Prologue: Into Equestria

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The early morning sun that rose over Minas Tirith illuminated the great city, its white stone glinting with the reflection of pure sunlight. At this hour the City of Kings had not yet awoken, for aside from the patrolling guardsmen and early-risen citizens, the rest of the populace still remained beneath the spell of slumber. This ease was not without cause; with the War of the Ring won the Free Peoples found the danger of the land lifted, at least for now, and were more than prepared to enjoy the fruits of the times of peace that would soon come. However not all were at ease, for many still had work to do.

The old wizard that stood atop Minas Tirith was one such individual. There he rested before the Citadel of Minas Tirith in the presence of the White Tree, his smoking-pipe in one hand and his staff in the other. Outwardly he appeared composed, though it would be obvious to any who glanced at him that there were many thoughts on his mind; his brow was furrowed gently in a manner not unlike that of someone in the middle of recalling a distant memory, and his mouth was bent in a slight frown. Indeed, the wizard was deep in thought, but not in thoughts of times gone by, for instead the wizard was planning that which lay ahead in his path.

Sauron had been banished from Middle-Earth; his minions routed. Gandalf had succeeded in his mission to aid assisting those who rose their banners against the Dark Lord, and for once in his ancient life he relished in the victory. Humble as he was, watching the lands and peoples thrive in the new age gave him joy and pride, and yet unlike others that saw the end of this war Gandalf did not feel a true sense of closure. He had unfinished business to attend to; not here in Middle-Earth but in another land, and on his mind were many thoughts of that business as he raised his pipe to his mouth.

The rich aroma of the pipe-weed and its invigorating smoke cleared away some of his cluttered thoughts. With a sigh he puffed, and the vapor took the form of a sailing galleon on a short journey through the air. The wizard chuckled at the sight for he remembered performing the same trick many a time in the years past, long before he had even become acquainted with the likes of the Fellowship or Thorin and Company; how long ago all that seemed! To him it felt as if centuries had passed with all these changes to the world, though not nearly as much time had passed as that.

He eyed the burning tobacco that sat in his pipe as realization dawned upon him again. The War of the Ring was over, and it would not be long before he sailed west to depart Middle-Earth alongside others who would accompany him. A year had passed since the war’s end, and his time in Middle-Earth was waning. He had a very important task to complete in another place; a promise to keep. It was time to make haste.

From behind him sounded steps on soft grass. Slowly he turned to see Faramir, the former Captain of the Gondorian Rangers and a trusted advisor to the King. This trust was well-earned; after all the former Captain had done no small job of maintaining a strong front against Mordor's forces, while his foolish Steward of a father, Denethor had succumbed to blind panic and madness. There was indeed a difference between father and son was great.

"There is something troubling you, is there not?” asked Faramir.

With a wry smile Gandalf replied: “I would not go so far as to say ‘troubling’, but there may indeed be certain causes for concern, yes.”

“Is there another danger? Even now, after the Dark Lord has been vanquished?” asked Faramir.

“No; there is no danger. The causes for concern I refer to are of my affairs only,” said Gandalf, and in an instant Faramir was calm again.

“I see,” Faramir replied, and after a brief pause he continued. “Mithrandir, more than once you have swiftly come to shield myself and my people from those that would do us great harm. Is there any sort of aid that I can provide to you?"

“No. I do not believe so, though I thank you for the offer all the same. All that is required of me is a visit to a few old friends of mine.”

“Only a visit to friends?” Faramir asked with a note of curiosity in his voice, finding it a bit strange that the Wizard would need to contemplate the circumstances of such an uncomplicated task, and also wondering who the aforementioned friends were. Other wizards? Elves older than the city they stood in? Faramir found himself venturing many guesses already.

With a chuckle the wizard said: “Why, yes. Though reaching them is a convoluted matter in itself." He turned from Faramir to stare out towards the fields before the city, surveying them with a small frown, and Faramir followed his eyes; though it had long since passed remnants of the Battle of the Pelennor Fields remained scattered across the soil, marring the view of the lands. “In any case I must leave Minas Tirith soon.”

“Where will you be heading?” asked Faramir.

Gandalf's glanced at the high sun, and he answered: “A place called Equestria." Then his mind's eye were focused upon a different time and place, where the sun and moon took each other's places within moments at the borders of day and night.

“Equestria? I do not know a place with that name,” Gandalf heard Faramir say.

Unsurprisingly, thought Gandalf, and his mind turned to preparations; Shadowfax’s speed was a great boon, as was the lembas bread. He would only need a bit of the nutritious Elven waybread, he thought, and thankfully he was at no shortage of it. Perhaps he would bring all of it in case it came to be of use. Regardless, he knew that the journey would not be a very difficult one.

“Mithrandir?” Faramir asked again, splitting his thoughts.

“Yes? Pardon me. I am simply considering some circumstances," said Gandalf.

“What is this Equestria that you speak of?” asked Faramir, who by now found the disproportion between the number of his questions and the number of answers gained uncomfortable.

“Home to the friends I mentioned," said Gandalf.

"Then who are these friends, and where is Equestria?" asked Faramir, who found the wizard's vague replies unfit.

“Unfortunately I must leave most of your questions unanswered," the wizard replied. "For I made a promise that I intend not to break."

Despite the swarm of concerns within Faramir's mind he merely nodded, knowing that pursuing the matter would be fruitless now.

Gandalf laid a hand upon the armored shoulder of Faramir and said: “Look to the future,” and then the wizard turned to leave.

“How soon are you leaving?” asked Faramir as he followed behind.

“I am taking my leave to prepare, and hopefully depart within the hour,” Gandalf replied, as he slowed his pace so that Faramir could walk at his side.

“So soon? But the sun has just begun to rise!” exclaimed Faramir, astonished at the news.

“The earlier I depart, the fewer questions asked,” was Gandalf’s reply. They passed the White Tree and descended the stairs to the level beneath them. Gandalf’s staff sent echoes through the stone city as it clipped and clopped against the floor. “Men are curious beings, after all. It is their nature.” The wizard and the soldier were hailed by a group of guards, and they responded in kind.

Faramir nodded. “I see. But why is such secrecy required?” he said as they descended a long stair. “It seems that you wish to keep even the fact that you are on an errand a secret.”

Gandalf’s brow furrowed. “A wizard’s errands are never simple, Faramir. But yes, I am treating this matter with discretion, and…” he glanced around in a search for eavesdroppers, and seeing none he continued in a low whisper. “…it would be much appreciated if you would kindly keep all that I have revealed to yourself.”

“I shall,” answered Faramir with a nod.

“I thank you,” Gandalf said, gratified. He gazed up at the sky; the sun was at a steady rise, and he knew he would have to hasten. His walk quickened as he addressed his companion. “I am off to my quarters. I will ready my supplies there.”

“I will take my leave, then," said Faramir. "I will await you at the Main Gate.”

“No,” Gandalf said firmly. “The appearance of the Steward there alongside a Wizard would no doubt attract more attention than my presence alone will.” He faced Faramir with his staff firmly gripped in his hand. “Let us bid each other farewell here.”

The former Ranger bowed at the feet of the White Rider, and then rose and said: “Be safe, Mithrandir, wherever you travel.”

Gandalf bowed in turn. “Keep Gondor safe, Faramir. I shall return,” he said, and just before he turned to go he added: “And if anyone asks, tell them I am paying a visit to Tom Bombadil."

Faramir blinked. So many questions! “Who is Tom?” he asked. But Gandalf either did not hear him or simply ignored him, for he turned heel and walked away without another word.

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The marble room that housed him was illuminated by the new sunlight, and he stood now before a table upon which were placed the small assortment of goods which he had decided were ample supplies for his journey; six large loaves of lembas bread; his pipe; his cloak; and a few packets of different pipe-weeds. He stroked his beard as he considered his options.

Would he bring more lembas, or Old Toby? He wondered as he reached into a small cupboard nearby and produced a tiny brown bag of the fragrant tobacco. He slowly lifted it upwards before deciding against bringing it. Now he wished that the Fellowship had remained by him; the Hobbits had returned to the Shire; Legolas and Gimli had ventured off to parts unknown, though he had heard talk of them traveling to Helm’s Deep; and Aragorn was now King Elessar of Gondor. Then Gandalf berated himself inwardly for very nearly neglecting the memory of Boromir and the warrior's sacrifice, which he had heard tell of from Aragorn; the tale of the Son of Gondor who had fallen with many arrows in him and many slain orcs at his feet would never be gone.

He wished he were able to give them all a farewell before he left this land, and perhaps they would even be able to aid him in deciding what was necessary and what was not on a journey. At least some of them would be able, he corrected; he remembered the foolish arguments that the hobbits four would have when they were unable to agree on how much bread or mushrooms or bacon that should be brought. After a few more moments of deliberation, Gandalf grabbed a small knapsack and tossed the elf-bread in, while keeping the pipe and tobacco within his cloak.

The wizard then donned his white mantle and then slung the knapsack over his back,and then he walked over to a short wooden cupboard that lay against the wall and opened it. Two small long boxes of oak lay within, which he retrieved and placed within his knapsack. He smiled warmly as he reviewed the contents of each container in his mind, and he knew they would be quite appreciated.

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The wind whipped around the White Rider and his steed as they rode. The journey was just as fast as he had predicted, for he had made this three-day journey once alongside Pippin; but that had been during a troubled time that had come to a close. The horse and his rider stopped very little, only taking the occasional rest over the course of days that they rode. At this moment, they passed through the border between Gondor and Rohan. Gandalf saw the familiar outline of Edoras in the distance.

The people of Rohan were the Rohirrim, and they were known throughout the land as famed horse masters and breeders, and their fighters were horsemen who had turned the tide more than once upon Sauron's dark forces during the long War. Here, horses were revered to such an extent that they represented the very soul of the Rohirrim; their blades bore equine icons, as did their banners, and the engravings upon their crafts. At Gandalf’s urging, Shadowfax then slowed to a stop atop a hill, where the wizard proceeded to survey the surrounding lands. The noon sun hung high over Middle-Earth, and light was cast across the entire land. Gandalf saw far, and spotted the great forest that lay north of Edoras; Fangorn.

It was near. In the distance, Gandalf watched a detachment of Rohan’s cavalry ride out from Edoras’ gates and into the plains, and in the sunlight their armor and weapons gleamed as they sat proudly astride their horses. Gandalf felt the earth quake slightly beneath his feet as they galloped powerfully into the green lands around.

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Though Fangorn Forest was feared by much of Middle-Earth, Gandalf never found it to be intimidating in the slightest, largely due to the fact that he was older than the entire forest itself, and had known it when it was but a single tree. He stood at the edge of the woods with Shadowfax beside him. The Dark Lord’s defeat and the expelling of his influence from Middle-Earth had changed the very air within the forest; brightened it, it seemed, and the menacing darkness was largely gone. Then Gandalf turned to his steed and caressed his mane as he whispered to it.

“Shadowfax,” Gandalf said with affection laden in his voice. “I will now go forth alone. When I return, so shall my call. Go.”

The white horse neighed, then turned and trotted away from the forest. The wizard watched as Shadowfax turned into a shining white silhouette in the distance and then disappeared entirely into the horizon. He knew himself fortunate to have such a friend; the Lord of Horses only bore the wizard by his own choice, something which the latter would never dare to take for granted. He turned back to face the forest. The old woods were not threatening to him, and in fact he had quite a few acquaintances here.

Gandalf walked forward, completely at ease as he entered the forest. He heard the leaves crush underneath his boot as he stepped, and then again as his other foot fell. The forest was very dark, most light eliminated by the great trees. Aside from the occasional rustle of movement in the distance, there was utter silence. To Gandalf, it was peaceful here. He continued onwards, making sure to keep his distance from the trees. Though unlikely, he would hate to be stepped on by a fidgeting Ent.

He walked through the dark woods, observing and listening silently, and focusing on his surroundings. He hoped that he would catch a glimpse of Treebeard , but it seemed as if the entire forest was still today, Ents and trees alike. He wondered if it was because of his presence, but did not give the issue much thought.

The woods began to grow denser and darker, which Gandalf knew meant that he was reaching the forest’s heart. He continued steadily through the ancient woods until there was utter darkness. He could barely see, yet such a disadvantage only made it clear to him that he was getting closer and closer. After what he believed to be hours of walking he came to a shadowed clearing in the wood. Opposite from where he stood was a vast cave.

He raised his staff, aiming it into the dark, and a bright light shone from its tip. He peered into the illuminated depths and smiled.

“Ah. There it is,” he said.

He had reached the foot of the mountains that overlooked Fangorn. The great peaks could not be seen; any view of the sky was completely obscured by the numerous branches of the trees. Gandalf only realized that he had reached the mountains due to the fact that he had reached his ultimate destination; the entrance into the ancient cave that stood before him, huge and hollow, burrowed into the hard stone of those equally primordial mountains. At first sight, it appeared to be no different than any other cavern in existence, but Gandalf knew better. Closing his eyes, he leaned forward slightly, turning his head and cupping his ear so that he may focus on what he could hear; from deep within the cavern he heard echoes of birds chirping, as well as the rustling of trees.

“So here I am…” he muttered as he beamed at the black void in front of him, knowing it as the entrance of a rather long tunnel. He breathed in deeply and turned to gaze behind him, into the depths of the forest. He hoped to return to Middle-Earth soon, and somewhat regretted that he could not view the lands again before he departed; at this time, which Gandalf knew to be dusk, it was likely breathtaking in beauty. He took a moment to remember the great mountains the stretched over the grassy lands, now purged of the Lidless Eye's influence forever. Without another word the wizard stepped forward into the great cave and into Equestria.

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Though he had walked this path once, Gandalf did not find it any less tedious. It was long, just as long as he remembered, and just as dark; there was no light other than that which emanated from his staff. His booted steps were steady on the hard stone of the tunnel floor.

Yet the cavern was warm and there were continuous echoes of birdsong and wind. With each step the wizard was moving closer to his goal. His eyes were set on the darkness in front of him, for he knew that sooner or later he would see a very bright light.

Then he saw it. At first it was no more than a speck of white in the black of his vision, but it grew as he walked. His heart was beating with excitement and joy, which was a sensation that was rather alien to him. He rarely experienced it aside from during the occasional moments in his long history, where he would meet dear friends of his after a long time away.

The end of the tunnel could now be seen. It was a blinding white light, which Gandalf had seen in his dreams; one that he missed. A low, hearty laugh rose from his throat, and when the brightness blinded him he raised a hand to shield his vision, but kept his pace. The light began to envelop him, and he felt glad in its warmth. He took a deep breath, and lowered his hand to look into the radiance.

His eyes stung no longer. Instead his vision changed so that all he saw was silver glass that covered the rough stone of the tunnel. He closed his eyes as he felt the warmth inside him turn to great heat, but not one that may scorch. It was here that he knew that he would change. Onwards he walked, with tight-shut eyes.

