Dusk-Lit Waltz

by Nicknack

Chapter 1

As I looked down over the city of Griffalia, I grinned to myself. Other cities only wished they were as cool as we were.

My favorite place in the city to perch was near the base of our huge flagpole that jutted out the top of—get this—a mildly active volcano. When I was up there, the only thing that was higher than me was our giant, flying banner: two wide, downturned angles that crossed each other, forming something that kind of looked like a flattened “M.” Being up by the flag gave me an eagle’s-eye-view of the city, which was really the best way to view things.

What I actually sat on wasn’t the flagpole itself, but the top of a huge, thin stone spire that ran the entire vertical length of Griffalia—from the frigid top to the glowing magma pools below. All of our homes and shops and stuff were built into the inner walls of the volcano; for convenience, they were connected to each other through bridges that joined the spire at several places. The bridges themselves were pretty wide, but they were built with the understood rule of “don’t fall off unless you’ve got wings.” And speaking of our non-winged guests, we’d built a huge set of spiral stairs inside the spire, so even they could get around the city by walking.

However, the only way to get to our flag was to fly up there. Which, technically, there was a law or something about perching up there like I was, but no one was going to say anything to me. My dad was the griffin in charge of the city, which was the capital of the griffin nation.

That technically made me “Princess Gilda,” but ew, no. The only dweebs who called me that were the ones who didn’t know me very well. That was most griffins, really, but whatever. Being the king’s daughter meant you got a lot of posers who just wanted to flock around you, ask for a favor, then never show their face again. It was better to just stay up and away from that whole mess, and I was happy to do just that.

Cenric, my younger brother by a year, called me “broody.” He was pretty cool, for a know-it-all egghead, and “broody” was pretty close to how things were for me. My two favorite things were flying and being alone, in that order, and not a lot of griffins could keep up with me in a race.

That morning, however, I couldn’t fly or do anything too fun. My mom told me to not get dirty, since there was a huge, public ordeal that I had to sit and look pretty for. I didn’t usually make a habit of listening to her nitpicking, but since my birthday was also being thrown into the gathering, I didn’t want to give her a reason to flip out. Without flying, that meant I had to revert to my usual standby hobby of griffin-watching.

I watched all the Griffalians below me, hoping someone would do something funny, like start a fight, or even a shouting match. No one seemed to be in the mood for drama today, though; everyone was hustling and bustling to make preparations for that thing I had to show up for. This year, we were expecting international guests, which totally meant we had to work harder to impress them.

It was a hilarious notion. If they weren’t impressed by a stone-carved city set in the middle of a volcano, they’d probably need a dragon fight in order to be entertained.

Dragon wrestling, my new pet idea for the late morning, grew into a more and more vivid scene in my mind. It got to the point where I started wondering what would be the best way to bring that up to my dad. He probably wouldn’t go for it, since we had that whole “thousands of years of terrible, warring relations” thing going on between us. It was a shame, since we were losing out on some pretty prime entertainment right there.

My mental dragon fight—there was a big green guy fighting a yellow snaky one—was almost over when it got interrupted by the sound of loud, hollow drums from below. That signalled that it was now eleven o’clock, which made me remember how I was supposed to be in my family’s great hall over half an hour ago. That realization came out as an exasperated sigh of, “Well, shit.”

There wasn’t much I could do about being late now, other than to limit just how late I was. So, without further ado, I kicked off my perch and dove into Griffalia. I had to be careful; the bridges connecting the spire to the city buildings had been built for walking, not for diving past. They randomly criss-crossed the chasm between the volcano and the spire, and hitting one at top speed would be a recipe for Mashed Gilda. It didn’t really bother me as they all rushed past me and I twisted to avoid them. I’d done that same exact jump a hundred times, regardless of whether my mom thought telling me to stop would actually mean anything.

About fifteen seconds after I dove off the highest point of the city, I got to the bridge I needed to be on. I flared out my wings, flipped over, and hit the bridge with all four walking limbs. Three griffins around me jumped back in shock, including one mother who fell over the edge. That made me chuckle, but there wasn’t any time to rub it in.

