly thicker in the body than either Skrent or Flint, and carried himself in a way that just screamed nobleman.

“No, she is my bestevenn, part of my klanen av formålet,” Teagan said, not mentioning Emma wasn’t supposed to be there.

“Hi, I’m Emma,” the girl said with a smile.

“I am Tor. Welcome, cousin,” Tor nodded politely.

Emma blinked. “Cousin?”

“Of course,” Tor tilted his head. “You are clan of the Dronning, as are we, therefore you are clan. Making you our cousin.”

Emma’s smile lit up the room.

Teagan sighed to herself, just now realizing anyone she claimed as clan (of purpose or blood) would automatically be part of this klanen av formålet. What kept ambushing her was just how simply the trolls viewed clan relationships. She had a mental image of a huge web connecting the trolls, ponies, her own family and now Emma, with her in the center. It made her dizzy, so she banished it and refocused on the group.

She found she was getting better at distinguishing individual trolls. Learning their names seemed to be enough to start picking out features that made them distinct from one another.

“How many of you speak English?” Emma asked, staring around the group with interest. Her wide-eyed enthusiasm and warm smile seemed to diffuse any rudeness the question might have engendered.

“English?” The second troll woman asked. “What is English?”

“Equestrian, Emma,” Teagan said quickly. “Twilight told me English and Equestrian are the same language.”

“Oh. okay, how many of you speak Equestrian then?” Emma asked, beaming around.

All but two of the clan representatives did, it turned out, one of the runners, and four of the guards (including Dag, the sergeant). After some discussion it turned out most of the guards spoke a little pidgin Equestrian, but two of the runners, all of the cargo haulers, and two of the clan representatives spoke none at all.

It turned out the second troll woman’s name was Hjördís of clan Midtenhule, while Tor was clan Veggvakt.

Søyle had said she herself belonged to clan Midtenhule, and Midtenhule was a close ally of the Fjell’s clan, the Herskere, which is why she had been on Fjell’s shortlist of suitable wives.

Teagan watched Emma as the girl happily chatted with the trolls. Matt’s training kicked in and she found herself analyzing the way the trolls reacted to Emma and each other. She began seeing the more obvious relationships and the hierarchy they formed.

Emma’s cheerful willingness to speak to any troll that could understand her and her obliviousness to their social hierarchy, made Teagan grin inside. Given that Teagan had claimed her as best friend and clan member, it gave Emma an unknown but clearly high social rank. While trolls were nowhere near as deferential by nature as humans, they liked knowing their place in the hierarchy and Emma’s unknown status made them cautious. Most ponies would have been astounded by how polite the klanen was to Emma.

Teagan suddenly found herself comparing Emma to Pinkie of all ponies. While the human girl was nowhere near as manic she had the same obliviousness to rank that Pinkie did, and an infectious smile that seemed to defeat the troll’s instinctive distrust of non-trolls.

She could be a big help this summer, Teagan’s mind suggested treacherously. Look how easily she’s fitting in with them. Bet she’d hear all the best gossip…

Teagan firmly clamped down on that line of thought. Hejm was a week’s journey on foot from the closest stop on the railroad line headed north from Canterlot. Emma wouldn’t be able to make such a trip, not to mention it would put her best friend in danger from all the threats lurking in the wilds of Equestria.

Look at her, her mind insisted. “She’s a natural. And Søyle would protect her against anything Crush and I miss.

She sighed. If she couldn’t even control her own thoughts how could she possibly be queen?

ooOoo

Celestia appeared in front of Discord and snorted angrily, glaring at him.

“What?” He asked, bewildered.

“What. Did. You. Do?” Celestia growled, hide twitching even as her eyes narrowed.

“What are you talking about?” He asked, taking a step backward. “I haven’t done anything. Well, except nearly get killed by that manic monkey!”

“You did something to Chrysalis. And me,” Unable to bear it she turned her head and bit at a particularly maddening itch. Snapping her head back she glared at him. “This isn’t funny, Discord. Fix it.”

“What am I, your handyman? Perhaps if you tell me what’s wrong I might be able to do something!” The draconequus complained.