Then he heard the noise of steady clops made by hooves hitting hard rock. He knew its meaning, and then he waited until the echoes of birds and tree leaves rustling grew until they surrounded him vibrant and loud, no longer mere echoes. He breathed in and now there was the smell of lush untamed forest-grass, and rich wet soil. Finally he opened his eyes and looked downwards.

No longer did he wear the appearance of Man; his limbs ended with hooves, and his body was now entirely equine in nature, though his white robes and cloak remained on him. His skin was covered by a pure white coat beneath his snowy long hair and beard (though, he knew, he would have to refer to his hair as his mane now). Though glee was in his heart he knew he would need some time to adjust to this form that he had worn long ago in the past. At this thought he looked upwards and crossed his eyes to examine the horn that had grown from his head and now stuck out from beneath his long white mane.

Here he could not help but burst into laughter; of all the forms he had taken since the start of his lifetime, this was certainly one of the more outrageous. Nevertheless he felt a deep sense of fulfillment in this equine body that he had walked the lands of Equestria in before, and thankfully, he still had his staff in hoof, and Glamdring remained sheathed at his side. He peered into the thick dark forest around him, which he knew was not Fangorn. “Everfree,” Gandalf said, and the word was strange to his tongue, for it had not been spoken in quite some time. But these woods were familiar to him, though not nearly as familiar to him in comparison to those of Fangorn; these were the woods of Equestria.

Then Gandalf spotted the outline of a familiar castle through the trees quite some distance away from where he stood, and though he could not see it clearly he recognized it as the very same old castle that pervaded his memories from all those years ago. As fond recollections came a gust blew and his beard flowed with the wind as the tree-leaves that hung above gently rattled, and his eyes beamed at the bright new world and the great stone fortress that housed the two alicorns that he had promised to return to.

“Celestia, Luna… I have returned,” said the wizard.

Chapter 1: The Old Forest

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The shadows of the Everfree Forest’s trees blanketed much of its thickly-vegetated floor, and the black soil which lay hidden beneath the seemingly endless sea of shrubs and weeds was moist, and soft to walk upon. Dark shades of green and brown were the predominant colors of the forest, and there were few exceptions; the vivid blue patches of poison joke that sparsely dotted these woods were one example among the small handful of colorful flora and fauna that the Everfree was home to. Otherwise, the forest’s inherent lack of vibrancy and light served to make it a dull and bleak place, one which seemed to be filled with hidden dangers.

But little could daunt a wizard such as Gandalf the White, who was in high spirits as he trotted through the shrouded thickets. His staff, wrapped within his right hoof, struck the soil with each step forward. The Everfree he now walked in was completely different from the one he remembered, its once-youthful trees having grown gnarled, thick, and numerous. In fact, these woods did not look too different from those of Middle-earth’s Fangorn; the many more trees that time had cultivated here now blotted out much of the sun, and only occasional rays of light peeked through the leafy roof of the forest, like starlight poking through thick clouds that hung in the night sky. With the lack of daylight came an odd chill in the soundless, shadowed depths of the Everfree, but the fondness that Gandalf had for this world and all that dwelled within it warmed him. Coming back to this land had resurrected memories of a time long past, and they swam about in his mind, some dulled by the long years, but most left untouched and clear.

In the distance stood the shape of the stronghold that was Gandalf’s goal, visible despite the obstructive trees. Though he could see little more than an outline from where he stood, each step brought him closer, and while he was glad that he would soon bear witness to more of it, it was more important to him that he would soon be in the company of the Princesses. They stood out among all those who he had come to know throughout the years, for he had a history of friendship with them that was impossible to forget. The start of said friendship was so peculiar that even he, a wizard who had walked Middle-earth for three hundred lives of Men, found himself doubting that it had ever happened at times. How he wished to sit and reminisce about all those days! But he went onward and did not slow, for soon he would relive those days.

As his hooves met the earth, his breaths took generous fills of the air, which could only be described as smelling like a clear spring morning. An exceptional vitality stirred within him as he walked, as if the roots, stems, and air of the Everfree teemed with magic that invigorated his body and spirit. He felt as if all the troubles he had known and seen in Middle-earth and beyond were swept away, for the Dark and the Shadow that was Sauron and the greater evils that came before him did not exist in this land. Equestria knew only the darkness that came with night and shade, not that with the will to dominate and control. He felt renewed in this realm, as if he was reborn once more as a being purer than white.

Still, Gandalf preferred warm sunlight to the coolness of the shade of the trees, and he desired a sunlit place to rest. As excited as he was about what was to come, the entirety of the situation was more than a little overwhelming. The history of this land was weighing heavily upon him, as was his lack of rest. Fortunately, the woods gradually became brighter around him, lit by some source of light further on. He soon came across a particularly thick grove which numerous rays of light peeked through, and upon him crossing through it a sunlit clearing appeared in the distance. Eagerly, he went to it.

The small clearing Gandalf had found was ringed tightly with trees, giving it a circular shape. Tall green grasses filled the space, with the occasional clump of red or white flowers protruding from under them. Near the glade’s center sat a tall rock, which had obviously been weathered by the elements. Above, the impervious roof of leaves and boughs gave way to a view of the clear blue sky and permitted warming daylight to peek through, much to the wizard’s appreciation. Still, his view to the castle was largely concealed by the interfering trees, and he resolved to retrace his steps if he could not find a way between the trees. He placed his staff so that it stood propped up against the tall stone, and then sat by it. As the forest was open to the heavens, he could hear the melodious chorus of the birds that nested atop the trees, unlike in the serene, silent depths of the woods.

He set his gaze upon the dark wildwood that surrounded him out of instinctive caution. Danger was wont to hide in the shadows after all, though he thought himself paranoid for even thinking that evil could exist in Equestria. Still, centuries had passed since he had left, and time could twist even the simplest things into unrecognizable forms. The forest’s new, aged appearance easily depicted this, and society changed as rapidly as the soil it stood upon.

Gandalf’s contemplating stare shifted downwards, to a butterfly that was perched upon a group of flowers that grew nearby. He watched it absentmindedly as he pondered. The already-vast forest had evidently been left to grow undisturbed at some point after he had left, and he knew that the daily lives of many ponies necessitated a journey or two through the woods, since the hub of politics that was the royal palace sat within them. In the past, countless dirt paths snaked across the forest for ease of passage, but now it seemed as if all of them had been swallowed up by the wilderness; he could not find the faintest trace of them beneath the greenery. The old paths had been forsaken, but he couldn’t be sure why, and the guesses that he did make were ominous. For a second, the possibility that some unforeseen conflict had come and laid waste to ponykind entered his mind, and hung about him like a stormy cloud. Quickly, he forced that thought and others born from it from his mind, abruptly ending his fear. He sighed. Even here, he could not escape worry.

After a brief moment that felt as tense as the calm before a storm, the wizard decided to take an interest in his current manifestation. He raised his forelegs and inspected them, nodding slightly at the sight of the white hooves that were once grey. By the magic of the Maiar* he had chosen the equine incarnation that he had worn once before, and knew it to be a wise decision; having just re-entered the land after a lengthy absence, he did not yet know how (or even if) the native ponies had changed with the ages, but there was no doubt in his mind that remaining in the appearance of Man could possibly rouse panic in them, and he did not wish to frighten such innocent creatures. As a pony, he thought, he would be completely inconspicuous among the populace, in garb and manner alike. It was not the first time that he had chosen the appearance of a people that he wished to walk among.

Humorously, he could not help but fancy the reactions of those in Middle-earth if they saw he, the wizard Gandalf the White, in the current guise of a robed and bearded pony; it was certain, he thought as he chuckled, that the foolish Took and rascal Brandybuck would shake with the mightiest mirth of all his former companions, though Bilbo and those remaining of the Thirteen Dwarves would definitely liken him to Beorn*. Memories of his past adventures were stirred up, and for a moment the wizard was tempted to wonder once more about a great many things, particularly the remarkability of Hobbits, Dwarves, Men, and Elves, and the long roads he had walked alongside them. Still, he decided to postpone reminiscing to a more appropriate time. Recollecting was of no use if it prolonged current affairs, he reasoned.

Following a brief rest, he was no longer weary, and he stood and took hold of his staff. His brow furrowed slightly as he wrapped his hoof around it; this act, alongside most movement in this equine form felt alien to him. Maintaining the appearance of a human wizard for all of his time in Middle-earth had left him accustomed to living as a Man, and thus moving on all fours brought a persistent sense of awkwardness. His adjustment to the semblance of old Men that the Wizards wore had been swifter than this, from what he could recall, but he would manage. He made to leave, before suddenly remembering that he was in possession of a unicorn horn once more, and could possibly still wield the power that came with it.

With skeptical enthusiasm, Gandalf trained his focus upon the staff in his hoof. He held his breath, anxious to see if he had retained his old abilities. A simple telekinesis spell was all he was attempting. If his memory served him right, all he had to do was imagine levitating the staff, and his efforts would come to fruition. For a brief moment, everything around him was insignificant, and only the idea of grasping the staff with the extension of his being was on his mind.

Suddenly, sparks of greyish-blue burst forth from his horn, like dust being cleared off a long-forgotten artifact. Both the staff and his horn were now enveloped in auras of a color similar to the sparks. Awed, Gandalf began to form movements of the staff within his thoughts; as he imagined it spinning, it spun. A triumphant smirk formed on his face. The familiar sensation of ticklish warmth that coursed through him reminded him of days gone by, when he had first discovered the capability of unicorns to perform such versatile magic on a whim and had taken to it himself. He began to move his staff in a sweeping motion in the air in front of him, becoming both amused and annoyed at the juvenile nature of his entertainment.

By his control, the staff then dropped from the air and landed on the ground, the grey-blue aura disappearing from both it and his horn. For a moment Gandalf sat in silence, contemplating what he remembered of unicorn magic. Its mechanics were a mystery even to him, and all he knew for certain was that the presence of the horn was needed to wield it, meaning that only the unicorns and the alicorn sisters could make use of it. He also knew it to be a magic devoid of violence, that it served as a versatile tool for unicorns to grasp objects out of reach with, and that it could also manifest itself in such feats as illumination. Gandalf strained to remember more about it, but nothing surfaced from the murky depths of his mind, though he did remember penning a variety of methods that he felt the magic could be applied out of pure boredom and a spontaneous streak of creativity that stemmed from his vast knowledge of Istari* magic.

He laughed at this memory, mainly at himself at his own foolishness for doing such a thing. The differences between the magic of Middle-earth and the magic of Equestria were tremendous. How could he expect the peaceful Equestrians to adopt magic such as concussive forces or defensive shields when the land lacked warfare? He thought it a blessing that he could remember little of the impractical sorcery that he had so idiotically devised, and it was his hope that the pages on which he had scribbled all that drivel had been lost to time.

Nonetheless, the wizard’s condemnation of his past absurdity did not surpass his amazement at the fact that he was still able to wield Equestrian magic, even if he only saw it as a novelty. After all, gripping objects with magic felt more secure to him than taking hold of them with whatever force that Equestrian hooves used. It now fully dawned upon him that he knew so little of this world despite having spent quite a deal of time here, a revelation that made him even more eager to explore. He made it his aim to learn more of this land while he was here, and regain what he had forgotten as he did so. Before him was a feast of adventure.

Even though he had re-discovered the magic of unicorns, he had grown accustomed to holding the staff close and leaning on it as he walked, and he did so as he walked away from the stone that he had rested near. He then noticed a small break in the wall of trees surrounding him, and beyond that was a grassy path. Though it was overshadowed by the long boughs of taller trees that grew close to it, it was mostly clear of rough plants. More importantly, the way seemed to lead in the direction of the palace. He looked upon the castle as he crossed the glade to reach the path, intent upon admiring it as it re-entered his sight. Now that he was closer, Gandalf expected to see much more than the faint outline he had seen from a distance, but to his disappointment and surprise, a great curtain of white fog hung around the grand edifice and only a silhouette of it was discernible.

He had not seen the mist from afar, but now he understood why all he had seen of the glorious towers were mere shadows, and none of their shining splendor. But disappointment was quickly defeated by curiosity, for he did not remember the presence of the concealing fog, and he observed that the silhouette seemed to be misshapen, as if the palace that it represented was collapsed in much of its structure. He was intrigued, but he still had a ways to go and did not think much of it, instead dismissing it as a trick of the eye brought about by the rolling mists. Granted, the presence of the vapor was still unusual to him; the rest of the forest remained clear of it, and it seemed to envelop only the palace and its boundaries.

The path he chose brought him through woods that grew sparser and thinner as he walked on. He crossed the threshold between shadow and light as the woods around him came to an end near the wall of fog. The shadow of the castle that stood hidden in the white haze loomed over him, and it did not become any clearer as he neared it. Part of him expected the haze to part at any moment and reveal what lay behind it, so that he may bear witness to a place of no less wonder than the grand cities of Elven craft. But there was no sign of it parting, and it seemed so irregularly dense that when Gandalf stood very close to it, the castle remained just as obscured as it had from a distance. In fact, he could not catch even the faintest glimpse of the ground that he knew must lie before him.

A faint suspicion crept into his heart and he did not tread into the mist. It was far too organized to be natural. Nature favors spontaneity, yet it restricted itself to only the boundaries of the castle, as if were a fortification of smoke. Gandalf was now wary; he had seen many an instance of magic throughout his travels, and he knew enough to figure that this barrier was fabricated by some manner of sorcery, meaning it would be wise to examine it before walking into it with the abandon of a naïve fool. The rocks he saw in the grass at his hooves would suffice.

Wordlessly, the wizard focused upon a stone, intent upon levitating it. As expected, the familiar greyish-blue aura appeared and the rock ascended from the grass. For a moment, Gandalf examined the stone while it hung suspended in the air, as if seeing it in another light. Then, bracing for whatever consequences that may result, he imagined swinging the stone forward and released his magical hold on it as he did so, flinging the stone into the mist. His surprise at the success of his attempt did not show as he eyed the flying rock.

While nothing seemed to happen when the stone plunged into the thick fog, Gandalf did not hear the sound of the stone hitting the ground. It was as if the plumes of white concealed no earth, as one would assume, and truthfully hid a deep chasm. Thinking himself mistaken, Gandalf reached for another stone that lay near him and flung it into the haze in a similar fashion as the last. Once again, no noise was heard by him aside from the rustling of the trees behind him in the faint breeze.

The implication that the fog stood upon no ground was not lost on Gandalf. He now gazed at the cloudy expanse in front of him with narrowed eyes, his old wits attempting to decipher the purpose of the mysterious obstacle. It was far too conspicuous to be a trap, which left him to conclude that concealment was the sole purpose of this interference. Still, it was more disturbing to him that there was a barrier here at all. Instantly he was uneasy, and he became anxious about what lay behind the curtain of smoke. His concern for what had become of the ponies only heightened this anxiety.