As I darted away, someone behind me called out, “Watch it, punk!”

I shouted over my shoulder, “Princess coming through, asshole!” As soon as I said it, I smiled at what my mom would think if she’d heard that one; the smile went away as I rolled my eyes up. I could already hear her nagging about how I was late; that was really all I ever really heard from her. She wanted me to live one way, I wanted to live my way, and the tie went to me since it was my life. Not hers.

Once I passed through the arched doorway that led towards my family’s home, everything around me got cramped and dark. I could see, but now I was just in a hallway. It wasn’t like there was anything exciting to look at.

Several fast-paced yet still-boring twists and turns later, I reached the side entrance to my family’s home. I had to knock, too, which only slowed me down. One of the servants let me in, but he knew better than to give me any crap if he even knew I was running late.

However, now I was in my home, I had to keep walking in a slow, careful manner. There were some treasures in there that money couldn’t replace, and I didn’t want to add anything else to my mom’s long-winded lecture that I was already bracing myself to be bored through.

The quickest way to get to my family’s great hall was through the servant’s quarters, or at least their hallways. When I got to them, I kept at my easy pace so I could both catch my breath and avoid anyone carrying food. The first and last time I bolted through those halls, I knocked someone over and ended up stinking like chili-spiced shrimp cocktail for a week.

At the speed of walking, it felt like it took forever, but I finally got to the end of the servant’s hallway. There, I climbed into rotating elevator mechanism thing, sat down, tucked my tail in, pulled the lever, and corkscrewed upwards while wearing a mock-exhilarated grin.

After my wild ride, I emerged on the right-hand side of my family’s great hall. Just like the rest of Griffalia, my family’s home had been carved into the thick stone of our volcano. Unlike the rest of the city, the great hall was lined with incredibly shiny obsidian. The walls and floor were as smooth as glass, and the high, vaulted ceilings were inset with webs up of hundreds of tiny crystals. Dozens of light fixtures ran down the three spines of the ceiling; they were made with a special type of precious stone that always gave off a soft, steady light. Because every surface in the room was polished to a mirror-level shine, the entire place lit up in a way that wasn’t completely lame, unless some poet started going on and on about it forever.

The four tables that ran the length of the hall were already full of both griffins and... I blinked, because my eyes were still going funky from being outside so long. After a few seconds, I realized it wasn’t me, it was that all the ponies sitting in the back of the room were actually reflecting the light from the fixtures above—just like the crystals in the ceiling.

It was weird, but I’d have time to sort that out when I got to my little throne.

In the front of the room, there was a raised stage that had four stone chairs of varying height. From where I stood, the closest chair was mine, next to it was my brother’s, then my dad’s, and then my mom’s. With a grin, I noticed that my mom hadn’t noticed me come up the spinning elevator on the side of the room. Score one for the stealthy route, I mentally congratulated myself.

I had to keep up with it for it to be worth anything, so I slunk along the side of the wall. It wasn’t incredibly bright in our hall to begin with, but back in the servant’s area, it was a lot darker. Given that it was dark black where I was, a griffin would have to be looking for me to see me—unless they caught a glimpse of my head’s white feathers. The weird, glittery ponies definitely didn’t stand a chance.

Things were pretty narrow behind the stage, but it was tall, so I could fit, unseen, if I stood on my hind legs and spread my arms up. It was uncomfortable to shuffle through the gap like that, which made me glad that my chair was the closest one to where I was.

Using the reflections on the back wall, I found my chair and took a deep breath. Then, I jumped, grabbed the back of it, pulled myself up, and slid around my chair. The whole thing was a quick, fluid motion, and I ended up in something that could pass for a “regal” posture.

As I scanned the room to see if anyone had noticed me, I took note of the seating arrangements. Four tables lined the room from back to front; three were split across six houses of nobility. Then, on the rightmost table, there was the group of “very important griffins” from Griffalia who weren’t royalty but would get pissy if they weren’t invited. Finally, in the corner of the room farthest from me, a group of pony emissaries were seated. A quick glimpse at their manes told me that no one I wanted to talk to had shown up, but with a mental shrug, I figured that ship had set sail long ago.

