Jon Snow was not a happy man right now. Sure, while serving as a brother of the Nightswatch so far hadn’t been exactly what he had hoped it would be, it was good enough for him, especially with the new friends, no, brothers, he found, and what they taught him about honour, belonging and humility.
And yes, there surely were better places to be than atop the wall, keeping watch while the cold winds bit into your skin and snow obscured the vision. But he was of the north, he certainly could stand worse.
Finally, even the horn blowing two times, signalling a Wildling attack while he and Sam were having a discussion about what it meant to be the son of a noble wasn’t what brought his mood down. He was confident in the skill of his new brothers and his own with weapons, confident in the wall holding, and he had been prepared to face Wildlings for a long time (mentally, at least).
No, it weren’t those things that soured his mood. It was what he saw coming out of the white mist and towards the wall. Something that may be many things, but definitely not Wildings. Instead it was… he wasn’t even sure what to call this!
HORSES! Hundreds upon hundreds of horses trotting towards the wall, with no end in sight. Where did they all come from? How in the world could the north, the same north all the veteran scouts always said was incredible barren and desolate even feed that many horses?! Why were they heading here, of all places? And where did their clothes come from? While there was still SOME sort of logic behind many of the equines wearing what looked like leather armour (after all, that's what you did with war horses, though he had never heard of Wildlings using cavalry), but some of them were wearing HATS! Or had their manes bound in ridiculously complex haircuts. Worst of all, that was still not the strangest part.
These horses were extremely colourful. And not simply colourful as in different shades of brown, white, black and grey, no, their coats displayed every colour he knew of, most seeming more befitting for a rainbow. Seriously, how could something that stuck out of the snow like…. like… a literal red horse even survive up north, with direwolves and wildlings?
“Uh, shouldn’t we like, do something?” Sam asked meekly.
Jon turned to face his brother, bearing an impression displaying the same amount of loss and confusion.
“I’m sure we should. Question is, what should or can we do in such a situation? We don’t even know why these… horses are here. Besides, it’s not likely they can do more than confuse us, there is no way for them to get over the wall.”
“Yes, sure, but perhaps they are a distraction.” Sam said. When Jon gave him a questioning look, he continued: “I mean, perhaps the Wildlings want to draw our attention away from something, so they gathered up a bunch of horses, painted them, dressed them up and then lead them towards us. So that we all look at them while they sneak up on us.”
Jon frowned. While rather farfetched, it was a better explanation for all this weirdness than he could give.
“That does make some sense, but why would they do… this of all things? Where would the Wildlings get all those horses? And surely there are simpler and less complicated ways to pull off a distraction.”
“Yes, and the Wildlings know that we know that, so they did something we wouldn’t expect.” Sam explained.
Jon almost laughed. “No one would expect this. I guess for now we better just remain here and keep an eye on things until we are called. In the best case this will all turn out to be a harmless prank of some crazy god.”
“Oh, I like pranks!” a new, incredibly cheerful and high pitched voice suddenly spoke up behind the two crows. “That’s a great idea, next time I stage a first contact I’ll pull a prank first to lighten everyone’s spirits!”
Sam yelped and jumped away, while Jon cursed, whirled towards the sound of the happy voice and drew his sword, pointing it directly at….
… a tiny horse, coat, fluffy tail and mane coloured in a bright pink. A horse whose face had disproportionate big eyes and betrayed disturbingly human emotions, currently careless joy, seemingly unbothered by the blank steel pointed at it.
For a long awkward moment, during which the horse continued to smile as if its presence was the most normal thing in the world, silence reigned on the wall. Then Sam half stuttered, half screamed:
“A H-HORSE! A pi-pink, talking horse!”
Said equine giggled, holding one hoof up to its mouth. “Silly, I am not a horse, I am a pony. Horses are not nearly as much fun as we are.”
Jon blinked. Now that one of these colourful creatures was actually standing in front of him, it did look far too small to be a horse, being of the same height as his direwolf Ghost. It might have just the right size for Arya or Tyrion Lannister to ride it, a grown man would have his feet dragging over the ground. Then again, he had the feeling these equines were not the sort to be ridden by anyone.