He was now aware that the day seemed to be waning, for the shadows of the trees had grown longer, as if they were talons reaching to entrap him inside these unfamiliar woods. The wary wizard within Gandalf began to stir, and he glanced at the silver handle of Glamdring*, which glinted at his side. His senses were now as sharp as the blade he had brought with him.

An abrupt breeze that came sweeping through the tense air startled him, but he did not fidget. The wind seemed cold to Gandalf, chillingly so. He glanced behind him and was met with the sight of the woods, which, now darkened with the lowered sun, seemed more ominous than it had moments ago. All of a sudden a second breeze blew, though it was more of a strong gust. The wizard’s eyes widened as he realized that the strength of the wind was blowing apart the mist. He watched with bated breath as the veil of white began to swirl rapidly, its firmness wavering easily. The white expanse vanished as its clouds drifted away with the wind, and at last the castle that had been hidden was uncovered. At once, Gandalf’s breath caught in his throat.

His prediction had been correct; a deep fissure cracked the earth in front of him, forming a wide rift in the ground between where he stood and the opposite side of the ravine. The chasm’s depth could not be seen, for another screen of white fog covered it. No such fissure had split the earth here before, and Gandalf knew it to be improbable that such a deep one could have formed by nature even in the time that he had been gone for. There had been other forces at work here. However, Gandalf’s attention was drawn mainly to that which stood across the gap.

Rather, it would be a better question to ask what still stood. A great sundered ruin laid there, its walls cracked and unwhole. Its towers were shattered, broken to the point of such frailness that it seemed as if the weakest breeze would easily lay waste to their crumbling shapes. Over every structure clung creeping clusters of black vines, like the fingers of some creature of shadow, while strange, twisted trees grew among the destruction. Such decay made it clear that this place had been abandoned long ago.

For a moment, Gandalf’s disbelief stunned him, and he simply stared as his brow furrowed in a rare instance of bewilderment. Briefly, he believed his eyes to have been cheated by some spell, but his wishful thinking was in vain. He knew that what he saw was no illusion, for the castle, as decrepit as it was now, was undeniably the same as the immaculate palace crowned by golden spires that he saw in his mind’s eye. But now nothing was left of the stained-glass windows and mighty battlements. All that remained was a mere shell.

“What is this trickery?” muttered Gandalf as he surveyed the scene. He had no answers to the multitude of questions that were plaguing him, and the mix of great confusion and even greater distress weighed heavily upon him, albeit his errorless composure was not threatened. His wizardry had long since taught him that nothing could be judged wisely until all facts had been seen and considered , and he had only seen the outside of the deteriorating edifice from afar. Perhaps inside, he reasoned, he would find something to shed light upon this dark discovery.

The shock of the find wore off quickly, and was replaced by a determination to figure all this out. Though placid, he searched for a way across the crevice with a heavy heart. He did not have to look for long; further along the precipice, a wooden bridge spanned the crevasse. A grim stroke of luck, he thought, as he made his way to it.

The bridge was in no decent condition. Like the ruin it led to, it was frail in appearance, consisting of nothing other than rotting, vine-entangled ropes suspending rickety crudely-shaped wooden boards, with two stone posts between which he stood serving as the anchors on which the cords were tied. Gandalf stood at the foot of the bridge, now observing the chilling sight from a new perspective. Now the silence that was left by the lack of the sounds of mighty horns and hooves was overwhelming, and the lifelessness of it all unnerved him even as he watched it from afar.

What had become of the ponies? What had become of Celestia and Luna? A cataclysm large enough to leave the castle in ruins certainly did not bode well for them. True, time was the destroyer of all, but the Royal Sisters were both immortal, not to mention powerful to the point that even the natural cycles of the world were easily manipulated by them. Natural disaster was not the cause of this abandonment. Furthermore, their popularity among their subjects ruled out revolution, and he could not imagine any combative threat that could withstand the combined might of the two, so warfare was unlikely as well. For once the White Wizard had no good guesses, for he still knew too little to make them.

But above all his thoughts, there was guilt. He had promised to return to them, but now it seemed as if he would never be able to keep his promise. Had he come to visit sooner he would have been able to intervene in whatever caused this, or at least visit once more if there was nothing but time that left the castle in such a state. It was somber irony, really; he would go on to gain victory in Middle-earth, but lose all that he had in Equestria. Now he dreaded what he may find within the cracked walls of the castle. He prayed that it did not also serve as a tomb.

Gandalf stepped on to the bridge, half-expecting it to collapse and sighing when it did not. It was not a sigh of either relief or weariness, but of lamentation. The deep chasm stretched right underneath his hooves, while the castle’s entrance lay straight ahead of him across the bridge, haunting in its entirety. The sun was setting behind the ruins, so against the orange dusk sky the castle was a monstrous black shape, jagged and uneven. Even now Gandalf could not expel the echoes of the golden past from his mind, and so his thoughts flashed between then and now as he crossed the bridge. Where there was now the weak wooden bridge and unnatural chasm there once was firm earth covered with fresh green grass; where there was now untended wild grasses growing at the foot of the castle there once grew noble gardens brimming with the many-colored buds of bright flowers; and where there was now a silent wooden door leading to foreboding ruins there once was a grand grate flanked by stallions in armors of gold and silver, while rowdy ponies from all across the land fraternized inside and outside of the white palace.

But reality returned quickly to Gandalf, who was not one to be confounded by delusions. He had crossed the bridge and now stood close to the small stone posts that secured it on this end, his hooves standing upon the soft soil. The ghastly husk of the castle was closer now, and hopefully so were the answers to the riddles of these discoveries. He spotted the flight of stairs leading into the palace, the very same upon which he had once sat to marvel at the green lands and forests that lay before the castle. He looked behind him to view the woods. Now the blossoming Everfree was cruel and aged and even the very earth had become split. Gandalf looked into the chasm.

Hidden from the sinking sun, the fog that had whitened the depths of the chasm was covered in shade, so that nothing could be seen but a pitch-black hollow that looked like the open maw of some ravenous beast. Gandalf could see no bottom to the drop, and suddenly he could envision himself falling into it. While he stood firm on his four hooves he could practically feel the wind rushing past him, and see the rough rock of the chasm’s walls as he descended rapidly through the world’s deepness, the darkness illuminated by the fire-light of a great beast of shadow and flame that fell with him.

He blinked and the memory of his descent through fire and deep water dispersed as quickly as it had come. Though it had been nothing more than a brief and random flashback, the recollection had been vivid enough to jolt the air of dreary calmness and leave the wizard dismayed. The battle against Durin’s Bane* had been a desperate battle to the death; it was painful to even recall, and Gandalf remembered little of it aside from endless shadow and fire. A second wary glance into the shadowy abyss showed little other than darkness in the jagged pit, after which Gandalf gave an involuntary sigh of relief. Nothing but his fatigued imagination had caused that odd vision, or so it seemed.

“Can a wizard not enjoy even one instance of respite?” Gandalf said to himself as he recounted all that had been revealed to him this past day. Not one revelation had been pleasant aside from the re-discovery of his unicorn magic, and the sparked memory of his deadly past foe had left him on edge. Dismissively he turned away from the chasm and set his eyes back on the sinister monument of Equestria’s past. He was tired and glum, even more so than before now that he stood right before the former palace, with shadows creeping on all he saw with the steady coming of night. The door stood there set in the stone, unmoving yet beckoning. Behind it, he hoped, lay the answers he sought.

He could feel a chill crawl up his spine as he drew nearer to it, the fractures and splits in every stone and structure growing more and more discernible to him with every step. They looked almost like the wounds in the bone of some long-dead creature. Now his previous fears resurfaced; thoughts of ancient corpses and rusted weaponry came to mind, as did other nameless horrors. Who was to say that a discovery not unlike that which had awaited the Fellowship in Moria now awaited him within this castle’s destroyed walls? He had no way of knowing aside from entering, of course.

Now he stood at the foot of the steps of the castle, looking into its obscured windows and all around for any hint to hidden danger. Seeing none, the wizard made to climb the stairs with great trepidation, a flood of guesses as to what lay behind that tall door having burst in his heart at this critical moment. His hooves made steady clacking sounds as he ascended the stairs. Each step returned pieces of his history here to his mind, and by the time Gandalf had reached the top of the steps and his hoof was set against the door an intricate portrait of yesteryear had been painted in his mind. His eyes saw the beaten wood and rusted metal of the time-trodden door before him, but his spirit saw a regal entrance built of robust lumber, with gleaming steel fittings set into it. Perhaps all this would be revealed to be a simple jest by those two mischievous sisters? Perhaps a spell of theirs had hoodwinked him into seeing the castle as nothing more than a ruin for the sole purpose of fooling him, and they would reveal themselves soon? They did enjoy the occasional prank-pulling on their beloved ponies, with Celestia being the more playful of the two. It was certainly not beyond them to conjure up a trick such as this, he thought.

But despite all this rumination the door had not yet been opened, and Gandalf pushed his right hoof against the firm wood with little hesitation. For a gateway that did not appear to have been opened for a great many years, it took little effort to shift the doors upon their surely rusted hinges even as they creaked. Gandalf glanced at the metal components and was surprised to see that while they had obviously been long-disused, the rust on the hinges showed little breaks, as if the door had been forced open fairly recently.

“Alas, another mystery!” Gandalf muttered. “For what reason had this door been opened?” Evidently something had entered the ruined castle for some unknown purpose. Had his guess been correct, and this was a clue to a frolicsome scheme by the sisters? Or was this a sign that something potentially dangerous lurked behind the door? Slowly Gandalf pushed it open, as if he were drawing the curtain away from something that had lay concealed beneath it for longer than any remembered.

The scene that was revealed to him brought a simultaneously relieved and disappointed sigh: neither bone nor broken blade lay upon the cold stone floor, but he saw no sign of the two regal mares either. The palace hall was uncharacteristically bare now, and looked just as bleak inside as its walls did from the outside, only the inside was filled with shadow. Seeing this, Gandalf took note that night had come and day had gone. The sky above looked almost like a vast purple ocean, with stars floating like white gems within it.

The door closed with a thud as Gandalf shut it behind him, knowing that even though all had gone from the palace he would stay to relearn what he had forgotten, and learn what he did not know. This very room, like many other places throughout this world and the one he had left, was filled with the ghosts of his past; a lofty ceiling from which great golden chandeliers and draperies depicting emblems of the two Princesses had hung once stood in place of the vast ocean of dusk, and long tables upon which the most sumptuous of Equestrian feasts were arrayed filled almost the entire hall, which was lit by torches placed all upon the great walls and pillars that now stood shattered.

Gandalf walked forward into the darkness, looking about as he went. The walls that had once held windows crafted from elegant glass now stood with empty arches, many of which were broken. Seeing everything so still in a room that was once brimming with life was surreal. It was familiar, but at the same time completely unrecognizable. To Gandalf this was almost like a dream; here he existed and walked upon his legs, breathing and seeing, and yet it all seemed so unreal to him for exact reasons that he could not interpret.

But amidst the ruined stonework and the glimpses past time that followed them, there stood a sculpture in the very center of the room that roused nearly-forgotten memories from Gandalf’s mind. It was an immense pedestal upon which a short but thick column capped with a great white stone sat, and from that column extended five more pedestals of greatly smaller size. Even though the monument had been somewhat worn and was now dressed in moss, Gandalf easily recognized it for what it was.

“The Elements of Harmony,” Gandalf said, and the words felt foreign on his tongue from their lack of use. Though he knew that what he saw now before him contained the most powerful magic in Equestria, his lack of knowledge of them left him less awed than he had expected. Friendship was the most powerful magic in Equestria, and aspects of it, specifically Honesty, Kindness, Laughter, Generosity, and Loyalty, were harnessed by some ancient magic to be used as forces capable of purging any evil that set foot in Equestria. It was for this reason that Gandalf knew that evil had no place in Equestria. How could there be malice in a place where friendship was both commonplace and a powerful force against it? He had no other words other than “miracle” to describe this magic of Equestria, and it was one of the many regrets of Gandalf that he had not found out more of them from the Princesses.

“Had such a weapon been in the hands of the Free Peoples, Sauron would not have lasted long!” Gandalf laughed, though it had been more of a small joke and less of a serious belief. After all he did not even know how the power of the Elements manifested itself. However, something seemed inexplicably different about the sculpture now aside from its aged appearance. Something was missing from it, but he could not be sure what. The wizard carried on nevertheless, making a note of his observation.

But even though the sight of the Elements had raised his spirits somewhat, he became grave again. Celestia and Luna were nowhere to be seen, and even though he saw no true evidence that pointed to the demise of the ponies of Equestria and their rulers, he could not imagine any other explanation for the utter lack of life here. Still, Gandalf carried onwards past the sculpture of the Elements. He spotted the door that he knew would lead to the Grand Courtyard of the palace, and went to it, pulling open the rusted doors by way of his magic.

By now dusk had turned to complete night, and the stars above shone brighter in the darkness of the night sky. The moon hung in the distance, ever watchful, and eternally spreading its light. But the starlight and moonlight revealed only more ruins to Gandalf, which had been concealed behind the walls when he had first set his eyes upon its new form. The countless stairways that led to the intricate network of castle chambers had been reduced to little more than debris, though most of the towers were far too unstable to enter anyway. The stairs leading down from the wall atop which Gandalf stood were somewhat wrecked, but they supplied him an easy jump down.

The fine cobblestone of the courtyard had long since split and given way to wild grasses. Much of the courtyard was covered in debris, and had been rendered impassable as a result. Gandalf did not see any paths through the debris that would lead him to another part of the palace. As he walked he noticed that unsurprisingly, the statues that he had once admired in the courtyard were nowhere to be seen, undoubtedly crushed beneath the fallen stones of the surrounding buildings. Then, he saw that one flight of stairs had been left untouched. A tall tower that he knew to be the Royal Observatory was still accessible, and so he headed for the staircase. He made sure to watch his step as he went up, taking care not to further damage the steep stone steps. Near the pinnacle another heavy wooden door stood, and he easily opened it and entered a narrow, winding stairwell.

Moments later Gandalf reached the Observatory proper. A view of all the lands would be greatly helpful, for he wished to see Equestria beneath the silver moonlight. It was his hope that some trace of the sisters could also be found. The room he was now in was even more massive than the hall; windows lined the wall on each side, and a tall window stood at the wall on the other end of the room. He had not been in this part of the castle much during his previous stay here.

Hurriedly, he sprinted for the vast window at the other end of the room, which, though obscured somewhat with tall-reaching vines and mosses, gave a clear view of the lands. Setting himself before it, the wizard took the first glance of the entirety of Equestria that he had see in far too long.

Though the night bestowed light upon the land he could still only see black shapes, much to his disappointment. He did not complain, however, for the vastness of the land became apparent to him once again. Far, far from where he sat atop that ancient tower were great mountains of old. There they sat, immovable, the very same mountains that the wizard had seen a millennium ago. At the foot of the tower stretched the Everfree, which Gandalf now saw had grown far larger than he had expected it to. The masses of trees covered miles and miles of hills and bog, and after them stretched miles and miles of darkened plains. The enormousness of it all struck a chord of amazement within Gandalf.

