> Unread Letters From a Friend at the End of the World
>  by alexmagnet
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> 1 — The Warden
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Trixie saw nothing but Astrid's terrified face, heard nothing but her last gasps of breath. In the periphery of her vision, in some foggy corner of her mind where her thoughts were not consumed by her friends, Trixie knew where she was heading. As the guards had said when they came to take her away, she was being led to the spire that pierced the sky. The Warden was waiting for her somewhere inside it, waiting to question her about something she likely had no interest in talking about. Though she was not shackled, she felt the weight of thick chains dragging deep ruts into the ground behind her. It slowed her down, made every step tortuous. But even if she could throw off the chains, slip out of her manacles, she couldn’t run away. Where would she run to anyway?

To her friends, obviously... or so she thought at first. The more Trixie considered returning to that death-filled room, the more she came to realize that she didn't want to be there. She wanted to comfort Polaris, tell him that everything would be all right, but the less idealistic side of her knew that wasn’t what she would do. What would even be the point of lying to him? No, if she were still in that room, she would be staring in silence, just like she had been before the guards showed up. She would try to say something, probably something like, "It's not your fault," or ,"There was nothing you could do," but the words would get caught in her throat, choking her, suffocating her until she fell back into silence. In a way that she hated to admit to herself, Trixie was glad the guards came when they did.

With her head hanging low, Trixie watched the ground pass endlessly beneath her. She'd faced drakes, seaponies, and windigoes; she’d nearly drowned to death, froze to death, and fallen to her death, and never once was she as afraid as she was now. The thought of dying never frightened her, at least not enough to deter her, but now that she was forced to face someone else's death, Trixie found herself pitifully frightened. She was disgusted at her own fear and cowardice, but she knew there was no way she could face Polaris the same way again. What would she say to him? 

Trixie’s hoof hit a little mound of snow, causing the crystalline flakes of pure white to flutter upwards. For a brief moment, it looked like the world before her had been cast in a divine light, and sprinkled with cosmic dust... then a gust of wind passed and swept the sparkling dust away, leaving Trixie staring at something far less beautiful. The spire reached up into the sky, seeming to grasp at something just out of its reach, and then in anger turn into a sharp point which stabbed the pale blue sky. At least, that's what it appeared to do from Trixie’s perspective. Every so often, little sections of the tower would change slightly. Different material, different style, it was like it had been built in short bursts over a long period of time. Perhaps, Trixie guessed, it might even still be being built somewhere up beyond what she could see.

The snow crunching beneath her hooves, Trixie crossed the sparse courtyard where a handful of benches had been laid out in a circle around what looked like a pulpit, and passed the line of sturdy-looking pine trees that flanked the cobblestone path to the front entrance. A pair of guards standing on either side of the ornately-decorated double doors snapped to attention as she and her accompanying guards approached. 

The one on the left, his cold face barely visible beneath his helm, stared straight forward as he said, "Captain."

A silent nod from the guard on Trixie’s right and soon the stallion by the entryway was pushing open the heavy door until it swung inside with a dull thud. No one else said a word as they crossed the threshold into the tower's base. A rush of cold air hit Trixie’s back. She turned her head to see the door being closed behind her. With a second, yet more dull thud, she found herself with no way out, not that she'd really had one before. 

Trixie had expected that, being inside, the tower would be significantly warmer than the rather biting cold that filled the town. In fact, it was just as cold inside, and perhaps actually colder. No hearth greeted them, and no torches lit the solitary hallway they walked down. Narrow windows appeared at regular intervals, providing what little light there was, but the braziers Trixie did see were bereft of any light. They passed by a series of unmarked rooms, all of which had their doors closed. The tower looked massive from the outside, but inside it was small and cramped. 

Shuffling quietly through the halls, Trixie noted that they had to walk in a single-file line, and that, at most, two ponies could walk abreast in the hallway. Easy to defend, perhaps, but there was so much wasted space. They walked past many empty rooms. She couldn't reasonably guess what the tower’s true purpose was. It all seemed so superfluous.