I risked a glance over at my mom, who sat three thrones over on my right. She was glaring at me out of the corner of one eye, so I grinned sheepishly at her. Whether she wanted to take it as an apology was up to her; she couldn’t do anything in front of the whole room like we were.

From my near-right, my brother quietly commented, “You’re late.”

I rolled my eyes, but I straightened my head back to look out over the guests. It was the proper thing to do, as it were; when you sat in those uncomfortable, stone chairs, you were supposed to move as little as possible. Still, Cenric was being fussy over nothing, so I whispered, “Relax, dude, Dad’s not here yet.”

“I don’t think that’s your deadline for arrival...”

“Eh. Whatever.” My brother was cool enough, but he’d get naggy if I gave him that chance. Instead of doing that, I asked about our sparkly guests in the back of the room. “What’s with the ponies? They’re prettier than normal.”

He let out a soft breath of a chuckle. “They’re the emissaries from the Crystal Empire.”

“Okay... who are they?”

Without turning my head, I knew that Cenric was shaking his head slightly and with a sense of superiority. “You’re seventeen, going on eighteen...”

He liked to play up his smarts when we talked about political trivia; none of that affected me, so I didn’t have to care like he did. I rolled my eyes at his pompous prince act. “Ugh, are you gonna start singing again?”

That got him to shut up.

“Besides,” I continued, “you’re the one who gets to lead this joint one day. None of this affects me, so why should I care?”

“That’s a blissful sentiment...” He paused, so I knew he was shaking his head at me again.

I grinned out of the side of my mouth he couldn’t see; that was just how we were.

“But fine, then. Several centuries ago, the Crystal Empire seceded from Equestria under the banner of King Sombra. He’s here now, like you could miss him...”

I looked back and, sure enough, one of the shiny ponies stood out from the rest. He was a dark grey stallion with black hair, and even while sitting, he loomed over his escorts. His red cape with white trim was a few months too late—it was late March now—but what I noticed most about him were his eyes. They glowed bright green, and a strange, wispy vapor flowed off them like fog. My eyes shifted to his blood-red horn, then back to his eyes; I could tell he had his hooves on a great deal of magical power—then again, he was at least a few centuries old, like Cenric said.

It would’ve scared me, but there was a room full of griffins between us. So instead, I scoffed quietly. For someone who was apparently powerful, the guy was a complete show-off.

Cenric continued, “Rumor has it that they’ve recently began looking around for allies to strengthen their foothold in the political realm. Apparently, our father—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Apparently?” I turned my head to grin at my brother. “You mean there’s something politic-y that you don’t know?”

He shrugged. “Father’s been quiet on this matter, and it’s not my place to pry. I’m actually hoping that his speech today will clear things up.”

Since I was hitting on the edges of my brother’s political knowledge, there wasn’t much more I could get to know about the situation. I straightened myself out for a minute, trying to wait patiently. When that got old, I started drumming my talons on my armrest. As interesting as it was to wait for my dad to come talk about stuff I didn’t care about, I consoled myself in thinking I could at least look forward to the stuff after his hour-long speech.

First, there’d a huge feast, and I was hungry. Then, after the meal, in front of everyone, my dad would give me my birthday present. Last year, he’d given me a crystalline music box for holding jewelry—which, I never wore jewelry, since it didn’t stay on during high-speed flight.

But even if I’d been forced to keep a grateful face to my dad in front of the crowd, it at least meant that he cared, if he took the time to disappoint me in front of all six houses of griffins like that. It had to.

As I sat there, I wondered what he’d get me this year. How would would measure up to last year’s gift? Would I at least want it this year? A shrill, distant trumpeting snapped me out of my lame daydreams about a perfect gift. At the other end of the great hall, the doors opened and the royal Griffalia honor guard began filing in. The whole room stood up—turning around if they had to—so they could properly welcome the king.