Then weariness took him. He had not slept in what felt like days, and he was eager to rest. He lay down upon the stone. The awkwardness in doing so as an equine was lost to him in his exhaustion, and his form lay huddled against the window with his staff, sword, and baggage at his side. He yawned, and then a song of travel old Bilbo had composed on one of his many journeys came to his mind. Softly, he sang.

Home is behind, the world ahead,
And there are many paths to tread
Through shadows to the edge of night,
Until the stars are all alight.
Then world behind and home ahead,
We'll wander back to home and bed.
Mist and twilight, cloud and shade,
Away shall fade! Away shall fade!
Fire and lamp and meat and bread,
And then to bed! And then to bed!

The song brought to mind the sweet smell of grass and the sound of rushing water and chased away his doubts and fears. For now at least, the wizard would rest. As sleep set in he thought he could see the spires of another palace set into the side of a distant mountain, its white towers glinting in the everlasting light of the stars and moon. But darkness took him quickly, and in his slumber he dreamed of travels beyond thought and time. Tomorrow would bring what it would.

Chapter 2: A Shortcut to Cupcakes

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Near daybreak the wizard awoke, and his first glimpse was of the morning sky. Initially it appeared to him as little more than a distorted blend of colors, which he knew to be caused by his sleep-dulled vision. For some time he merely gazed at the void, and as sleep’s grasp slowly deserted him and he grew awake once more, the beauty of the heavens above became apparent; stars still hung high above like diamonds hung from a high ceiling, and the sky was a shade of deep purple. But that color became brighter and brighter near the distant horizon, which had been painted with streaks of gold by the ascending sun that still lay hidden behind the peaks of the faraway mountains.

The coming daylight illuminated the bands of cloud that encircled those great towers of ageless stone, and Gandalf could see the wisps of vapor that floated about them even from the tower where he rested. The sight brought the memory of Middle-earth’s ancient mountains to the tired wizard’s muddled mind, and he found himself sleepily wondering what secrets were hidden among those snow-covered crags of Equestria; those of Middle-earth certainly had their fair share of oddities, amassed over the years with the passage of creatures that would walk them.

Following this thought the wizard’s attention turned briefly away from the grand daybreak, and he berated himself for succumbing to his fatigue the night before within the ruins of the castle; easing his guard to sleep had been most unwise, for so much was unknown to him regarding the newfound mysteries. Were this Middle-earth during a time of darkness, Gandalf had no doubt that such carelessness would have cost him greatly. But as far as he could tell his slumber had been peaceful and his awakening uneventful, and aside from this he had also gained a well-rested mind with which he could think clearly. He had just about everything he needed to start his day off; all he required now was a plan (and of course, breakfast).

He looked to his side for his belongings, which he was glad to see remained there, unmoved; he had somewhat expected that he would have turned to find them gone, whisked away by some hidden rascal in the night. True, this small fear was a bit irrational, but he knew that he had reason enough to be cautious, and though at first he had believed it unnecessary the wizard was gratified that Glamdring was at his side; he certainly had no wish to bring about pain and death in this land, but the elf-sword had been his companion through all his long travels since he had discovered it decades ago, and so he had opted to bring it along.

Now, like the grandeur of this palace and the wondrous ponies within it the Equestria he once knew seemed to be a thing of the distant past, and while the land was once free of danger he was not certain that it remained so after all these years. Perhaps the Foe-Hammer would later come to serve a purpose here, but the wizard hoped against that possibility, for Glamdring, as radiant as its fine edge shimmered, served only to weave death. Thus the wizard resolved to allow the sword to gleam only when all lights had dimmed, and truly no other hope remained.

He rose slowly from the stone floor; lying with his legs folded beneath him felt a bit awkward, though not uncomfortable. But this was to be expected, of course, for many long years had passed since Gandalf had lived amongst the ponies of Equestria, and but a single day had passed since he returned. Of course, this was a rather minor drawback in exchange for such a versatile (not to mention amusing) ability, especially in comparison to the limits that had been placed upon Istari magic long ago by the Valar*. Indeed, Saruman’s example had proven that such rules had been wisely enacted, but the wizard could (and perhaps never would) quite stop entertaining the idea of galloping about Middle-earth as a bearded pony. As foolish as the image that the idea presented to his mind was, the wizard could not deny that it amused him.

But time was passing without err, and though the sun had still not surpassed the peaks it seemed to have risen a bit, for Gandalf could now make out the green tree-tops of the forest below him, and of others that grew far and away. True, he was waiting for the sun to ascend into the sky and show to him an illuminated and long-awaited view of the land, but it would be wiser to put that time to effective use, rather than fruitless fantasizing. The problem of what events the day would bring needed a solution, as did his need for breakfast.

The wizard trotted over to his knapsack and opened it by use of his magic, and drew from it a single thin cake of lembas that unsurprisingly still bore its fine wrapping of Mallorn leaf. Upon undoing the covering and finding the gift of familiar, light-brown bread within, the wizard could not suppress a comforted smile.

“Praised be the grace of the Elves!” Gandalf said, and he then began to partake of the meal as he turned towards the great window to watch the coming sunrise, and watch for what it may reveal. The pleasant taste of the waybread brought good cheer, and satisfied both body and mind alike. In fact, so filling was the bread that the wizard’s hunger faded quickly after the third or so bite of the small cake, as was usual in Gandalf’s case. The Elves had crafted the bread to provide sustenance over long adventures, and as a result it was so nourishing that merely a few small bites were enough to fill the stomachs of grown Men. Though he knew this was not the case for Hobbits, as he had seen during his journey with the Fellowship. In fact, Pippin once ate four cakes in a single sitting.

Still, as palatable as it was the wizard, like most of the Fellowship, had never been able to eat much lembas; the many uneaten loaves that remained within his bag and the fact that he was barely able to finish his current breakfast of one loaf of the bread were clear testaments to that. That was just as well to the wizard, however, for the meal had fulfilled its purpose; it was easier to think on a full stomach than on an empty one. Perhaps this was why Hobbits were quick on their feet, or at least most of them were.

Now came the time to decide on his next course of action, a task which was not so simple. He stood now not only before a grand view of Equestria, but also at the crossroads of his options; to go forward was to risk danger, but to go back was to risk regret. The urge to explore further was almost immediately his first choice, for it was quite obvious to him that much was not quite right with the disappearance of the ponies. But what this choice would entail he could not know. Really, this was no different from wading into the black depths of a strange, murky lake, that which teemed with unseen hazard.

But had he not ever faced such bleakness? Uncertain odds had been allayed against him countless times before. Never before had they been successful in deterring him, and he would not allow them to finally do so this day. For the good or ill that would come of it, he would go forth and search the land for the Princesses and their ponies, or some sign of what had become of them. It was clear that nothing remained within the castle now aside from his memories of it. He was quite appreciative for the shelter it provided, nevertheless.

He took a moment to rest, then moved to prepare. The sword was returned to his belt, and his traveling-bag was slung across his back. Sleep and hunger’s grasp had long since been thrown from him, and his mind was as clear as it ever had been. He was quite ready for what he anticipated would be a rather long journey. Gripped within his hoof now was his staff, which he leaned against as he surveyed the land once more.

The sun still had not risen into the sky, and the moon had not yet fallen. It seemed neither body had moved at all since he first woke to the sight of them, which was unsurprising, given the fact that he had woken less than an hour ago. The tree-tops remained the most he could see of the land below, the rest still shrouded in the blackness of shadow, which was dismaying but expected, for early morning was often the time of slow battle between shadow and light. Though the scene had not changed much over the course of his waking, the sky above the horizon had shifted from a light blue ringed with golden clouds to a somewhat deeper orange hue. It would have been quite a nice sight to smoke to had the wizard felt idle enough to do so, but soon he would be leaving. He reminded himself of the time and day.

“First light of…” the wizard trailed off as he tried to recollect the date, for he had neglected to do so the last few days. “…the 6th of March of the year 3020, of the Third Age. Only mere months ago did the troubled year end!” The year before had been dreadfully eventful, so much so that it felt as if that single year had really been many, many years instead of a mere twelve months. But that time was past, and the wizard saw no reason to loiter any further in these ruins. He shifted upon his hooves to turn away from the window, but suddenly a piercing light shone into the corner of his eye and he turned to look. Then and there he beheld one of many wonders that he had forgotten long ago.

The great sun had suddenly leapt from its place behind the mountains, and was sailing through the sky alongside the pale moon, which was fleeing just as quickly to the horizon. Stunned into silence by the marvelous yet familiar sight, the wizard watched as the dark sea of the early morning sky above shifted to an ocean of light blue, and the stars faded away as white ships of cloud were revealed by the sudden brightness. Higher still the sun rose until it reached its apogee, and as it casted daylight downwards from its heightening perch the whole shadowed land of Equestria became unveiled. Purged were the shades of night in that fleeting moment of sunrise, and now a far green country lay before Gandalf like a waking dream.

Here was yet another ghost of the past, though it was not haunting in the slightest. Green of all shades filled his vision, from the dark oily green of the tree-tops to the bright emerald of sunlit grass fields. As far as his eye could see stretched the fruits of nature; endless forests and rolling grasslands, and where his sight ended the great mountains stood, capped with ice and clouds. Essentially, the dark shapes of the night before had been brought to life before him. Memories returned by the dozen of this very image, and it did not seem to have changed in the least now that the wizard could compare them; it seemed almost as if he had not left Equestria for so many long years.

Quite a lot of things that he wished to say came to the wizard’s mind promptly, but none of them would come close to expressing his full amazement at what he had just witnessed, and so he remained in stunned silence. It seemed as if a new world was now present before him, and all the darkness and danger had been chased off with the veils of shadow. The wizard’s deep memories stirred, and from them he drew the countless times before that he had seen the sun and moon shift in such a strange yet wondrous fashion. He recognized that magic and berated himself for his forgetfulness, but his thoughts froze and were still as his eyes discerned a great white shape in the distance through the blinding sun.

For a moment he believed himself fooled by his own eyes, for the shape was of a vast city constructed of gleaming white stone that bore no small resemblance to Minas Tirith, perched upon a mountainside. It had tall spires that were capped with intricate purple and gold, and aside it there rushed a waterfall, that flowed down from the mountain. He surely was not dreaming, and so he wondered if this was some other form of subtle magic woven to fool him. Far as he was from it the wizard could see much of the city, and it brought together echoes of times past and new beauty, for there was an unmistakable familiarity in the curves and arches of the shining city. He had seen those same structures before in the very castle he stood in now.

So familiar was the sight that the wizard wondered if he was staring into some strange vision of the past that manifested itself before him, for this was the almost exact form of the Castle of the Royal Pony Sisters that he remembered from his past. But surely there it stood, rooted high into a mountainside in the distance with a sea of sky behind it.

It was certainly not often that Gandalf found himself speechless, but the magnitude of it all had struck him like a bolt of lightning. In those brief minutes everything had changed; his grim outlook on the journey had gone, for in the light of the sun there was that new white beacon of hope, and of clarity. While what he had just witnessed did not give any definite answers, it had left him with many optimistic guesses. He now remembered where he had seen such strange celestial movements; he had spent countless days watching them during his past stay here, for the Princesses were the ones responsible for raising the sun, moon, and stars over Equestria.

To say he was annoyed with himself for forgetting such an important fact and also for not catching a glimpse of the moon’s rise the night before was a great understatement, but there was no use in regretting past mistakes, especially when the future now looked bright. The fact that the sun still rose in the same fashion as he knew it made him very glad, for unless the natural laws of Equestria had changed as well it was likely that the Princesses were still here, alive and well. It was his guess then that for whatever reason they had moved to the city on the mountain many years before his return.

His path was clear now; through dark woods or deep waters, he would search for a way to that place. It was true that he had not much proof that justified his belief that the Princesses had moved to the city before him, and there was undeniably a chance that there was really danger there, but he had little else to go on. While his journey had taken a turn for the better this morning, the things he had seen had not made it any less mystifying to him. In the end, however, he was sure that all things would come to a resolution.

The wizard looked out the window to see if he could spot a way through the forest that would bring him closer to the castle atop the mountain. Though he saw no obvious split in the tree-tops, he did not despair in the least, for he was optimistic about what was to come.

“This will be quite a curious trip indeed!” said the wizard, and he laughed. He was relieved; at least he had found some clue pertaining to the well-being of the Princesses, and while he still did not know why they had moved (as he deduced), all would be revealed in due time. He turned to make his way to the heavy wooden door that would lead him out, but one last urge to catch a full view of the land tugged at his heart, and he succumbed to it.

He took in this last view, memorizing all he could of Equestria beneath the sun, from the steep slopes of the mountains to the gentle rise of the rolling hills. It was picturesque, really; a place fit for great fables. He had to come to the admission that as much as he disliked treading through the unknown, he was exhilarated, for here was an old land made new. It was ripe with adventures that he would soon come to know, perhaps at the side of his old friends.

He turned now and walked evenly across the cracked stone floor of the tower to the rusting door. He no longer had reason to stay here any longer, but nevertheless there was a sense of sadness and longing which haunted him with every step he took; he did not wish to abandon the palace and leave it to decay. As Gandalf opened the door and looked downwards at the tragic corpse of the Castle of the Royal Pony Sisters, he saw not ruins but fragments of memory in the courtyard below. He went on brooding as he swiftly descended the tall stairs of the tower and went on to pass through the maze of debris at the foot of it, and walked further on up the stairs to the battlements, and then to the hall. Each second of his departure reminded him of what this place had once been, and warned him of what it would eventually be in the far future, when the waves of time had finished their siege.

The wizard found the silence of the entrance hall unnerving, for he had been recollecting the days it had been rowdy, and full of drink and song and merrymaking. The monument that was the Elements of Harmony stood there, mute and still in the sun, and just as puzzlingly different as it had been the day before. Glancing at it as he walked past, the wizard felt a stirring of intuition within him. It was a peculiar unease, one that he could not explain, but he remained wordless as he opened the door, and went out into the wilds.

The chasm remained there still, as did the opaque fog and the dingy bridge. They no longer appeared as eerie as they had the day before, as they were simply minor pieces of this vast puzzle, and it would not help him to dwell too long on them. An early start to his journey would be wise, and there was no better time to begin then morning. He breathed deeply, enjoying the scent of the morning dew upon the grass, as he walked down the small flight of stairs and on to the grounds of the former castle. He walked steadily towards the white mist and the bridge that he could just vaguely make out within it, but his sentimental feelings had not left him, and neither had the strange unease that had come over him when he saw the Elements of Harmony. He was nearing the mist when he turned once more to the ruined shape of the castle that no longer seemed foreboding, but forlorn instead.