Trixie barely had time to ponder this thought before she was being shoved into a narrow stairwell that spiralled upwards around the outer edge of the tower. Here, larger windows illuminated the staircase, and allowed Trixie an increasingly privileged look at Frostvale, the higher they climbed. Passing one window, Trixie saw what looked like the market square where hundreds of ponies had already gathered to sell their wares. Another window and she saw a line of large buildings built into the side of the mountain that anchored Frostvale's northern border. The way the buildings were tiered suggested to Trixie that they were homes, likely for the more wealthy citizens. And, in fact, her guess was soon proven right as she reached the next window which showed Frostvale's slums. Squat homes were all smashed together with no regard for any regularity, almost like a pony simply built their home wherever there was room. Trixie watched a couple of foals race out of a dilapidated house and into the pile of snow on the opposite side of the road. They had just started hurling snowballs at one another when Trixie’s gaze was broken. 

With another turn, Trixie felt her breath leave her lungs. Out of the window she saw the whole valley laid out before her. The mountain she and her friends had come out of sat ominously to the west of a thin river which ran right up to the city walls, and probably inside too, Trixie guessed. It was very likely that the river flowed down from the mountains which made up Frostvale's northern wall, which would also explain why there was such a large city so far north. The gates of the city were closed, and the snow-covered road which Trixie had walked very recently was being patrolled by a contingent of black specks, likely guards, their black cloaks making them rather conspicuous against the harsh white of the snow. As she tried to look down, Trixie felt herself being pushed forward by the guard behind her. She stumbled a little, but stayed on her hooves.

The next window brought her back to the market, but a little higher up this time, and for the next few rotations, she simply circled higher. "Are we going all the way to the top?" Trixie asked.

The guard in front gave a gruff chuckle, and the one behind simply said, "No."

Trixie thought better than to ask how high they were going, and in fact that question was soon answered as they came to a landing. A door, flanked by lit braziers, stood resolutely. The guards stopped, and the one in front held up his hoof, rapping it against the door firmly. A few muffled words came from behind the door, and a second later it swung open, revealing a well-dressed stallion with a neatly-trimmed mane and a tabletop lectern floating in front of him. He glanced once at Trixie, then waved her inside, shutting the door behind her as she entered, leaving the guards standing outside. 

Immediately Trixie felt warmer, like she'd just walked into a summer day in the middle of winter. The crackling fireplace to her left answered her unasked question. Surrounding the fireplace were a couple of chairs and a small table with books piled on top. The walls were lined with shelves, and it soon became clear that the room was positively stuffed with books. It wasn’t exactly what Trixie had been expecting. The room felt… almost comforting. It was warm, and inviting. She felt like picking up a book and sitting down in one of the chairs by the hearth, but she never got the chance. 

“So, then,” said a deep voice from the far end of the room, “you must be Trixie.” 

Slowly, Trixie’s gaze shifted from the flame-licked logs to the back of the room where she saw a high-backed chair and a swarthy stallion seated in it. He sat with his back to two large stained glass windows, and one clear one in the middle. Fractured light from the colored windows cast his face in shadow. The desk before him was monstrous, carved from one single piece of wood, and likely weighing hundreds of pounds. It was covered in ink spots and wax drippings from the various inkwells and candles that littered it. His chair scraped against the ground loudly as he pushed away from the desk and slowly stood up. 

At his full height, the stallion, whom Trixie assumed was The Warden, was taller than her by at least two heads, and his thickset shoulders made him look all the larger. A small silver circlet, with a fat sapphire stuck in a swirling center, rested on his head. His swept back mane was long and flowing, darker than the night sky and as thick as braided rope. Dragging behind him as he approached Trixie was a black fur cape, big enough to be from a bear, and not a small one at that. His round chest heaved, his russet brown coat shimmering in the firelight.