“Both of us are itching,” she hissed, head lowered, lining up her horn as she took a step forward. A sliver of light ran up and down the ivory spear.

“Well, excuse me, Princess, but who knows where Chrysalis has been? I’m not surprised that mangy creature has fleas!”

“These aren’t fleas, Discord,” Celestia said, eye twitching. “This is a spell. It didn’t start until we exchanged magical oaths.”

Discord paused. “Wait—oaths? You didn’t swear to help her did you?”

“Yes!” She scrubbed her cutie mark against a convenient hallway corner. “In exchange—oh buck—for—grrr!—her oath to give up her—arg!—vengeance!” Celestia gasped, using the leading edge of her wing to scratch her shoulder. The doctor and nurse witnessing her distress began to back slowly away.

“Oh dear,” Discord said with a furrowed brow. “You really shouldn’t have done that.”

“Go ndéana an diabhal dréimire de cnámh do dhroma ag piocadh úll i ngairdín Ifrinn!” Celestia snarled with enough venom to make Discord blink in surprise and the two medical ponies bolt.

“Oh my! Celestia, I had no idea you knew such language!” He said, smiling. “That was top-notch swearing! I didn’t know you had it in you!”

“Discord, you have no idea what I’ll swear to do to you if you don’t fix this infernal itching right now,” Celestia said in a low dangerous voice. “I guarantee it will be something extremely—creative. Fix this. Now.”

“I’d love to help, Celestia, but I can’t do anything. You two were the ones who made a magical oath and triggered the spell’s failsafe. If I change Chrysalis back it will cure her itching, but not yours.”

She looked at him, appalled. He snickered. “Of course, once I undo the spell, there is a cure for you too—but I don’t think you’ll want to use it.”

“Why? What is it?”

“You have to roll yourself in a patch of poison joke, Celestia. For at least an hour. It takes a full day to completely cure the itching. Of course, then you’ll have to find a cure for poison joke...”

He grinned happily.

ooOoo

Rådgiver Sannheten was uneasy. The runner that had appeared to summon him to the Kongen’s presence said only your presence is required immediately. Normally when Fjell summoned him it was over some council matter and the runner would tell him the appointed time and the subject to be discussed, giving the councilor enough time to gather relevant material.

The Palace was a good ten minute walk from the Borgen. That gave Sannheten plenty of time to think. But by the time he passed through the palace doors he still hadn’t come up with a plausible explanation.

As he made his way along the bustling corridors his unease mounted. There was simply no reason for Fjell to do this. Upon reaching the throne room he was surprised to find his way barred by two members of the Tilbake, the Kongen’s personal guard.

“Rådgiver,” the one on the right spoke, nodding his head respectfully. “The Kongen awaits you in his private audience chamber. We are to escort you.”

One guard took the lead as the other fell behind. The councilor’s unease became active worry. Whatever was going on was clearly being kept quiet, which for the Kongen meant state-level secrets were involved.

Sannheten wondered if it had something to do with the Dronning. She was not due to arrive for a week yet, so it shouldn’t be that. Nor could it involve Tišina. The prophecy had long since run its course; it had been far longer than the single month the prophecy foretold since her death. The only other possibility involved the ponies, but surely Fjell would have given him time to prepare properly if it had been that.

The guards stopped outside the doors to Fjell’s audience chamber. One knocked, then opened the door and motioned Sannheten to enter. When he did so the guard closed the door and remained outside.

The Rådgiver paused, taken aback. Normally the chamber held a large circular table and enough chairs for the entire council. But now the chamber was bare, the light from lys-mose on the ceiling reflecting from the gleam of the polished floor. There was only one chair, occupied by the Kongen, who stared at Sannheten with a complete lack of expression. Resting point down in front of him was a spiked, double-bitted axe, the end of the haft well above the seated Kongen’s head.

“What is this, Kongen?” Sannheten asked, completely confused. The Kongen did not answer, simply watching him silently.

“Has there been an attack? Has something risen from the Deep Dark?” He asked uncertainly. “Kongen? Why do you not speak?”

“Words fail me, Rådgiver Sannheten of Clan Inngang,” the Kongen said in a flat voice, completely devoid of emotion. “The Lore and the Law have both failed me. Those I trusted have failed me. The past is treachery, the future foresworn. And here am I, alone in the moment.”