“This place will go with time,” the wizard said, sadly. “But I suspect it will have another role to play before my time here is done.” Such were his feelings, put into speech that was heard by nopony. Sighing, Gandalf faced the mist and bridge once again, and, knowing from his test yesterday that no harm would come to him from the smoke and he needed only to step cautiously while on the bridge, he set a front hoof on to a rotting plank before moving into the haze.

He emerged on the other side, and now he could see the countless trees of the Everfree, the sight of which had been blocked off by the thick fog when he had exited the entrance hall. He looked to his left, and saw the precipice that he had stood upon when he had first seen the castle, and the wood from which he had come. That way lead to the road on to which he would later return, but he would not be going until his tasks here were done. But already, the wizard found his first stroke of luck; straight ahead of the bridge was a path that lay somewhat concealed behind fern plants and tree-shadows, which he guessed had been hidden from him in the darkness of dusk yesterday. Now, the high sun cast light through the leaves and showed the path to him, and he went to it. There he saw that it was actually a rather wide dirt road that cut cleanly through the forest floor.

The road seemed promising to the wizard, for the utter lack of encroaching vegetation meant that it was likely of fairly recent construction, perhaps by ponies, perhaps not. But this at least gave him a clear path to travel upon, which he knew was a safer option than wading through the tall grasses of the Everfree. Where the road would take him he did not know, but he hoped that each step would lead him closer to the mountain, and he would break from the path if needed. He would also not be so foolish as to be carefree on it; his eyes and ears would be sharp.

He glanced behind him to see if he could catch one more glimpse of what was once the capital of Equestria, but there was nothing but a black shape in the plumes of whiteness. Gandalf looked back down the path, and though troubled by the questions all this had raised he saw the other city far above in the mountain overlooking the forest. Its golden spires cast bright light in his eye even as he stood so far away, and he was spurred onwards. He knew he would find the answers he wanted there.

Though he did not know why, the wizard found the hard packed earth of the road more comfortable to walk upon than the soft soil of the forest. Around him the Everfree was dark as ever, but to an extent this was ameliorated by the golden rays that spilled through the tree-tops to light the path he was on. But the woods were not silent; there was the occasional rustle of movement somewhere in the surrounding depths or above him in the trees, and now and then he heard snippets of birdsong and the fluttering of wings. For now this was a typical forest-walk, but no woods were without beasts.

He struggled to recall his knowledge of Equestria’s beastfolk as he went on with the road, turning when it curved and going ever onwards. He vaguely remembered some manner of vile wooden wolf that prowled about in the far corners of the Everfree, where ponies seldom ventured. In fact, there had been stories of beasts other than wolves that had dwelled in the deep of the Everfree; accounts of fantastic, terrible beings such as winged lions with tails of red armor and serpentine creatures that could turn ponies into stone, and other worse creatures.

Such tales had been deemed as rubbish by most of the Princesses’ court, but the wizard had always believed that the stories held at least some truth. After all, some ponies who went beyond the safety of the castle grounds and into the wild Everfree never returned. But it was different now, for the Everfree had no longer borne a safe haven for quite a long time now. Perhaps those creatures were real, and had spread from the distant lairs they once inhabited. The very thought was more than a bit unnerving, and though the wizard had faced viler creatures before he listened carefully for more than the occasional sound of movement in the bushes. However, ahead the woods parted further and the road was bathed entirely in the light, which was certainly welcomed.

A short time after the road turned completely sunlit, a new sound reached Gandalf’s ears; a faint sound of rushing water. In the distance, past several more stretches of the path, he could see the glint of the sun on what he guessed to be a river. Wary of the obstacle this could present to his journey, the wizard looked upward to the sky at the distant mountains above to see where the white city was relative to his location, and he was very pleased that he not only spotted it with ease, but he also seemed to have gotten closer to it, for the mountain it stood on certainly appeared more looming now than it had before. The wizard trotted onwards eagerly, sure that the path curved along the banks of the river, or a bridge of some sort would allow him passage.

As he had expected, a river open to the sky soon came clearly into his view. Its waters were dark, showing depth, and its current was rather powerful. The river snaked onwards into the forest, and the wizard wondered for a bit where it would lead. What he did not see, though, was a continuation of the path near where he stood; there was no sort of bridge and the woods beside him were dark and thick, and in fact the road actually seemed to continue on the other side of the river directly opposite from where he stood now. Upon discovering this, there was both frustration and confusion.

“For what reason is there no way across?” the wizard said. This was certainly baffling; the wizard saw no sign of a bridge having ever been here, and the depth and strong current of the river showed to him that it had been there long before the creation of the path. He wondered if whoever crafted this road did this deliberately, and for what reason.

For a moment Gandalf stood there, trying to formulate a method of crossing. He would not chance swimming, for the waters appeared far too dangerous for that, and he also did not quite know how to swim in this hooved form. He would not jump either, for it was simply too great of a gap. Overhead the white city gleamed on the mountain, and though he had come closer to it, it seemed as if the rest of the way was inaccessible. With no other options the wizard considered traveling along the river until he found some means of crossing, but suddenly the waters of the river burst, and a tall shape emerged.

With a quick movement Gandalf jumped back, his staff gripped tightly in his hoof. A great scaled beast now loomed over him, casting a long shadow. The armor of its skin was purple, from its head burst three small gouts of flame, one purple and the others orange, and from its long body there extended two arms with a webbed claw on each. It was a sea-serpent; a Fish-Dragon. He had never before seen any sort of dragon in Equestria even though he had heard tales of them, but he knew very well the power of Middle-earth’s drakes. Never did he expect to meet such a monster here, but it mattered little now. The wizard’s face turned grim, and with his magic he drew Glamdring forth from its scabbard.

The beast’s gaze was set upon him, but strangely it made no move to strike. Instead, it raised a claw to its mouth and yawned, which produced not the deep rumbling groan he expected, but instead a somewhat high-pitched note not different from those of voices typical to Men or Elves or Hobbits. Then much to Gandalf’s surprise, it spoke.

“Oh my, it’s been so long since I’ve seen a pony around here!” the serpent said. The expression it wore was unmistakably a smile, and a friendly smile at that. “Months, I think! Oh, but where are my manners?” the serpent’s face turned sheepish suddenly. “Good morning, Mr. Pony!”

This surprised Gandalf very much, for this serpent seemed uncharacteristically amicable. With his magic he lowered his blade behind him, out of the serpent’s sight, but he did not sheathe it. Dragons were known to be deceptive when they deemed it necessary, and he was loath to imagine being caught off-guard by one. Yet to Gandalf, combatting a dragon was far easier to visualize than making cordial conversation with one. The serpent smiled expectantly at the wizard as if politely waiting for him to return the greeting, which Gandalf did, somewhat awkwardly.

“Well, good morning to you as well, friend!” he said, with as much cheer as he could muster. He did not want to address the serpent simply as “serpent”, as that seemed rather confrontational; never before had there been a record of such a civilly-behaved dragon, and Gandalf did not want to anger it. But it seemed to him that the dragon was truly no threat, for he did not feel the same malevolence that evil creatures’ gazes bore, and was really a benevolent one. Or perhaps Equestria’s dragons were not like those of Middle-earth?

He wondered if he had already been enraptured by the creature’s dragon-spell*, but he felt it was not so, as he would have noticed the disturbance in his thought. Feeling a bit more at ease, the wizard decided to chance a few questions, for the dragon seemed amiable enough to answer them. Suddenly the serpent spoke then, either not bothered by or not taking notice of the wizard’s silence.

“Why thank you! Yes, it is a good morning!” it said, and it looked to the sky. The beast (which Gandalf had to admit was not acting very beast-like) raised his arms up as he took in the sights. “My, my, such a nice day! The sun is shining, the river is clean, and the sky is clear and blue!” he declared, and then he looked back at Gandalf and grinned. “Your Princesses really know what they’re doing!”

At this, Gandalf’s eyes widened. “Princesses! What do you mean?” he said quickly. Upon hearing the word “Princesses”, his uncertainty had gone and was replaced with great excitement.

Now it was the serpent who wore a look of bewilderment. “You don’t know? Why, the Royal Pony Princesses of course! Princesses Celestia and Luna!” said the serpent with much enthusiasm, as if he was announcing their arrival, and he then leaned forward to look questioningly at Gandalf. “You know them right, mister? They rule Equestria after all! They’ve been doing so for years! Everyone in Equestria knows that!”

Gandalf laughed joyously; his guess had not been wrong after all, and he certainly had not expected to find that out from this eccentric creature. The Princesses were indeed alive, and he needed only to find out where they were now. It struck him then that this serpent was not at all a monster; it was a friendly being that deserved to be treated as such, and it was certainly no less magnificent than any other creature of Equestria.

“Yes, I know them! Where may I find them?” Gandalf asked, and he glanced upwards at the white city on the mountain far above him before looking back quickly at the serpent, who had been smiling at his elation.

“You don’t know that either? Well…” he turned, and gestured to the white city that Gandalf had been looking at. “…You can find them in that fabulous city right there! But oh, that’s an awfully long walk! Maybe if you go to Ponyille and ask for help-”

“Ponyville?” interjected the wizard, as he considered the latest news; his guess as to the Princesses’ location was also correct, and he believed his assumption was also correct regarding “Ponyville”, which he thought meant a town of ponies.

“Oh my, you don’t know that too?” asked the serpent, who was beginning to look somewhat exasperated. “It’s the town full of ponies! I mean, you’ve been there before, right? Everyone knows where that is too!” he pointed down the path on the other side of the bank. “It’s right down there, just barely another hour’s walk!”

The wizard was absolutely gratified; he had learned so much in such little time, and all of it bode very well. Greatly unexpected was this turn of events, that he would meet and gain all this news from a serpent, of all creatures!

“You have been of great help, friend!” Gandalf said, and he beamed at the serpent, who reciprocated, though he was still visibly confused by Gandalf’s apparent lack of knowledge.

The serpent bowed. “Oh, it was my pleasure! After those other ponies helped me, it’s the least I could do!”

This drew the wizard’s curiosity, and though he was not one to pry into the business of others he could not help but ask the serpent’s meaning. “Other ponies?” Gandalf said.

The serpent nodded. “Oh yes!” he said. He then leaned forward, and Gandalf saw now that it was not flames that were bursting from the serpent’s head, but hair; the serpent had a full head and long mustache of it, which was fiery-orange in color. It seemed to Gandalf that the more he learned about the serpent the stranger the encounter grew, for he knew of no dragon that had hair, but this was of no consequence. The serpent was pointing to the end of one half of his mustache, which Gandalf quickly noticed ended in curled, brilliantly-shaded indigo hair.

The serpent began to explain. “A few months ago, I was minding my business and just swimming about one night when a little cloud of purple smoke just whizzed past me, and cut off my oh-so-fabulous mustache!” he said, and then he paused for what seemed to be the cause of creating drama. The wizard knew not what he meant by the cloud of smoke and wondered if there was any relation between it and the wall of mist around the ancient castle. The serpent continued with a look of exaggerated horror on his face as he remembered that difficult time. “Oh, I was so desperate! My fabulous mustache had been cut! And oh, it was just so dreadful that I started to flail about! But then, those six ponies came!”

“Six ponies?”

“Yes! I don’t know what they were doing, except that they were looking to cross over the river from the path from Ponyville, but they couldn’t because I was making such a big mess…” his smile returned now, more radiant than ever, as he recalled something pleasant in the memory. “…But then one of the ponies, a very fashionable white mare with a very fashionable mane took one of my scales to cut her tail off, and used it to fix my mustache!” he said happily, as he indicated the distinct, springy purple end of his facial hair. “She saved my mustache! She saved my life!”

It was certainly a curious tale, and one that had obviously also been exaggerated in certain aspects; for one thing, Gandalf was quite certain that the mustache would have grown back, and he also felt it unlikely that the serpent’s life was at risk when his mustache had been cut. But this did not matter to him, for the implications of the serpent’s tale were more important. What had the six ponies been doing here? The only thing down the path was the castle, and nothing was there. Then, there was the talk of the dark cloud of smoke. It seemed there would be no end to the mysteries he would encounter.

Though the wizard was very eager to continue onwards, he wanted to see if the serpent knew anything else about that rather curious-sounding night. “You know nothing else then? Of why those ponies were here in the forest, or of that cloud of smoke?”

“Nope! I don’t know anything about why they were here. After that wonderful mare’s show of generosity I helped them across the river, and then I just lounged around for the rest of the night because I didn’t see them again. Oh, and I don’t know anything about that dastardly cloud either. All I know is that it was very fast, and it cut my mustache right in half!”

This was odd; how had the six ponies returned from their errand? Or had they not? It was possible that these questions would be raised once again later, and Gandalf made sure to remember them. For now though, he was satisfied. To an extent he wanted to stay and learn all he could from the serpent of what it knew about Equestria’s recent past or beyond, but his desire to return to his journey was too great to bear.

“A curious tale! And certainly a very fascinating one!” Gandalf said. “I learned much from it, but I’ve one more favor to ask of you, if you do not mind; can you help me cross these waters?”

“Oh, allow me! After all, we can’t let those elegant white robes get wet now, can we?” the serpent said happily, and he snaked back underneath the surface of the river. His body formed great looping arches upon which the wizard jumped effortlessly to the other side. Landing safely on the bank, Gandalf turned back to the serpent, who had emerged once again from the river.

“For only mere moments have I known you, and yet I already owe you a debt of gratitude!” said Gandalf, who had also chuckled at the comment about his robes, and the serpent blushed at the praise and appeared quite appreciative of it. “The path to Ponyville is just ahead, you say?”

“Yes indeed! Just follow the road straight ahead of you, and don’t move from it. You’ll get to Ponyville in about an hour.”

“Very well then!” said the wizard, though he could not help but wonder, finally, how the serpent knew so much. It certainly did not seem to be spinning lies, for Gandalf was quite proficient at finding lies in words, and he found none within the serpent’s. He stowed away his sword, which he had kept out for far too long. “Now, I cannot help but wonder; you seem quite fond of your river, so where have you learned so much about the ponies?”

“Oh, well, everyone knows that the Princesses rule Equestria, because they’ve been doing that for so long, and I hear that they even used to live in the Everfree, back when I was a teeny-tiny serpent that lived all the way upstream! And I know all about Ponyville because I was all grown up when they first began to build here. I even talked to the settlers! Er, or at least those that didn’t run and call me scary…” he said, and a bit of a sad note came into his voice.

Gandalf considered this; a settlement had been formed some time ago, and there he would find some way to finally meet the Princesses. He spoke again to the serpent to comfort it. “No. I’ve met many a beast, and I can tell that you certainly are not one of them,” said Gandalf, for he found this serpent to be quite agreeable, even more so than other beings that many would not deem as monstrous. “But you’ve been here since the Princesses lived here in the Everfree?” Gandalf asked, and when the serpent nodded the wizard realized this was not so surprising, for dragons had lengthy lifespans. Now there were a great many questions that Gandalf wanted to ask, but he no longer wished to pester the creature, and so he only asked the most important one. “Then do you know what caused them to leave?”