Feeling the need to say something, attempting to regain some semblance of control over the situation, Jon Snow asked:
“How did you get up here? What do you want?”
“Same way I get atop of trees and mountains.” The pony answered as if that explained everything. “And I came here to make friends! Oh, and talk with your commander about letting my people pass through, warn him about an upcoming zombie apocalypse, and by the way, I am Pinkie Pie, say do you like parties, becauseIamthebestatholdingpartiesandyourhomelookslikeitneedsagreatparty,soIthoughtwhileweareallherewecanhaveabigfriendshippartytocementtheponiesarrivalinthisfranchise, what do you think?!”
Both Jon and Sam could only stare wide-eyed at this Pinkie Pie, having only understood half of its chattering. Uncertainly, Sam slowly raised his hand to point at Jon, who was still pointing his sword at Pinkie, saying:
“Well, Jon here is the commanders personal steward, so he might be able to set up a meeting between the two of you…”
“GREAT!” the pink pony cheered. “Just tell him that my friends and I are waiting for him in front of the gate. I better go back now before Applejack starts worrying, her face gets all frowny when she worries, and finish preparations for the welcoming party!”
Then, before either of the watchers could react, Pinkie had already turned away and started “hopping” away, each hop causing an odd BOINK sound. Both humans shouted warnings when the seemingly oblivious pony neared the edge of the wall, and then simply jumped over said edge.
Rushing forward, expecting to see a pink and red stain at the foot of the wall, Jon and Sam were quite surprised when they instead spotted the familiar pink body back at the top of the herd, where their weird visitor was talking to an orange pony. Which was wearing a hat.
And now that said herd had come a little closer and they had seen one pony display feats of advanced intelligence, namely the act of speaking, they also noticed other human like behaviours. Like that some ponies were pulling carts. Nothing strange in itself, only some of those carts had other ponies sitting in them. On benches. Furthermore, to top it all off, those in armour even seemed to carry weapons. Swords, axes, hammers, scythes, pitchforks and spears. Either in their mouths or with one hoof (somehow, both humans were past the point of questioning anything).
After another long moment where nobody found any words befitting the situation, Jon finally let out an execrated sigh, stepped away from the edge and stated:
“Fine, looks like I’ll report the commander that a pony requested an audience with him. Damn, this is not what we signed up for when we took our vows.”
Sam nodded in agreement.
________________________________________________________________________________________________
Tyrion Lannister, son of Tywin, liked to consider himself a man of decent logic. Someone who is down to earth, above the childish superstitions of the common folk. While the honest and fierce believes of the man of the Nightswatch may have left an impression not long ago, he had never been faced with anything that threatened his hold on the laws of logic, common sense and reality.
Until this very day, inside the lush forests near the high road, where he and Bronn, his newly acquired companion, were most likely about to be attacked by people sneaking up at them while they had been resting.
The very prospect of being confronted with several individuals probably harbouring hostile intentions against him, while he was far from civilization with only a sell-sword he had known for less than a month was bad enough already. Nevertheless, it wouldn’t make him despair right away, for the one thing he had always prided himself with, next to his vast knowledge, charm and good looks, was his ability to read people. To exploit what he knew of their backgrounds, heritage and profession, to turn every situation he was in to his favour, through offering the other party a solution benefiting both of them, and preferably mainly him.
Naturally, any chances for that were completely thrown out of the window, now that he saw himself surrounded by what appeared to be brightly, multi-coloured ponies, sporting horns on their foreheads, wearing primitive clothes made of leather and pelts, and even having small weapons attached to their sides.
And to top it all off, all of them were giving him and Bronn, who seemed to be as unnerved as Tyrion felt, though better masked, threatening glares with somehow un-horse like faces.
Now how could he possibly approach a situation like this? He knew the names, crests and creeds of every house there was in Westeros, as well as the names of almost every single one of its family members. His studies in the history and laws of the seven realms had made him more knowledgeable in that field than most meisters. But all of that helped him nothing in this situation. Where would one even find tales of horned ponies, aside from children’s stories…..