My dad walked into the room, standing tall and proud even among griffins. He wasn’t wearing any jewelry, but since none of his sleek feathers stood out of place, he didn’t need to. His bright red sash swayed as he walked down the great hall’s main aisle; between the crown on his head and his bold, hard expression, there couldn’t have been any question of who he was or which kingdom he ruled.

When he reached the front of the room, he walked around to the side of our stage and climbed up the stairs. As he walked past, I knew better than to try and get his attention. He was acting the role as king; my mom barely even got a little nod from him as he walked up to the pedestal that was waiting for him. Once he got situated and his honor guard stood at attention at the base of the stage, my dad motioned for everyone to sit back down. After a brief, massive shuffle as everyone obeyed, one voice—the voice—rang out in his great hall:

“Friends and allies, welcome to Griffalia!”

During the round of applause that broke out to accept his generous offer, I remembered my travels into lands outside Griffalia. I’d endured several speakers, most of whom used magically crafted tools to raise the volume of their voice. Having grown up with my dad, it had seemed weird to me; when he wanted to be heard, it wasn’t a matter of if you listened. Even in a room as big as the one we were in now, his voice bounced off the walls and up to the ceilings; you’d have to be deaf not to hear him.

Or bored. Like every other year, I tried—I really did—to keep track of everything he talked about. Like every other year, he quickly lost me when he started talking about boring crap in the past like “national history” and words like “armistice.” I just tried to sit there and look regal; however, even that conscious effort drifted out of the room and up towards places I’d rather be…

My dad came to a pause in his speech, which jolted me back to attention. A quick glance to my right showed that my mom wasn’t glaring at me, so I must not’ve twitched awake. That was a good thing. Even better, the shock clued me back into my dad’s speech, so I caught his next speaking point:

“As you have all surely seen by now, this year, we are graced with visitors from the Crystal Empire.” My dad gestured over to the shiny ponies, and murmurs broke out in the griffin portion of the crowd again.

What struck me as odd was how, when I glanced over at the foreign, glowy king, his creepy eyes was staring directly back at me. Directly. He had to be. I turned away because it wasn’t polite to stare, not because it was weird.

I caught more bits and pieces from my dad’s speech as he spoke about furthering relations outside our borders, and how the fear of tradition shouldn’t stand in the way of progress. However, my mind was stuck on those creepy green eyes, pointed right at me. Whether it was some sort of magic he was casting or if it were just his usual demeanor, it made me shift in my seat a little.

I blinked, hard, and tried to put my stupid fears away. So what if we had some new guests, and they were a little weird? That wasn’t new for foreigners. And we were here, in Griffalia, my home city. Mine. If it came down to a fight, my dad’s honor guard had been bred for combat and taught to fight since before they could fly. That wasn’t counting my brother, or of course, my dad. King or no, he wouldn’t let anything bad happen to me.

There, on my stone chair, in my family’s great hall, I probably sat in one of the safest places the world had to offer. But I was still weirded out by those glowing green eyes. Not afraid; that would be dumb. Still, something tugged at the corner of my mind while simultaneously causing a shiver to bristle down the back of my neck.

I took a quick glance at Cenric, but his blank stare of loathing into the back of our dad’s head only made matters worse. That didn’t make sense; my brother wasn’t the type of prince to do the whole “forcibly inherit the kingdom” gig. He respected my dad, so why was he so pissed off?

My attention snapped back to my dad’s speech when I heard him mention “family ties.” That was possibly relevant to me. He continued: “And on that note, I would like to bring up something of a tradition for me. Or at least, how every year during this holiday, I always take a small amount of time to celebrate another annual occurrence.”

I sat up a little taller, in case anyone was watching.

“While I usually wait until after our feast, I am not remiss in taking a little time to explain how this year, my daughter’s birthday is a special occasion for all of us.”