“Oh… well, I lived here, but not actually here, as in, ‘here in this part of the river’. I lived all the way upstream all those years ago, and upstream is very far away…” the serpent trailed off for a bit. “…So no, I don’t know why they left. By the time I moved down here barely anypony came by. Sorry!”

“It is just as well,” Gandalf said, for it only really mattered that the Princesses were well; he would learn more from them. “And I thank you greatly for all the help you have given.”

“Oh, it was nothing mister. It’s the least I could do to help a kind old pony!” said the serpent, whose expression then turned despondent as her realized that the wizard was preparing to part. “Oh no… is this goodbye? I hate goodbyes. This is a goodbye, isn’t it?”

“I’m afraid it is,” said Gandalf. “Had I more time I would stay and talk for much time with you, but I’ve very pressing matters to attend to. However I am sure that our paths will cross again one day, and not a day too far off either.”

At this the serpent immediately turned cheerful again, and he laughed. “Oh, I think so too! But until then....” His body then began to sink back into the river’s depths, and he waved at the wizard. “… take care of yourself, Mr. Pony!” he said, and then he was gone.

The encounter had been an insightful one, and left Gandalf delighted. It seemed that even some of the most fearsome creatures of Equestria were peaceable, as the serpent’s demeanor just proved. Gandalf’s sole regret was that he had neglected to ask for its name, for he would certainly not forget it had he learned it. Jubilant was the wizard now, and determined; he knew now that the Princesses were alive and well, and not very far off.

He turned to look at the sunlit path that stretched now before him and the mountain that was coming steadily closer; there was the world ahead, and he needed only to go to it. With a quickened pace he went down the road, for he wished not only to see the Princesses, but to reach the place called Ponyville as well.

The woods around him were no different than they had been before and were no less dark or eerie, but in his lighthearted mood they seemed tranquil to him. It was still morning, though it seemed as if many hours had passed with all he had learned, and the day seemed now to be at its brightest, for the sun was nearing its greatest height. The castle remained high above on its pedestal of stone as he walked faithfully onward. Now and then the woods closed on to the path, only to back away later from it, and at one point they came so close that the tree-tops above covered up the view of the sky, and the way became dark for some time. In the shade, the wizard came across a small, tightly-bunched group of strangely-shaped trees right in the middle of the path, which he felt were quite out of place.

But he thought little of them, and before long the the trees opened up to the sky again. Eventually the routeway widened greatly, and two giant trees appeared on either side of it, towering over all the smaller ones. Beyond that he could see that the path continued to widen, until it was a bare clearing. There he saw vast chunks of stone buried in the earth, and above there was a small mountain that bore a broken cliff. It was quite obvious that the stone near him had fallen from above. Not wanting to risk being the victim of a rock-fall, the wizard hurried onwards through the clearing, where he could see that far off, trees were once again thinning the road into a narrower path.

Now he was sure that the serpent had been mistaken, as helpful as it had been; the journey had surely taken more than one hour. He was tired and ached for a rest that he was not willing to take, for he felt that soon this part of his journey would be over. The shade of this part of the forest was not so threatening, and around him the woods were not as dark as they had been before, at the ruins of the castle. He walked onwards through this vast maze of wood and weed for what seemed to be yet another hour, but he was not quite sure of this guess.

Before long the woods ahead grew brighter and Gandalf could see rolling plains of green dotted with flowers past the trees, and the distant peaks of overlooking mountains above in the sky. The road did not end there; he could see the path leading through the field of green there, and though he knew not how much farther he would have to travel his spirit was nowhere close to breaking, for he had walked much farther for less worthy causes. However it seemed that noon was at hand, and the wizard deliberated on whether he would soon sit and take a brief rest. Ahead of him the long road stretched on, and at once he was reminded of a song he knew that would fit this moment very well, and so he hummed and hymned.

The Road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can,
Pursuing it with weary feet,
Until it joins some larger way,
Where many paths and errands meet.
And whither then? I cannot say.

It was a grand old song, titled simply A Walking Song, and it was yet another one of Bilbo’s merry crafts. There was a second part to the song which he knew well, but he did not sing it, for suddenly he thought he heard the sound of another singing voice not so far away, which ceased as spontaneously as it had begun. It had been indistinct in his ear, but it seemed to have come from somewhere further ahead, where the wood was much brighter. Carefully now and listening intently the wizard trotted softly; he wondered if he had truly heard anything, for he was fatigued, but nonetheless there was safety in vigilance. On he went with the path, and aside from a continuous chorus of birdsong that he had been hearing for some time now, there seemed to be nothing.

But then he heard the voice again; it was louder this time, and from what the wizard could hear it was accompanying the bird-speech in some delicate melody, not of words but only mellifluous notes. He could not clearly discern the voice from the rest of the music, but he listened closely for it nonetheless. The wizard was reminded very quickly of Elven-song, for like the arias of that ancient music the tunes and voices of the song he was hearing now were gentle like silk, and at the same time indescribably serene. So soothing was the sound to his ears that the enervation of his long trek seemed to ease into a quiet calmness, and his pace lessened as the song continued, the sweet voice singing along with it. But the wizard reminded himself to be watchful of whatever forces that were at work here, and stepped softly.

Further ahead where the path lead on to the field and past the woods, the wizard could see that a trail branched off to the left of the road, and a tight grove of trees obscured wherever the route lead from his view. As he approached that fork in the path the singing grew louder, and so he guessed that the music was spun from behind the grove. Soon he approached the turn, and carefully he stepped from behind the trees and searched for the owner of the voice.

There was a large clearing behind the copse, and the first thing the wizard noticed was the peculiar little house that sat on a small hill in the center; it was made of wood and many windows of differing shapes were haphazardly set into it, along with a firm-looking door of brown wood that stood at the top of a path that lead down from the house and snaked through the clearing, past a small pool and on over a bridge on a stream.

The house’s roof was so large that it overshadowed the wooden construct beneath it, and also looked to be sculpted from either grass or moss or tree leaves. From where Gandalf stood the whole place looked quite like a Hobbit-hole, and for a moment the wizard almost suspected that a Hobbit had confusedly walked into Equestria. But he quickly found that was not the case, for his ears brought his eyes to the source of the singing voice, who he guessed was also the inhabitant as he saw her.

It was a small winged pony; a pegasus pony, who was hovering in the middle of the clearing with her wings fluttering about in the air, in the midst of voicing the song that Gandalf had heard. Her mane was pink, and her coat a very pale gold, so bright in hue that at first glimpse she was nearly indistinguishable from the yellow and orange of her sunlit surroundings. Around and above her were many birdhouses hung from tree-limbs, each of which housed a chirping bird that was singing conjointly with her in sequences of flawless cadences.

Stunned was the wizard, not just by this first glimpse of ponykind that he had taken in centuries, but of the music as well. There he stood by the trees as the fanciful spectacle returned some of his fondest memories of the old Equestria and far beyond that time. There were visions of sprite-like Elf-children dancing about in their green forests and visions of young ponies wandering about with morning light spilling about them, and countless more of all the innocent, fawn-like creatures he had known throughout the years.

As he listened to her song, which he could describe only as a rich amalgamation of rising and falling notes, he watched as she worked as one with the nature around her, and the wizard breathed a sigh not of lament, but of reverence. Gandalf could sense no mischief about this creature, for she seemed to be the purest being even amongst all the righteous that he had come to know.

Then she ceased her song, and the birds followed suit promptly. The honey of the music ceased flowing at once, and as if there had been a spell upon him the wizard broke from the echoes of the past. It struck him as especially remarkable indeed that she wielded the voices of the birds with such skill, but that was of little importance for now. As the pony's back was turned to him he could not see her face, but he heard her speak, and her lighthearted tone hinted to the wizard that she was smiling at the birds.

“Oh, good job everyone! That was just perfect! Just do it again with me, okay?” she said, and Gandalf saw that some of the birds nodded. There was an unmistakably motherly note of gentleness in her crisp voice which softened even the wizard’s heart, and it was so soft that it was nearly inaudible. She still remained unaware of the wizard's presence, but he could not move himself from his spot, for she and the birds were readying for another chorus, and he hoped to hear the song once again. Yet this felt wrong, somehow; almost like eavesdropping, in a way.

All of a sudden a white rabbit jumped forth from the tall grasses by the small pond, and sprang over to the ground beneath the pony. With interest Gandalf watched as the rabbit jumped up and down, gaining the attention of the young mare. As foolish as the thought was, the wizard was also rather sure that the rabbit was wearing a worried frown.

“What’s wrong, Angel Bunny?” said the pony said as she looked downwards at the rabbit, who then began a series of obscure gestures that the wizard did not know. It seemed then that this pony was capable of communicating with not only birds, but with rabbits and perhaps other animals as well, an ability he did not remember any other ponies in the past possessing. There was not a doubt in Gandalf's mind that Radagast* would be quite fascinated by this. Then he saw, much to his shock, that the rabbit was gesticulating frantically in his direction.

“What? Is there somepony behind me?” the pony said incredulously, and before Gandalf could move she craned about in the air to look in his direction. Upon seeing him the pony's eyes went wide with shock, and she yelped and lost flight and fell into the pond below her, and though the pool was shallow she began to flail about and squeal in panic. Alarmed, Gandalf hastened forth to the pool, for he feared for her.

“Are you injured?” the wizard asked, as he stood by the side of the pond. Upon closer inspection he was relieved; the pony had recovered from her fall rather quickly, and aside from a wet coat and ruffled feathers she did not look otherwise affected. By her side now were the white rabbit (which Gandalf was now wary of) and her choir of birds, who had panicked at her fall but were then appeased by her apparent lack of injury.

She was quiet now, and had risen to her hooves in the pool. Now Gandalf saw that he was a bit taller than her, which he now remembered had been the case with previous ponies. She was staring up at him with what looked to be a mix of embarrassment, confusion, and perhaps even fear, but she maintained her silence and did not answer Gandalf's question. While this would irk the wizard in many instances this was not one of them; he could tell at once that she was dreadfully shy, and she had been very startled by him. The wizard felt quite guilty at having caused this.

“I am sorry,” he said. "I was merely passing by, with no intention to startle you." This was not entirely true of course, for he had been loitering to hear her music, and the lie did not ease the wizard's regret. She still did not speak, but her gaze turned from the wizard and instead went down to the pool, while she began to prod the water with her hoof absentmindedly. Not quite knowing what to do next, the wizard offered forth his hoof, which she glanced at, but did not take.

"There is no need to loiter within the pool," Gandalf said to her very patiently, and this time she took his hoof. He pulled her gently from the water, but upon setting her hooves upon soil again she did not resume returning the wizard's gaze. Instead Gandalf noticed that while she was keeping her eyes away she was sneaking a few peeks at the wizard's robes, and his staff. Despite the uncomfortable silence the wizard continued, while trying to remain as tactful as he could be.

“I suppose introductions are in order. I am Gandalf,” said the wizard. "Or, at least that is what most know me by."
He paused here, waiting to see if she would introduce herself in turn, which he did not expect her to do. To his surprise she spoke, but the volume of her quiet voice was soft and ephemeral, like fresh-fallen snow, and the wizard did not hear her clearly.

“I'm afraid I did not quite understand you, friend,” he said, and he expected her to resume her silence. But instead she spoke again, and louder.

"I-I'm... I'm Fluttershy," said the mare, and she looked back into his eyes briefly before quickly shifting her gaze back to the ground. The wizard nodded, but he was taken aback both by how direct she was now, and how appropriate a name it was for her; the name brought forth the image of a gentle and timid creature, a perfect description of her.

"I am at your service then, Fluttershy, and again I apologize for your trouble," said Gandalf, noting to himself again how miraculous this encounter was, with this remarkable pony he now knew as Fluttershy. He smiled reassuringly at her, hoping that she was not stricken. "And, I bid you good morning in any case."

Upon hearing the greeting Fluttershy seemed to ease slightly despite her puzzlement at the new pony's sudden appearance, and she replied in kind. "Oh, um, good morning to you too, umm..." she trailed off suddenly, as if wondering how to address him. "...Mr. Gandalf."

The wizard laughed kindly at her formality. "Mister? Quite! Not many have referred to me as such, but your manners are appreciated," he said, and it was true; "mister" had not ever been a term commonly used with his name. "If you so please you may refer to me simply as Gandalf." The wizard was impressed with how mild-mannered she was, but wondered if she was so polite that it came to a fault.

"Oh, okay, if you don't mind then, um, Gandalf," she said. She certainly seemed more sociable now despite the breaks in her speech, and comfortable as well; it seemed that her mane and coat were drying quite quickly in the sun. It was evident though that her shyness was now replaced with curiosity, at both his appearance and origin, and perhaps also at his name, for Gandalf knew from the past that the names of ponies were quite different from the names of peoples and beings of Middle-earth. He had hoped to walk unnoticed among any ponies he would encounter, but it seemed now that that would likely be far from the case.

Fluttershy, meanwhile, could not bear to resist asking why the old pony was so far from home, for she believed him to be no more than a retired citizen of Ponyville, and perhaps a more confused one at that given his odd manner of dress and the name he gave himself, among other things. She was worried greatly for him, so much so that she went forward and voiced her concern. "Oh, umm, if you don't mind me asking, umm... well, do you mind telling me what you were doing in the Everfree Forest? I mean, umm, isn't Ponyville Retirement Village a little far away?"

"Hm? Ponyville Retirement Village?" asked Gandalf. He had expected such a question, but he did not know what village she was referring to. "I am not familiar with any place that belongs to that name, I'm afraid. But to answer your previous question," he stopped himself there, and contemplated what to say. He knew at once that no mention of Middle-earth would be made, for he himself had to admit that the truth of his journey would not sound quite too believable to those who knew little of the history between this land and the other, and aside from that he did not want anypony, particularly this tranquil creature, to know the existence of such a brutal world.

"I am returning here from a place far off, where I spent many a year. I had no other path to take other than that which lies in the Everfree, and though it was not the safest of routes it was certainly of use, for here I am now, closer to my goal but still with some ways to go," said the wizard. Upon hearing this Fluttershy's eyes widened, and she looked now at him.

"Wait, you mean... you walked all the way through the Everfree Forest?" she said, the note of doubt in her voice surpassing the bewilderment in her tone. "By yourself?"

"Yes", said Gandalf, and he took her skeptical astonishment as proof that the Everfree had been deemed unsafe by ponies since his departure from here. He then went on. "A great walk it was as well, but not as great as the purpose for which I have come." He looked away from Fluttershy and off towards the distance, and there he saw the great city that now stood closer. It was now no more than a matter of time until he reached his destination, and his spirits had been lightened even further by his first meeting with one of ponykind.