OF COURSE! While the grim looking ponies slowly approached further, seemingly not impressed by Bronn’s blade, Tyrians mind began to work. In his childhood, he had very soon realized that his small stature would force him to gather skills in the works of the mind, should he ever hope of doing the family honour and perhaps even succeeding at the impossible task of impressing his father. So once he could read, he never had had time for storybooks, instead immediately going for the tomes about politics, succession, history and the likes.
Fortunately, he did remember some of the stories his old nursing maid had told him way back. Stories about myths all over Westeros. Including the Vale, whose harsh, foggy landscape had always stirred the imagination of many a storyteller. And one of those stories about the Vale included magical, horned horses, servants to the early lords of the Vale. Until one day the servants had rebelled against their masters, a crime for which they got driven into the sea, or earned the same fate as the dragons.
Given the situation Bronn and he were in, it seemed like some of those stories had been true. He wondered, did the current lords of the Vale know about these creatures? Or did they pay any sightings of them the same mind as others did to sightings of grumpkins and snarks? Or were they hiding their existence from the world, still keeping them as servants, for tasks like eliminating people like him with possible deniability? Certainly not the kind of assassin people like him would expect, which usually were the most effective.
Well, in the end he could only hope for the best and prepare for the worst. Drawing a deep breath, he addressed the ponies (after all, if they were capable of surrounding people and carrying around weapons, they might be capable of speech as well):
“Greetings, proud unicorns. Come, share our fire. Help yourselves to our go….” Wait, horses were vegetarians, better not offer them meat “…eh, grass.”
Bronn looked at him as if he was mad, while the unicorns looked at him with varying degrees of contempt, interest and amusement. It was seriously creeping him out to see such human emotions on equine creature, but he did his best not to show it.
By now the ponies had closed the circle around them, barely three sword lengths away from them. For the moment not doing anything other than sizing them up like a wolf might do with a cow, deciding how big of a risk an attack would be.
Then their line split in front of Bronn and Tyrion, the ponies making place for two new arrivals.
One was a violet unicorn, its mane hidden under a brown cloak. While not making much of an impression next to the others, Tyrion could swear to see the wheels of a great mind turning behind its eyes.
The second new arrival on the other hand made a visually far more noticeable sight. Its coat as white as snow, mane and tail purple, this unicorn wore an actual silver crown and a violet robe with white four at its edges, befitting a king, both adorned with shiny diamonds that sparkled in the sunlight. Aside from that, its entire body, safe the head and legs, was protected by what looked like actual plate armour. And even though both armour and cloak showed signs of rust and dirt, the creature still had an aura of authority and dignity Tyrian had seen on the likes of highborn lords and ladies.
In a surprisingly human, authoritative voice, indicating a person who was used to making commands and having them followed, the (apparently female, if the voice was any indication for that) unicorn asked, no, demanded:
“What are two humans like you doing in my lands?”
The species part was most likely an insult, still it was refreshing for Tyrion to not be singled out as a dwarf for once. Out loud he answered:
“We were just returning from the Eyrie. We had business there that didn’t end very satisfactory.”
The expressions of the ponies darkened upon the mentioning of the Eyrie. The narrowed eyes of the white one told Tyrion all he needed to know about those creatures feelings about the lords of the Vale.
Unfortunately, before he could exploit that knowledge, the white one ordered the others:
“Restrain them. We’ll see what Lyra can get out of them.”
Shocking both humans even more, the horns of every unicorn safe the two newcomers suddenly began to glow, in the respective colours of their owners. Simultaneously, that same glow also encompassed the knifes, axes and makeshift spears attached to the sides of the ponies. The glow lifted these weapons without anyone touching them, levitating them so that all pointed right at Tyrion and Bronn.
Quickly overcoming his surprise, Bronn drew his dagger and moved to attack. But before he could finish one step, the horn of the violet unicorn glowed as well. And this time her violet glow encompassed the sell-sword himself, lifting him up.
With an angry grunt, Bronn threw his dagger at the pony. Surprised by this unexpected calm and persistence, the violet one didn’t react fast enough. The white one did, though, and an inch before her companion’s skin, the blade was stopped by her own glow.