He stopped just a few feet away from Trixie, dark blue eyes glinting in the light. Gesturing to a small table by his side, he said, "It's a rather cold morning outside. Have some tea to warm yourself."

Trixie didn't respond right away. His voice had a certain roughness to it, though she didn't think it unkind. She glanced at the tea tray that rested upon the table's spindly legs. "I... I'm fine," she said after a bit of hesitation. 

Baring his teeth as his lips split into a smile, the Warden growled, "I insist."

Trixie glanced behind her at the tall stallion who’d been standing there silently, then nodded slowly. Her horn glowed dimly as she lifted the teapot and set aside a cup and saucer. Pouring the steaming tea into the cup, she took the opportunity to ask, "What do you want from me?" Trixie noted that he glanced over to the other stallion before responding.

Turning slightly, the Warden lifted a hoof and pointed out the large window. "Do you see those mountains?"

Trixie followed his hoof. It led right to the mountains she'd escaped from only a short time ago. Holding the teacup just below her lips, Trixie took a discrete sniff. Mint, she determined, was the primary flavor. Taking a sip, she nodded cautiously. "Yes."

"Do you know what manner of beast resides within its tunnels?"

Trixie hesitated a moment. She lowered the teacup. "...Yes."

The Warden lowered his hoof, a small smile appearing on his face. Walking over to the tea table, he poured out a cup for himself, then offered it to the other stallion with a raised eyebrow. From behind Trixie, the tall and lanky stallion bowed his head ever so slightly. His horn lighting up, he received the offered teacup and took a gentle sip. He bowed his head slightly in thanks.

Turning back to Trixie, the Warden took another sip of tea. His gaze drifted to the fire. The flames danced in the reflection of his eyes as he said, "You asked me before what I wanted from you." He turned his head towards Trixie. "What I want is simple. It will require nothing from you save information." Smiling, he said, "You can provide that, right?"

Trixie glanced over her shoulder at the third pony. He said nothing, but grinned kindly. Slowly turning back to the Warden, Trixie said, "What kind of information?" 

His teeth glinted in the light. The Warden gave a wolfish grin, taking another sip of tea. He set the cup down on the table and made his way towards the window. Staring out it, he spoke loudly so that Trixie could hear, though it wouldn't have been hard for her anyway given the size of the room and the gravitas of his voice. "There's no need to be coy. I know you were in the drake's tunnels, in their home. You've been where no pony from this town has ever dared go. In the den of our enemy..." He paused, casting a glance over his shoulder.

Trixie watched him. She remained quiet, her lips still, and the only movement the rising of her chest as she breathed. 

"We're at war, young lady. It may not look like it, but there can be no doubt about our place in this valley." The Warden placed a hoof on the window. Silence fell for a few moments, then he spoke again. "Do you know what those... monsters have done to this city?" He spat the word out like poison. "What they did to... to..." A low growl escaped his lips. “I know that a friend of yours also suffered because of the drakes. You owe it to her to give me all the information you have.” 

Trixie’s teeth clenched. The teacup trembled in her magic, splashing tea onto the ground. “I owe it to her…” she said in an equally low growl. “I owe it.” Trixie’s eyes snapped up to the Warden. “Astrid died right in front of me! She died because I couldn’t do anything! Then, just when my friends needed me most, you came and took me away. You dragged me here to question me about drakes, but all I want to know is why she had to die…” Trixie’s voice fell to almost a whisper. It trembled. “Why should I care about the drakes when you won’t even let me care about my friend?”

The Warden remained unfazed. "They are our enemy," he said simply, in a quiet voice that rumbled across the room. Taking a deep breath, the Warden visibly calmed, his shoulders relaxing and his hoof moving back to the ground. He turned around. "All I want is for you to tell me what you saw while you were in their city. And I want to know how many of them there were. That should be simple enough, right?" His face returned to the same wolfish smile he'd had before.