He looked back at Fluttershy, who had gone silent and was looking at him with more curiosity than ever. Evidently she was considering the truthfulness of his last few claims, among other things about him, for this meeting was doubtlessly strange to her. It was Gandalf's hope that her suspicions would soon ease, not solely because he did not wish her to be discomforted, but also because he knew he would soon be seeking her help.

It seemed to the wizard that much more than a day had passed since his return to Equestria, for his journey had taught him much of this new place within that short span of time. Yet he knew the real journey had not yet even begun; this was barely the beginning. Smiling, he spoke then to Fluttershy.

"I have come to visit two of my oldest and dearest friends, both of whom you likely know well, and I shall tell you more of that soon," he said. "But first, friend, would it trouble you to tell me of Ponyville?"

Chapter 3: At the Crossroads

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It had been little more than an hour since Fluttershy had risen from her bed with the remnants of a majestic dream-borne birdsong upon her ears, and so urgent was the gentle mare's desire to remake the tune that she had opted to forego her morning meal and instead burst out of her home to meet the assembly of birds that awaited her within their small houses above. The golden rays of sun that warmed her coat and chased away what was left of the previous night's chill had been rejuvenating, and though sleep had not entirely left her she had then eagerly and patiently directed the voices of her flying friends until the notes they produced started to resemble those which echoed within her mind; she had expected to spend the entirety of the morning doing just that, and so the completely unforeseen appearance of the unicorn in white had given the young mare's rested heart quite a jump.

But given her kind disposition she of course did not mind very much, though she was no longer sure of her earlier impression of him, which was that he was no more than a befuddled old stallion that by some chance had wandered away from Ponyville Retirement Village. Although Gandalf with his long silver beard and mane looked to be about the same age as Granny Smith Fluttershy thought she felt a sense of wisdom and magnificence about him; it was a small inkling, like the tiniest draft of fresh winter air dancing across the neck, and the brilliance of his strange wonderful robes and elegant staff only fueled her new perception of him being something much more than a simple pony. His voice was deep yet calm and peaceful like the sound of distant thunder in the wake of a fleeting storm, and though she was still puzzled by him and some things about him she found herself now oddly at ease. However, she was not sure at the moment how to tell him 'of Ponyville' given the vague wording of his question.

"Of Ponyville?" she blinked as she repeated, narrowing her brow in confusion and hoping for some sort of clarification.

"Why, yes." Gandalf replied as he smiled beneath his long white beard, and then he thankfully went on to elaborate upon his request. "If it wouldn't trouble you I would simply like to know a little more about it. Would you happen to know for instance how many ponies live there? Or more importantly how I may find my way there? Forgive me, for as I said years have passed since I departed this place, and having just returned I have yet to see the town for myself."

Now Fluttershy understood and gave a quiet "Oh, um..." but so burdened was she by the weight of all her own questions that she still she found herself at a loss for words, and feeling abashed by her hesitation she shifted her eyes from Gandalf's bright form and to the azure brook quietly flowing at their side. She quickly decided she would simply oblige him now and worry later about possibly troubling him with her own curiosities, for he had been very pleasant in his manners and she could see no ill will about him either, and as with her nature she now found herself sort of eager to provide help in any way she could.

"Well, um... Mister Gandalf, to answer your first question, all sorts of ponies live in Ponyville. We have many unicorns like yourself, and pegasi like me and earth ponies too. I think Ponyville was founded by earth ponies, actually. Um..." she trailed off as she decided what else she could share.

Gandalf asked: "And how long ago was this founding? Many years ago, I would think?"

"Oh, yes. My friend Applejack's granny was one of the first ponies there, and she was only a little filly then. Now she's- Well, she's a happy old mare with a big family now." She hoped her expression did not betray her relief; very nearly had she rudely proclaimed her comparison between Granny Smith's age to that of Gandalf's.

"I see! And I don't suppose that very path would lead me over there to Ponyville?" Gandalf said, and with his staff he gestured towards the trail that arced over the old oak stream-bridge and led down a steep slope past some trees and then stretched on over a farther tall hill that Fluttershy knew hid Ponyville.

"That's right. Just follow that short road and you'll get to Ponyville. It's a pretty big town, so I don't think you'll be able to miss it."

"Hm!" Gandalf grunted as he nodded approvingly, visibly pleased by her directions, and Fluttershy in turn was gladdened that he was. There was bright gratitude in his eyes as he said: "Then I think that I shall go there soon. Friend, I thank you greatly for your help!"

"Oh, no problem at all, mister! Um, is there anything else I can help you with?"

"I think so. Yes, I have just another thing to ask. By any chance, do you know of the Princesses? Celestia and Luna?" His voice had become a bit softer and a small note of what sounded to Fluttershy like hope had crept into his voice, as if he were wishing for a particular answer.

Fluttershy could not help but blink confusedly again. "Well, of course. Everypony knows Princess Celestia and Princess Luna. They rule Equestria from Canterlot, and-"

"Canterlot?" He interjected, and Fluttershy followed his eyes to the gleaming white city with the purple spires and long graceful waterfalls that glimmered distantly in the morning light.

"Um... Yes. That would be Canterlot." She said, more matter-of-factly then she had hoped to sound. But she had long been beneath the impression that the Princesses were familiar enough to everypony that Canterlot, that renowned majestic city that regularly received visitors from all over Equestria and all over the world, would be commonly enough known. "You could get there from Ponyville. All you have to do is find the train station and get yourself on board. "

Here there was an inquisitive spark in the unicorn's eyes and he said: "Well, I confess that I do not know what a train station is. I suppose that it is a means of transport?" And Fluttershy now wondered above everything else where had he been for so long that there was no knowledge of Canterlot or trains.

"Yes, the train is. It's... a very long and loud machine with wheels, I guess you could call it? And it runs on a steel... path, called train tracks. So look for a building right next to the train track, and if you get lost just ask somepony! They'll help you, I'm sure."

"Understood. Well, a long loud wheeled machine! Fascinating!" the unicorn said grinning excitedly, and it almost seemed to Fluttershy as if the daylight itself that danced off his brilliant white robe had grown brighter with his mood. "But I must also ask about the Princesses. Have Celestia and Luna been well? Has their rule been fair? Has any trouble befallen them or this land?"

"Um... If you're asking about their health, yes, I think they've been doing very well. Oh, and everypony loves them! The Princesses have done a wonderful job of running Equestria. They're the best rulers we've ever had! Though they're also the only ones we've ever had... um," she trailed off as she was reminded of his earlier declaration, that he had arrived from some unknown place far off to visit "two of his oldest and dearest friends" here in Equestria, and she guessed then that perhaps Princesses Celestia and Luna had been the two friends he had spoken of. As the light of realization entered her eyes at last she could not contain her interest in the matter.

"Wait, were you... Are your old friends... um, Princess Celestia and Princess Luna?" she said in a voice shaded with both wonder and some doubt.

Gandalf's bright grin then vanished. Suddenly he wore now a great warm smile and he chuckled, deep and hearty. "Quite so, and for far too long have I owed the rascals the honor of a simple visit."

Fluttershy stared. At this point she was fearful that her inquiries would go unanswered, for so many now buzzed about her mind that poor Fluttershy did not know even where to begin asking, or how much she could ask without being too intrusive. Would she begin by asking first from what far-away place Gandalf had returned? Or when (she supposed it would have to have been very long ago given all he had said) had he first met the Princesses and beneath what circumstances? Or would she simply hope that by his own volition he would reveal more about himself soon? But alas the intriguing unicorn did not seem to notice the mask of complete bafflement which was now donned by Fluttershy.

"Therefore I've not a minute to waste," he declared. "Close as I am now I must hurry on to Canterlot; I should hope that those two still remember me, or this long walk of mine would have been for naught!" he went on as he laughed. His speech had become a hint more rapid in his exhilaration. "Many thanks again, and many apologies for disrupting your morning! There is still very much I wish to ask you, but I do think I have troubled you for long enough. Farewell, Fluttershy! I hope we meet each other again," he said as he bowed low, and when he rose his dark eyes beneath thick snowy brows were alight with appreciation and joy.

"Oh, any time, mister," She replied in a small voice; she found herself too reluctant to utter anything else, and to her dismay then the old unicorn turned and set off over the small stream-bridge and the path towards Ponyville, the glow of his pale robes in the bright light of Princess Celestia's sun that had first stung her eyes growing more and more distant as he went over the bridge and onwards. She sighed heavily. So gladly would she have answered any of his other questions in return for keys to the riddle that was his origins! Yet much to her current regret an irrational fear of offending the unicorn had kept her silent.

Fluttershy then glanced upwards. The assemblage of birdhouses that swayed above in the soft morning breeze had long since been abandoned by her feathered friends out of boredom. They would return later, she knew, for food and shelter. Then a soft tugging at her mane drew her attention to the ground; Angel Bunny stared pleadingly at her with one paw grasping tightly at her hairs and the other cradling his stomach.

"Is something wrong, Angel Bunny?" she asked. He stared at her with mouth agape as if appalled by the very fact that she had asked him that and with a look of vexation he produced his pocket watch and thrust it right before Fluttershy's puzzled face. Then she saw that a quarter of an hour after 10 o' clock was displayed upon the timepiece. It dawned upon her then that he had been attempting to attract her notice for a good while now, but the meeting had caused her to overlook completely his presence; and with that the poor rabbit's breakfast time. The desperation in his eyes demonstrated that he was very much famished.

"Oh my goodness! Oh, I'm sorry Angel!" she squealed, and to her horror her Angel only crossed his tiny arms and pouted in reply. She hurried up the tiny hill upon which her cottage sat and threw open the thick red oak door, and went into the pantry to rummage frantically through all the cupboards and shelves and pots for carrots or lettuce or apples to make him his favorite morning salad which she had promised to him the day before; here and there and everywhere she scoured, but alas amid all the other greens and fruits in her stores Fluttershy found no trace of any coveted materials. She then heard a rapping on wood behind her, and she looked behind to see Angel leaning within the pantry doorway and impatiently tapping at it with his right heel, his beady eyes burning at her with fiery reproach.

"Um... grapes?" she offered, sheepishly smiling as she grasped a trio of the ripe purple fruits within her hoof and presented it to the fluffy fellow and frowning when he turned his small pink nose up at it. It seemed he would not settle for anything less than a combination of carrots and lettuce and apples; yet Fluttershy who now realized it had been quite some time since her last visit to Ponyville's markets for groceries was not able to deliver even that simple salad. Defeated and very near panicked tears she sat on her haunches before Angel and looked pleadingly at him with gentle cyan eyes awash with guilt.

"Oh Angel... I don't have the things I need to make your salad," she lamented with a sinking guilt-burdened heart, and though capable she was of employing her Stare or simple insistence until Angel settled for a lesser but no less nutritious breakfast, she was not about to let her promise remain unfulfilled. "Ok, you stay right here, Angel Bunny! I'll go get the things I need. Be right back!" she declared, and then she galloped past the morose Angel and out her cottage door, grabbing her pack and throwing it on as she went. The little white bunny (who at this time was feeling more than a little remorseful for distressing his good friend to such an extent) watched as she went on swiftly over the stream and then to the road to Ponyville, and up on the road there was a white dot that glimmered faintly like a star upon the land.

Meanwhile Gandalf had made good headway upon the path of packed dirt, and a song was in his heart as he walked; no tune from any piece in particular but merely a jolly hum. All around him and in the reaches of his sight were the emerald knolls that he had borne witness to from atop his perch in that high tower at the old castle, and steadily was he approaching what he knew now was the Sisters' new seat. With each and every step of his hooves Gandalf could see more and then more of the city Canterlot; from far away he had already spotted the ivory towers that at this closeness were nearly blinding with light, but he now could see the exquisite spirals patterned upon the gold and purple caps donned by the spires; some of those tops he saw were crowned with grand stars of gold, and the long falls that flowed downwards from the city to meet the earth below he thought glittered like vast pillars of innumerable sapphires. Like before the image of Minas Tirith entered his mind, and he wondered then if during Canterlot's conception long ago exceptional masons had simply laid marble brick upon marble brick for many days and carved into the side of that old stone titan that dwarfed all the other mountains about as Men of Gondor had done for the City of Kings in that world so far away, or if powerful spells had been cast also by powerful ponies to aid in the construction; it was to his doubt that Celestia and Luna (or at least Celestia) would idly sit by and nap in the shade as others built them their new abode, and so it was his guess that Canterlot's walls were spell-formed as much as they had been stone-formed.

But as he went about in his musings he did not forget that he had still quite a ways to travel; the view he had of the city now was still no more than a massive portrait on a canvas of light blue, framed at the sides by the grove of trees split through the middle by the road that he approached now.

Then he heard a sound from somewhere behind him; the steady thump-thump-thump-thump! of hooves making haste upon bare earth. Glancing behind he saw to his surprise Fluttershy, whose strands of pink mane were scattered about and swiping at the air as she hurried in his direction with tremendous speed. He stopped in his tracks and cautiously he directed his sight behind her in search of any danger, but he saw nothing aside from the part of road he had walked and some trees, and the humble cottage behind them. Closer she now came, but when they entered the range of his ears Gandalf heard her breaths and knew they were in very finite numbers. Then some yards away her hooves grew still and the force of her run carried her just a little longer on the trail, and plumes of dust rose behind her as she came to halt. She sat then upon her haunches where she stopped with her shoulders rising and falling with each rapid desperate breath and her face angled towards the ground.

Concerned, Gandalf treaded over, calling "Hello again!" as he came to a stop before her. In response her head turned upwards as she panted, and through her veritably disarrayed mane one eye peeked at him through a gap in the strands, and layered over the green-blue was much worry.

"What is the matter, Fluttershy?" asked Gandalf.

"Need to... go buy... carrots... lettuce... apples!" she gasped out between deep huffs and she then began to cough, and Gandalf guessed that this delicate creature was not so accustomed to running at such a speed.

"I... beg your pardon?" he asked after considering her words for a moment and gleaning no particular meaning from them. By now she was in a better state and her chest heaved no longer at such a pace as before, and she rose to her hooves.

"I need to go buy carrots and lettuce and apples, to make some breakfast," she explained, her talking rushed from breathlessness. "I promised my friend Angel Bunny that I would make him salad this morning, and I'm no liar, so I need to hurry to the market, and then hurry back home."

"Ah, how good of you! A promise is indeed a promise," Gandalf said beaming with approval at Fluttershy, who in turn gave a small smile of appreciation. "I do believe then that I've gained a traveling companion here?" he guessed.

"Mhm! You have, mister," Fluttershy said as she went to his side. "Let's go! It's not too far now."