There was a certain art to keeping up appearances while showing interest, and since my dad was talking about me, I didn’t think it was too far-fetched for me to raise an eyebrow. On the inside, I was beaming. I mean, if he were making this big deal out of things, it had to be something cool.

“This year, Gilda has entered the ranks of adulthood, and as such, she is finally able to accept some royal responsibilities for herself, her family, and her country.”

That deflated me a little; I didn’t like the sound of that at all. The extent of my royalty was how I was born into it; I didn’t want to have much more to do with it. “Royal responsibilities” sounded like they’d end up being a lame waste of my free time.

As off-putting as that all was, it took second place to the weird feeling I got when my dad turned to smile at me. Like, he was usually cool to me and stuff, but he didn’t usually smile at anyone, let alone me. Maybe a warm grin or something, back when I was little. But this...

This was definitely the first time he looked at me as if he were proud.

I gave his smile back as best I could, but it tasted like I were covering my own uneasiness. Or maybe that was bile.

He turned back to the crowd. “So, on this most venerable of our holidays, with all of Griffindom as witness, I am pleased to announce the dawn of a new era of peace between two great empires: my daughter’s betrothal to the leader of the Crystal Empire—King Sombra!”

I heard the words, but they didn’t make any sense.

Applause and cheers broke out from the rest of the room—including the crystal ponies in the back. Everyone took the announcement well, like it was something to celebrate.

To me, the applause was muted and distant, like... like everyone was far away from me. And they were happy for some reason.

I just sat there, stunned.

I mean... It was some sort of a joke, a prank... right? I mean, it had to be. I looked around for some answers. My mom wasn’t looking at me, but whatever, she wouldn’t have any answers anyway. My dad kept speaking, but damned if I could make out a word he was saying—I felt lightheaded and sick, like I wasn’t getting enough air.

Everyone was staring at me, which I tried to shut out. Then, the whole room started spinning slightly. I tried to keep it together. It would’ve been bad, I realized, to throw up, or to follow my instinct and fly out of the room, screaming, at top speed.

But what did my dad just announce to everyone?

Me?

Betrothal?

As in, forced marriage? To some prick I’d never even met?

It didn’t make any sense.

I jerked away from a hand on my elbow, barely noting the sharp tearing as talons raked my arm. Looking over, Cenric wore a resolute frown. His gaze softened, and I realized he wasn’t mad at me. That just made the situation worse. Like, now it was real.

The realer it got, the harder it was for me to stay calm. I settled for trying to appear not-freaked-out. My arm was bleeding, I knew, but I didn’t care. I had bigger problems than more cleaning work for the servants later.

Married. Forced to. That... that wasn’t the sort of thing that just happened in our society. It had be some mistake. I mean, my dad didn’t even ask me, or tell me about it, or anything. So it was a mistake. That had to be it.

I’d wait until after the feast, then I’d get my dad alone and ask him what was really going on. Then, it’d all be cleared up. I mean, it had to be a mistake.

My dad loved me. He wouldn’t just up and sell me out to someone like that.

Right?

Comments

[AnnLies]

Why in the world are there nocomments here?

Regardless, I really like your description of the capital city. It seems like just the place Gilda would grow up, plenty of space to push people (ahem, griffons I mean) around in. The writing is solid, if a bit to-the-point, but I guess it is by Gilda so that is to be expected. I kinda wish we would have started with something a bit more personal, maybe showing more of this city we are about to leave and Gilda'a place in it. I haven't read the next chapter yet, but I feel like there isn't much reason for me to sympathize with Gilda. Don't take me too seriously, it's an excellent piece of work. Then there is always the fact to consider that

Ann lies.

[Dragon Blaze-X]

2519856 dito

[Evil Paladin]

I like how quickly Gilda goes from tough and untouchable to vulnerable and scared from the announcement.
Very realistic.

[toastman]

Just when I thought every ship had been done before...

[Mossy Pages]

She was 16, going on 17.. Baby, she’s not naive... Angry, and royal, stuck up, and spoiled, what will this story’s end be?

My (bad) attempt at a parody because of a reference, yay!