Trixie said nothing at first. She looked down at her teacup, swirling what was left of its contents. She took a long, slow breath, calming her racing heart. She carefully considered her response. "I'm sorry. I can't remember what happened very well. It was so dark, and they carried us from room to room with bags over our heads." She glanced up at the Warden, the hints of a sneer tugging at the corners of her mouth. "I wish I could be of more help."

The Warden's lips, once upturned, curled downwards into a scowl. His eyes narrowed into sharp points. "Don't lie to me," he growled. "I know you met with their queen in private. You spoke with Tiamat alone, something that no other pony can claim to have done and lived to tell about it. I know you know something. Just tell me what their city is like, what they are like. That's all I want to know. It's simple."

Trixie gave the Warden a stony-faced glare. “If you know all that, then you also know that Corona wasn’t with me all the time, so he doesn’t know what happened.” 

“I never said anything about Corona,” said the Warden, his eyes narrowing. 

Trixie gave a sharp laugh. “You didn’t need to. He’s the only one you could’ve spoken to, and he doesn’t know what happened to me. They took me away in private, yes, but I never met any queen... Tiamat, or whatever. The only drakes I saw were the three that kept my friends and I prisoner." 

The Warden's gaze narrowed further, his scowl deepening. "Just three? That's all you saw? Corona spoke of at least a dozen. Is he lying... or are you?"

Trixie kept her face straight. "When we were first captured, he hit his head while we fell from the bridge. I don't think he remembers what happened after that very well. I promise you that I only saw the three drakes that kept me prisoner. They talked like there was a lot more, but I couldn't say how many."

The Warden swung his cape around, storming past the desk. He knocked over the end table that the tea pot sat on, sending it crashing to the ground. Ignoring the shattered pot, he drew upon Trixie, rising to his full height. Staring down at her, he opened his mouth in a snarl, but before he could say anything, the pony behind Trixie cleared his throat.

"Vidar..."

The Warden froze, his cold eyes still fixated on Trixie. He stared at her for a long time, then eventually backed off. Adjusting the clasp of his cloak, he turned away. "If that's all you know, then that's all you know." He returned to his desk, taking a seat in the high-backed chair. Steepling his hooves on the desk, he said, "You may go."

Setting the tea cup down on a nearby table, Trixie wasted no time in making an about face and heading for the door. As her horn began to glow, and the door creaked open a hair, she heard the sound she knew in the back of her mind was coming.

"Wait..." said the Warden. "Just one moment more."

Her heart was beating hard. Trixie swallowed the lump in her throat, staring at the carved wooden door's many contours, trying to decide which face to put on when she turned around. Trixie turned just her head back towards the Warden. Her face was flat, and did not betray her emotions. Her eyes thin, amethyst points. She said nothing. The Warden, from his desk, slowly lifted his head to look at her while the other pony’s gaze shifted from one end of the room to the other.

"You may go," repeated the Warden, "but this is not the last you will see of me, Trixie." He reached for a scrap of parchment from the inside of his desk. Extracting a quill from the inkwell that rested at the corner near the candle, he tapped it once against the side of the glass container. "As I told you before... we are at war here, though the city does not know it yet. The threat of the drakes’ presence is ever-looming, and it is only a matter of time before the first sword is drawn, and the first blow struck. With your help, Trixie, that sword could be ours, and the blow could be lethal." Staring at her for a moment, he said, "We will speak again," then he began scribbling something on the parchment.

Trixie turned back around. The sound of his quill against the parchment was all that filled Trixie’s ears as she opened the door and stepped back into the hall. She was immediately greeted by the same two guards who had escorted her to the spire in the first place. They said nothing, merely nodding down the same stairs she'd climbed so recently. Taking her first step down, Trixie’s ear twitched at the sound of a crow cawing dolefully from its perch on the window ledge. She glanced out the window and saw the great northern gate standing ominously. It gave her an uneasy feeling in her stomach. She’d tried not to show it in the room, but her heart was pounding against her chest. A chill ran down her spine, filling her stomach with dread, as she realized that now she’d have to go back to the hospital room.