Urged to quick action by the angry growls the ponies were giving them now (Now that was a thought Tyrion never thought to have with a straight face), the Lannister heir hastily told the unicorns:
“Please, forgive my companions rash behaviour. There is no need for violence. Just allow me to introduce myself. I am Tyrion, son of Tywin, of house Lannister. I could…”
“And I am Lady Rarity, one and only stewardess of Unicornia’s throne, leader and protector of all unicorns of the Vale.” The white one interrupted. “I neither ask nor care about your family.”
“Eh, I think we should hear him out.” The violet unicorn commented. “House Lannister is the richest, and arguably most powerful family in the human kingdoms. And this one here might even be the one to inherit it all, if my studies are to be believed.”
Tyrions eyes widened slightly. Indeed, seeing how Jamie was part of the king’s guard and Cercie female (much to her charging, he imagined), he was indeed the one become head of the house after his father’s demise. Which was probably part of the reason he despised him so much. But for this mystical creature here, hidden deep in the fogs of the Vale, to know about it…. He was beginning to suspect that their weird magic wasn’t the most dangerous thing about these unicorns.
The one called Rarity, however, didn’t seem very impressed.
“I see. Perhaps he will make for a satisfactory bargaining tool then. We certainly could use one with the increasing activity of the mad queen’s knights.”
Tyrion surprised everyone with a bemused chuckle.
“You are welcome to try that. However, the results may disappoint you. The "mad queen" might feign concern, but would secretly thank you for disposing of me. And should you try to get anything out of my father, well, shall I recite the Rains of Castemere? I highly doubt you'll be able to deal with two houses against you."
If looks could kill, Tyrion would be very concerned about the one Rarity was giving him right now. Basically daring him to challenge her further, she smugly asked in return:
"And what does a human like you know about the power of the unicorns to make such bold claims?"
The Lannister heir rose to the challenge. Equally smugly he answered:
"After having known you for just a few minutes, it already is obvious that you are on the losing side in a war of attrition, fancy magic tricks or not. Just look at you, so called stewardess and protector, being forced to sneak through the forest like a common thief. Or what your soldiers call weapons." His arm described a wide arc, directing attention to the bad state most of the weapons floating uncomfortably close to him were. Indeed, many of the blades were rusty, and most spears looked like they would break after being used once. "Is that the best you could steal, or are unicorns just terrible with forges? Lannister smiths shit better steel!"
Most of the equine soldiers looked either embarrassed or angered at Tyrions words. The violet pony looked thoughtful. Rarity was a little harder to read. She still seemed angry, her horn glowing, but Tyrion recognised a calculating mind when he saw one. Well, at least he hoped he did, couldn't really be sure about his ability to read horses.
"For your sake I hope your audacity has a point."
"Naturally. While we may have started on the wrong foot, I am inclined to think that it will benefit us both to talk like civilised people, instead of pointing weapons at each other."
The violet pony raised an eyebrow. "So you have a proposal for us?"
“Indeed I do, though I would be most grateful if you could first release my companion before we engage in negotiations."
The pony still holding Bronn with her magic looked at the white queen, who nodded. Right away Bronn was set back on the ground gently and the glow around him vanished (it did keep his sword though).
"Most appreciated." Tyrion said, in a tone that was implying he was currently having a polite conversation with an old friend over dinner, as opposed to trying to talk a bunch of mystical horses out of doing him harm. "Now, despite outward appearances, we all may have more in common than you might think. Aside from noble heritage, the most significant is a shared problem we have with the lords of the Vale. Lords who want me dead. Lords who want you dead. I believe it is time for new lords of the Vale.”
Rarity, as well as most of her soldiers, remained sceptical.
“And why should we take your word for it that YOU can bring about that change?”
“Don’t take my word for it. Take her’s.” Tyrion answered, pointing at the violet unicorn. Rarity looked at her, then asked:
“Twilight?”
After a short moment, the hooded pony (apparently named Twilight, Tyrion began to wonder if it was normal for unicorns to have such odd names) signalled her agreement with a nod.
The unicorn leader thought about it for a little while, then she called out:
“Very well. For now, these two humans will be our guests. We’ll escort them back to camp to begin proper negotiations.”