"I am glad to hear it!" Gandalf said, and then they set off. They went up the hill-road that broke the ring of trees, and once they reached the top Gandalf saw yet another taller hill sitting there a bit farther, and now many earthen bouquets of flowers white and blue and red and pale yellow dotted the grassy edges of the road and all over the curving field, and many snow-capped short mountains stood in the distance beyond where the grassland spread too far up to see where it ended. As they came down from the hill covered by the shadow of a tree-top Gandalf heard a low grumbling noise that he recognized to be complaint of an empty stomach. He looked to the left of him and to his amusement saw Fluttershy with widened shocked eyes, and a hoof on her stomach.

"Oh my, I, um... didn't notice how hungry I am until just now," she said as a slight blush appeared upon her cheeks. "I missed breakfast, oh well. I'll just get something to eat while I'm in town."

Gandalf shook his head. "There is no need to wait until then. I can be of some help here," he said, and from his leathern knapsack he drew out one of the fine mallorn-wrapped loaves of lembas with his horn-magic. When it floated over to her Fluttershy looked curiously at it, and then at Gandalf.

"For me?" she asked.

"Indeed. Go on and take it!" Gandalf assured as the leaf-wrapping came undone with his magic and the light-brown treat within was revealed. "I think you will find it rather filling."

The hold of his magic upon the foodstuff vanished as the yellow mare grasped it with one of her hooves, and took a small gentle bite. In an instant astonishment came into Fluttershy's eyes, and her next bite was a bit larger and chewed more slowly.

"Wow, this is really good!" remarked Fluttershy. "It's really creamy and sweet, and it's nice and chewy too, and..." she attempted to have a third morsel, but then moved the bread away from her mouth and took a hard look at it. "...I'm already too stuffed to eat any more. What is this? I've never eaten anything like it."

"It is known as lembas," said Gandalf, not very surprised at all that his newest acquaintance had taken a liking to the Elvish waybread and pleased that her famishment had gone. "It was gifted to me some time ago, and before you ask I must admit that I am not sure of the recipe. You seem to enjoy it very much, so keep the rest!"

"Oh, well, if you don't mind. Thank you so much!" she said happily as Gandalf wrapped the remaining portion within the Mallorn once more and returned it to her, and then she placed it into the traveling pack at her side.

"You are welcome," said Gandalf. "Do not forget to keep it within the leaf-wrapping and it will remain fresh for months."

"That sounds really handy. Okay!" Fluttershy replied, and Gandalf saw a new bounce to her step as she walked with renewed vigor. Now they were at the foot of the second bank of earth (it really had been a short walk) and as they followed its surface upwards Fluttershy said: "Just over this hill, and you'll be able to see Ponyville."

"Very good," Gandalf said, now beginning to conjure within his mind's eye an image of the town as Canterlot stood unmoving high above. He now realized he had no knowledge at all of what the town looked like; he wondered if the homes were pieced together from brick and mortar or strong wood and nails, or if it would be made from unsullied marble like the city perched proudly above. The slope became even and they stood on the hilltop as Ponyville at last arrived into the wizard's view.

"There it is," said Fluttershy. "It's wonderful, isn't it?"

She spoke the truth, for what the wizard saw was a delightful village fit to be portrayed in a painting set on a wall by a soft reading chair in a comfortable warm home. Gandalf saw that his second guess was closer to the truth; a wood colored a tinge off from white gave nearly all the houses form, and angled beams and frames of what looked like oak or mahogany was set also into the structures, and atop them were thick roofs of what Gandalf supposed to be straw. But then his eyes were drawn to a tall jagged shape that towered above all the other homes. For a brief moment the wizard thought his eyes fooled, and he blinked and then saw there had been no mistake; a beautiful many-pointed star sculpted from a colossal piece of crystal or glass hung there atop a golden spire that surmounted a small many-windowed purple castle, which itself was clasped firmly by the limbs and branches of an immense tree carved from the same incandescence as that tremendous star; and there were many facets upon the star and the tree and each was a mirror that glowed clear blue with the reflection of the endless summer sky above. A banner violet bearing a symbol that was too small to clearly determine hung at the side from a golden flagpole and over two golden perches, one beneath it and another extending from the edifice front. The wizard pondered then if ever before in his life he had seen so impossible and grand a tower as that and he found that he could remember nothing quite of the sort; the Elves were responsible for many a marvelous craft and Gandalf recollected the afternoon sun on the trees and many graceful terraces of Imladris*, but skilled as the first children were with bending wood and stone and steel to their wills he did not think they ever had shaped a titanic gem into a many-colored tree. Perhaps in Valinor* far in the West there were like things of unreal elegance, but the very thought of that coveted realm would place longing in his heart and Gandalf decided to abandon what little he could remember of his true home at this time.

"A grand sight!" Gandalf said. "I imagine this all took much time to assemble. And what is that?" he asked and he pointed at the luminous tower-tree that stood above all.

"Oh! That's my friend Twilight's castle," said Fluttershy, then she brought a hoof to her chin and added: "Or maybe I should say 'Princess' Twilight?"

"'Princess', you say? There is a third alicorn?" Gandalf asked, taken aback by this discovery as Fluttershy nodded. "But you had said that Celestia and Luna had been always the sole regents?"

"Well, that's right. Princess Celestia and Princess Luna are the only alicorns that rule Equestria, but there's also Princess Cadance and Princess Twilight, who are alicorns too but don't rule Equestria," said Fluttershy.

"They came after I had gone, then," mused Gandalf.

"Um, right... Actually, Twilight didn't become an alicorn until very recently. She was a unicorn like you before she changed," said Fluttershy. "And I'm not sure when Cadance became an alicorn."

"I wager some manner of powerful magic led to your friend Twilight's ascension?" said Gandalf.

"Yes. Um, it's sort of a long story..." said Fluttershy. Gandalf saw a deep concentration starting to form in her eyes, and the wizard knew that as interesting as the story may be there were simply too many details for the mare to recount in a timely fashion.

"No need to tell it all," laughed Gandalf. "At a later time perhaps I shall trouble you for the tale. Or instead I shall trouble the Sisters for it, if they know it?"

"Oh, Princess Celestia had a hoof in transforming Twilight, actually," Fluttershy revealed. "So, yes. She could certainly tell you everything."

"I surmised as much; what force other than alicorn magic could forge wings upon unicorns?" said Gandalf as he looked to Canterlot; he imagined the Princesses somehow sighting him already from one of those tall spires, and Celestia sailing down joyfully in his direction like a white arrow with many-colored fletching, and behind her little Luna calling out her sister's name, fluttering slowly on untrained wings as she descended. Yet the city Canterlot remained mute and still, but the wizard would not; it was time to go.

"Let us walk," said Gandalf as he began to trot down the hill.

"Oh, wait!" exclaimed his companion, but when he turned his gaze to her she bore a reluctant grin, and dismissively she said: "Actually, never mind. It can wait until later."

"Ah, but 'later' does have a habit of arriving sooner than you think. You may as well speak now, Fluttershy," said Gandalf. At the moment he was very eager to enter Ponyville, but he thought she might tell him something of importance before then.

"Um, really, it's nothing," she insisted apologetically, and then she started also down the slope with a reassuring grin. "C'mon, let's go!"

"Agreed," said Gandalf, and when the mare began to hum a jaunty walking-song he knew the matter would no longer be discussed here (despite the fact that she had raised it in the first place), and all at the same time Gandalf was amused and curious and a small bit irked at her fickleness and the swift abandonment of her intended words.

But entrance to Ponyville was imminent, and as he descended toward the approaching portrait he searched with his eyes for whatever else he had missed on his first viewing. Among the roof-tops were pennants strung off thin rope and atop some of them were fluttering flags, and a forest of trees bearing thick apples red as rubies sat to the west, and behind that a long winding bridge emerged from behind the town and scaled the tall rock atop which sat Canterlot. High above Gandalf thought he saw a small fragment of rainbow hanging off a cloud, but as the white billow moved with the air the rainbow vanished, and Gandalf deemed it no more than a trick of light.

Then when the path became flat against the earth and they passed by a small series of white wood fence he and Fluttershy came into the shadow of the village edge, where to his delight he caught glimpses of ponies going this way and that with many different shades of coat to match their number, and while his view of them was obscured by the many houses he could hear already the storm of hoof-beats atop the packed village roads, and distant talk that to his far-away ears had been reduced to mutterings. Now they crossed a large wood stream-bridge banded at its sides with purple that closed a sparkling watery gap between the traveled road and the village, and afore the wizard was a bustling street of pegasi and unicorns and earth ponies.

"Well, here we are," he heard Fluttershy say with cheer, and his pace slowed and his companion's followed as he looked all about with bright eyes that revealed to him the stories of this new Equestria. By an alley there were fillies and colts jumping about excitedly over the results of some foals' game that they were engaged in; in the doorway of a home nearby stood a mare with blue bolts of lightning for a mane and odd purple spectacles bidding a fond farewell to another mare with a finely curled dark mane who smiled earnestly back at her friend; swooping erratically around in the air above was a pegasus pony with a mane of spun gold, who bore a satchel of letters and went from house to house depositing them; and he and Fluttershy both were approaching a thick dark-domed tower standing tall in a square.

"Not very much has changed, and I am glad," said Gandalf.

"Oh, what do you mean?" asked Fluttershy.

"I had feared that some sort of trouble had befallen Equestria since I departed, but I see now that ponykind is faring as well as it had in the past; perhaps better, even," replied the unicorn, and as he beamed at the sturdy oak-dwellings and their stout inhabitants in this tranquil untroubled world it came to him that Ponyville, in its simple beauty, was not so different from the Shire.

"I... think you're right," Fluttershy said simply, and though the presence of unsaid words in her reply did not escape the wizard he did not press upon it, taken as he was with these new sights.

"And it is peaceful enough here that this old pony may soon fall into a deep sleep on his hooves," continued Gandalf, and Fluttershy wore a small grin.

Then they entered the town square, where Gandalf saw again the pennants and banners he had spotted from afar, and there was the many-windowed tower that reached higher with its dark pointed top than the flat straw roofs of all the other buildings around, and arched over by three pink bridges on the other side of the square was a border of blue stream; Gandalf likened it to a limb of the Brandywine*. Over the bridges and rising from behind some trees was a tip of the star-gem that crowned the crystal tower belonging to Fluttershy's friend, but when he wondered if he should go there for a visit he realized that he had nearly lost sight of his purpose for returning here.

"Ah, pardon me; I nearly forgot the more pressing matters we each have to attend to," said Gandalf. "If you would point me in the direction of the train's station, I shall take my leave and trouble you no longer."

"Oh, you're not troubling me at all! Really!" Fluttershy said quickly. "But um, if that's what you want then sure," and she aimed a hoof past Gandalf and at a street adjacent to the one they stood at the edge of, and that the silhouette of Canterlot loomed right over. "Keep going down that street, and you won't be able to miss it. You really just need to head towards Canterlot, and you'll find the train station and the tracks."

"Thank you kindly. Then, we part now, though I believe our paths will cross again," said Gandalf. "After all I do intend to return here, once I've concluded the more urgent business at Canterlot."

"Okay, then I hope to see you around, Mister Gandalf! It was nice meeting you," said Fluttershy. "And, best of luck. Oh, and please tell Princess Celestia and Princess Luna I say 'hello'! But um, otherwise, bye!" and she waved a hoof in farewell.

"I shall do so. Good-bye!" said Gandalf, and as she turned away he gazed intently at her retreating form, now wondering if she had lost the desire to discuss whatever had concerned her earlier on the hill, or if she had forgotten to. He set his sights then on Canterlot, and made his way down the path selected.

With the Sisters so close the wizard paid no mind to the idyllic scenes around him, choosing instead to hurry forward. Along the way Gandalf noticed that many eyes had been drawn to him, and from passersby and windows around and above came stares and whispers, much to the wizard's chagrin; now that he could afford to find the time and cause for amusement he wished to maintain the element of surprise in his arrival, and hoped that news of his appearance would not reach the city Canterlot quicker than he would.

Then a sound like some vast whistle tore through the air from someways ahead accompanied by a noise like steel grinding upon itself. Alarmed at first he then remembered Fluttershy's description of a 'long and loud machine', and quickened his walk, and when there were no longer ponies in sight and the lines of properties by him came to an end and Canterlot was so large in view that the mountains behind it were no longer in sight he spotted two small houses atop a raised wooden platform farther up the dirt trail that the smooth-paved village road had become again, and from behind those extended what looked to Gandalf like a row of linked carriages with glass windows and roofs colored yellow and blue and pink, with the frontmost carriage colored deep blue and shaped at its front into a duck bill that met the skeletal steel frame beneath. In the distance stood a snake-like bridge that bore the steel-forged path as it winded into a tunnel in a mountainside, and Gandalf could see nothing beyond that.

He came to a stop as he ascended the platform and studied the train with great interest; never before had he encountered or even read of such an outrageous contraption, and instantly he found himself wondering by who and when it was devised, and how it found movement. The Dwarves he knew were responsible for the forging of many mechanical wonders, but none were quite as baffling or fantastic as this. A stallion wearing a dark red scarf and a white cap was seated within the blue carriage, and as the wizard approached the stallion turned a tired eye to him, widening it slightly at the view of the sunlit pale robes and beard and staff.

"Hello! Does this train lead to Canterlot?" the wizard asked.

"Erm, yes it does. Climb on. We'll be leaving in a few minutes," replied the stallion, whose eyes lingered on Gandalf for a moment longer before they blinked and returned to what lay ahead.

"Thank you!" said Gandalf, and he went up the very short flight of stairs that led him to a door of the pink-roofed carriage. Aboard and within the cabin, he stepped on to a long green carpet that met also the doorway opposite the one he stood in, and flanking it were rows of thick white seats backed by panels of light green glass. He found fellow passengers; far in the back sat a stallion with a short oil-shined mane dressed formally in a crimson necktie, and a bright pink filly that wore a small silver crown in her mane; a row ahead of them sat a stallion engrossed in a large book that hid away his face. The dressed stallion caught sight of Gandalf and after arching his brow at the wizard gave a small nod of greeting, a gesture which was not followed by the crowned filly, who instead stared at Gandalf and then raised a hoof to hide her mouth as she leaned in to whisper to the stallion.

Humbly Gandalf returned the stallion's gesture, and then lowered himself on to the seat to his right, its window permitting him a view of his destination as he rested; through the mist that rose from where the sapphire waterfalls kissed the earth was sunlight that gilded the airborne water, forming pale gold phantom bridges by the belly of the mountain that enthroned that vast ivory castle. Soon he would ascend that mountain, and he would come to the gates of Canterlot, and there he would find Celestia and Luna and present to them the long-overdue gifts that lay in the knapsack on his back beneath the robe, and then there would be no more doubts. Then Gandalf closed his eyes; only for a moment to gain a reprieve from his very long walk. Yet languor kept them shut, and he drifted into a sound slumber against his white staff as the train roared again and headed upwards for Canterlot.

The White Rider

by Ascension Call

Prologue: Into Equestria

Chapter 1: The Old Forest

Chapter 2: A Shortcut to Cupcakes

Chapter 3: At the Crossroads