Watching the door close, the tall, thin pony watched as the Warden continued to write. After a minute or so, The Warden stopped and looked up. His ears flicked a couple times, then he said, "I can practically hear the gears turning in that mind of yours, Starkad. So, tell me, what do you think of her?"

A small smile played across Starkad's lips. His horn lit up with a brilliant gold as he picked up the broken pieces of the teapot, quickly reassembling them into the correct shape. Using his magic further, he pulled the liquid from the rug at the hearth and dumped it into an empty cup. Once he'd finished this, he set the tray and the cups aside. "She's lying, that much is obvious."

The Warden huffed, quickly scribbling down another thing before saying, "Yes, even I managed to discern that. I can't guess why though. What purpose does it serve?"

Starkad chuckled quietly to himself. With a sly smile, he glanced at The Warden. "Well, now you've touched on it, haven't you, Vidar? The lie itself is inconsequential. Of much greater import is the reasoning behind the lie. Why, indeed, would she withhold information about the drakes? Whom does it benefit? Her? The drakes? Perhaps a third party?" Starkad strode across the room towards one of the many bookshelves lining the walls. Scanning the shelves, he said, "What was it again? 'The first way to lie artistically is to tell the truth—but not all of it. The second way involves telling the truth, too, but is harder: Tell the exact truth and maybe all of it… but tell it so unconvincingly that your listener is sure you are lying'?"

The Warden looked up from his writing to see Starkad smiling disarmingly at him. He shook his head. "You always did have a quote from some book for every occasion. One of these days you're going to be at a loss for words, no one to quote. What then, hm?"

Starkad grinned. "I suppose I'll have to think for myself then, won't I?"

The Warden grumbled something under his breath. "So, are you saying that she's not lying, but merely trying to fool us into thinking she is?"

Adjusting the tightness of his collar, Starkad shook his head. "No. As I said before, she is clearly lying, though there is undoubtedly some truth to what she said."

"And how does one uncover the truth buried within the lies?"

A wide grin snuck its way onto Starkad's face, curling his thin lips upwards. "Ah, now that is the question, isn't it?"

The Warden's brow furrowed. He pursed his lips, looking down at the parchment. "Hm, perhaps it would be easier to simply imprison her until she becomes more cooperative. It would be a simple matter of--"

"No!" Starkad's hoof shot out. He paused, collecting himself and clearing his throat. "No, sir. That would not be wise. One can never trust information gathered while the one providing the information is under duress. It is unreliable at best, and utterly false at worst."

"Another quote?"

"Personal experience."

"I see..." The Warden nodded, as if agreeing with something, then said, "Then I will continue with my original plan. Here." Rolling the parchment up, he took the seal of his office and stamped a freshly poured pool of wax into place. "Take this to Knight-Commander Bulwark at the southern gate."

Starkad raised an eyebrow. "What is it?"

Standing up, The Warden lumbered across the room, slapping the paper into Starkad's chest. "Orders to close the city gates. Both entrances, and limit access to and from the city to patrols and hunting parties only."

"Vidar..."

The Warden's face darkened. "This is just the first step in an elaborate dance. Our hooves have only just stepped upon the ballroom floor."

Starkad looked at the parchment, then back to the Warden. "And keeping her locked within the city is just an added benefit?"

"The first casualty, perhaps."

The Warden turned away, walking back to his desk, and leaving Starkad to himself for a moment. After a brief pause, he eventually nodded quietly, then headed for the door. Letting it shut quietly behind him as he exited, Starkad glanced back at the door before trotting down the stairs. He looked once more at the parchment in his hooves. The Knight-Commander could wait. There was something else to attend to first.