Not deeming said humans worth another look, she turned around and began to walk off. Twilight took another look at
Tyrion and Bronn, giving them an encouraging smile, then hurried to her mistress’s side. The other unicorns either followed them or positioned themselves around the two humans as an escort while they pushed them to move.
Tyrion supressed a sigh. Kidnapped by talking horses. As if he didn’t have enough problems already. Meanwhile Bronn wondered if anything the Lannister could pay him was possibly worth all of this.
______________________________________________________________________________________________
Lately, a lot of things had happened in the life of Daenarys Targaryon she had never even thought about. She was married (which had also included the consumption of a horse’s heart), happily even, to Khal Drogo, leader of 40.000 Dothraki riders, slayer of her brother and father of her yet unborn son. A son that was destined to mount the world. She had reclaimed part of her family’s heritage through the possession of three dragon-eggs. Just recently, someone had tried to poison her. That in itself was nothing new, however, that the foiling of said assassination attempt resulted in her husband agreeing to conquer Westeros and reclaim the iron throne for her, that certainly was a surprising (and welcome) turn of events.
And still, none of all those things held a candle to what was occurring right now before her very eyes. First, it had seemed to be a day like any other, the sun shining down at the steppe as the Dothraki khalasar travelled west. Then clouds had gathered and hidden the sun. In itself nothing unusual, even if said clouds had gathered awfully fast. Yet then… it had started to rain blood.
It wasn’t even a real rain, since only small spots of the environment got wet, and even there the red liquid only fell down in spkhalasar grinded to a halt, confusion spreading throughout it. Hundreds of heads gazed skywards, trying to figure out what was going on…
…and then something far bigger than a simple drop of blood fell from the sky, approaching the ground at rapid speed, only to smash down on the earth right before Daenaryse’s horse, causing it to rear up in fright. Once she had managed to calm it, her eyes beheld… a dead horse. And while it would have been strange enough in itself to gaze upon a horse that had literally fallen from the sky, this horse actually had feathered wings growing out of its back, was clad in armour, even in death held on to a scimitar with its teeth, and had a lance poking out of its throat.
There wasn’t even enough time to fully take in this impossibility, when MORE corpses of armoured, winged horses started to drop from the sky, the amount of blood raining down increasing as well. At the same time, khalasar developed into chaos. While thankfully only a few horses landed within the Dothraki ranks, the riders obviously saw this as a sign of the great Stallion. Naturally, nobody knew what this sign was supposed to say. As such, reactions varied. Some started to chant, others drew their weapons and shouted war cries, others prayed, some on horse, some on the ground. A few even decided to ride for the hills.
Only Daenarys, Drogo and Jorah didn’t join the religious pandemonium, instead continued to just gaze into the sky in wonder, trying to figure out what was going on. In fact, Khal Drogo was just about to shout orders to his warriors….
… when it happened, an ear shattering explosion that seemed to shake the world itself beneath his feet, followed by an ever expanding ring of colours. Yellow as a golden coin, green as fresh spring grass, red as the cheeks of a fair maiden and more. A cascade of hues of every colour of a beautiful rainbow, racing through the sky in all directions. Scattering the once thick layer of clouds before it as a farmer would cut down wheat. Leaving nothing but a clear blue sky in its wake. And at the centre of it was a single thin streak of rainbow colour streaking over the sky.
Revealing a battle raging. The tiny shapes of hundreds upon hundreds of horses were now clear for the eye to see, galloping through the air, their shades forming the most curious patterns on the ground.
And the rain intensified. With the clouds gone, there was nothing standing between the earth and the crimson life juice that was being spilled with abandon up there. Naturally, this also meant an increase of all those winged equines that were viciously getting slashed, impaled and broken to fall freely. To a degree that Khal Drogo actually had to order the khalasar to retreat, with more and more horses crashing into his ranks, burying mounts and riders under them.
It was a chaotic manoeuvre, and almost as many people got squashed by their own as were killed by fallen corpses. A Dothraki khalasar of this size simply wasn’t supposed to be forced to retreat.
Still, giant horde or not, the Dothraki were a people born in the saddle, so once the Khal’s orders had been carried through the entire khalasar, it didn’t take too long getting everyone to a safe distance.