A chill swept over the old troll. The Kongen’s eyes held a coldness he had never encountered before. There was nothing there, a terrifying emptiness that whispered insane secrets and promised peaceful oblivion.

“Are you feeling well, Kongen?” The old troll couldn’t keep his apprehension from coloring his voice.

“No, Rådgiver,” he said. “I am not. I have stared into the Deepest Dark and discovered terrible secrets there. Secrets that should not be, secrets no troll should ever have to bear.”

“Surely Alene Avgrunn would be better able to help you, Kongen?” Sannheten asked carefully. “I know nothing of magic.”

“Magic cannot aid me,” Fjell said calmly. “There is no guide for the passage I tread now, Rådgiver.”

“Then how can I do so, Kongen?” The old troll asked, wondering if the guards had locked the door behind him.

“I know you, Rådgiver Sannheten of Clan Inngang. I know what you have done,” the Kongen’s voice was calm, measured.

“And what is it I have done, Kongen?” The old troll managed to maintain a calm demeanor in spite of the fear beginning to knot his belly.

“You took a child’s father from him,” the Kongen replied softly. “My father, Rådgiver. You were the cause of his demise. You played one clan against another for your own profit. And thus your hand carved the passage. If not for you he would still be alive. Please, deny your deed. Foreswear yourself. Give me that gift, Rådgiver Sannheten of Clan Inngang.”

The Kongen sat relaxed, his tone containing no hint of anger. Sannheten stood silent, knowing his death watched him with empty eyes.

“I will not deny it was my hand that loosed the avalanche, Kongen,” the Rådgiver said after a moment. He raised his head, proud and defiant. “I will not deny it killed your father. But I will deny with my final breath it was my intent he die. It was inconceivable a pony could kill the Kongen while Mountain Heart was in his hand. Nevertheless, I do not deny my responsibility. Strike if you will.”

The two trolls stayed silent, watching one another.

Comments

[More Dakka]

this should be good.

[World Theory]

There are many things going on at once. I cannot help but think that longer chapter length would help to give each part more time in the spot light. Or maybe that thinking is backwards, and giving each part more time in the spotlight would increase the chapter length. I'm sorry, I'm just a bit obsessed with nice long chapters, and I'm often giving people this advise. I'm maybe a bit paranoid of people misunderstanding what I say, among other things, so… What I meant is that the pacing of the story is good, but I'd rather see more of the story at a one time, than have less at a time, but more frequent chapter updates. I have no experience writing a story of any size larger than microscopic, so… *head-desk* I need to talk with people more.

---

I have to wonder, what might the reaction be if the Trollestia meme was mentioned. Considering trolls here are not very “troll-y”.

[Ardwolf]

2714678
Actually, I used to write the entire story before posting anything. That's why the first two Teelo stories completed so quickly. Now that I've gotten bitten by the "weekly posting" bug I find it changes my focus.

I've always tended to write short (around 3k words) chapters, but MLT2 for instance has a couple of 10k+ chapters in it.

You're right, there are a lot of plot threads running simultaneously, which would make longer chapters a bit confusing in my opinion. For example we have separate threads for Earth and Equestria, and in Equestria we have a thread following Teelo & co, another following Celestia/Discord/Chrysalis, yet another for Fjell/Sannheten, and finally one for Twilight and Professor Nimbus.

That's 5 threads, which I believe is the limit most readers can comfortably handle. Naturally some of these threads will coalesce but new ones will undoubtedly branch out.

However, many of my stories start with multiple threads that eventually collapse to one or two as the story reaches the end. At this point I'd say we're nearing the middle of MLT3.

[brony323]

Any chance we can get a translation for that curse by celestia

[Ardwolf]

9432890

The curse "Go ndéana an diabhal dréimire de cnámh do dhroma ag piocadh úll i ngairdín Ifrinn!” roughly translates (Gaelic doesn't use 1:1 correspondence with English grammar or vocabulary) to:

"May the Devil make a ladder of your backbone to pick an apple in Hell's garden!"

As you can imagine Celestia is not best pleased...

I just love Irish curses, they are so creative!