The battle in the sky raged on for a while, and the highly confused Dothraki saw many a winged horse plummet to its death. Finally, when the sun was already starting to dawn in the west, the fight seemed to be finished. The now fewer, but still numerous shapes in the sky slowed down in their movements, and soon instead of as corpses, winged horses descended to the ground on their own volition, dispersing among the fallen, seemingly searching for survivors to either give medical care or final death, depending on allegiance. Much like any normal, human army would do.
At the same time, a small contingent of the winged equines had landed about a league away from the Dothraki and was now approaching them on foot (well, on hoof, to be precise).
Daenarys, stationed at the front of the khalasar, looked behind her. As it was, most Dothraki seemed to be in no condition to prepare for a hostile encounter, and she could understand why. All in all, while legendary riders and warriors, they were simple people with simple desires and a simple worldview. Who happened to worship a horse. Consequently, seeing (presumably) two armies of horses with wings having a battle in the sky to them must be the equivalent of all incarnations of the Seven to appear before them would be for the people of Westeros. There really wasn’t any way to be prepared for such an occasion.
Still, she did not worship a great horse (not yet, anyway, thankfully her husband had never brought up that topic). She knew that she had in her veins the blood of people who made dragons their servants. In addition, she was the Dothraki’s Khaleesi, and as such she would not let her new people be represented badly in front of these…. Whatever they were.
Taking a look to the side, she could see that her husband Khal Drogo was of the same mind-set. He also seemed to be the only one beside her who managed to keep a straight face in spite of all this weirdness.
They both gave each other a subtle nod, signalling the shared understanding of what needed to be done. Drogo bellowed a few orders, assembling bloodriders behind him, while Daenarys signalled Jorah to do the same.
Side by side, their small contingent of still visibly awestruck bodyguards behind them, the Khal and Khaleesi of one of the biggest khalasar to ever ride the sea of grass, moved out in a calm trot to meet the approaching group of winged horses.
Once the distance between them had been shortened to throwing distance, the two parties both halted. Now, down on the ground and open to closer inspection, the equines presented an even more curious sight. During the chaos of them falling down, there hadn’t been much time to notice, what with the whole overwhelming surprise and hurry to get away for the sake of avoiding the risk of being hit by one. Now, the fact that the coats of these creatures seemed to have every colour except those normal horses usually had. Or that only half of their faces resembled usual equine faces, the other kind she couldn’t really place, but presumed that the two different kind of faces belonged to the different genders.
As for hand (or would that be hoof?)made clothes, all of them wore gold-coloured armour, helmets included. Their weapons consisted of scimitars, either held in their mouths, or attached to their armour, presumably meant to slice an enemy while flying by him, had lances attached to their sides, or held spears in their hoofs. Daenarys had no idea how that last one worked.
Lastly (for the moment, at least), the equines weren’t nearly as big as one would have thought, the Dothraki horses Towering above them, and their riders literally looking down at what seemed to be ponies rather than horses. In the light of that, the Khals soldiers regained some more calm.
Still, the weapons, armour and wings more than made up for their size. Especially when one blue equine at the front of the group, the only one not wearing a helmet, displaying a rainbow coloured mane and what seemed to be a cocky, self-assured grin, beat its wings to lift itself up and hover at a height that brought it to the same eye level as the humans. As the others followed the rainbow haired’s example, it spoke:
“Hi! The name’s Rainbow Dash, and as prime chieftess of all pegasi tribes, as well as most awesome protector of Celestia’s children, I am proud to offer you an alliance with the legions of Pegasopolis!”
Author's Note
So, not my first fanfiction, but my first fanfiction involving MLP: FiM. Sufficient to say I am haunted by lots of insecurities about my writing, and rather embarrassed because I think the quality dropped significantly in the pegasi part, so far that I even considered to leave them out of it. Guess for now I can do nothing but wait for (highly encouraged/begged for) comments to tell me if it worked and what doesn’t work.
Anyhow, next chapter will include some explanations about how the ponies fit into the GoT world, and what their motives are.
Thanks you to all who take the time to read.
