To Hate, Mortal. To Love, Divine
-Aris, Hippogriff Philosopher
I’m not sure when we pass out of the Equestria Empire and enter the Griffon Kingdom. There is no great line drawn through the forest that marks the border, but once I was out of the land I had spent my whole life, I expected my heart shift or my fur to go on end. Suddenly, I would no longer be Twilight Sparkle, Princess of Equestria; but Twilight Sparkle, Ambassador to the Kingdom of the Griffons. That shift never comes, even though, based on how long we have been flying and the speed of the airship, I know we are well into the kingdom.
Looking closer at the forest, there are certain changes. The trees of the Griffon Kingdom tend to be larger than Equestria’s. Yet, rather than leaves, they are sprinkled with strange green needles that look painful to brush against. The few settlements I am able to spy from the airship are small, consisting of two or three little shacks built in a clearing. From such a distance, I am not able to tell for sure, but these little shacks look to be composed of wood, rope, and… uhm… perhaps leather…
I shudder.
There are no bustling villages or grand cities beneath us, though that may just be the route we have been assigned. For safety reasons, I imagine the Griffon King would not want ponies in an airship looming over a dense population.
An elegant wing stretches over my back and soothes my uncomfortable chills. I look to Princess Celestia, now beside me. Despite her impressive stature, she is capable of moving with such remarkable grace. Sure, I was focusing on the trees beneath us, but I’m a little embarrassed I let my guard down, and failed to notice the clop-clop-clop-clop of her hooves. She is not even wearing her slippers, which sometimes dull the sound of her steps.
“You may wish to go down to your quarters and dress in your heavier clothing,” Celestia says. “The temperature will continue to drop the farther we move north.”
“I-I’m alright,” I respond.
Celestia squeezes me gently with her wing before folding it neatly at her side. “Does something bother you, my most faithful student?”
I sigh. “I am just not certain I am the best princess for this job. Cadance has more experience dealing with non-ponies, and Princess Luna knows the Griffon King personally.”
“Gilford,” Celestia says softly. “He dislikes being called the Griffon King, especially by his peers. He says it makes him sound like a storybook villain.”
I chuckle. It’s a nervous chuckle, sure, but I feel slightly better after letting it out.
“If you would like to display your respect, consider the title Shepherd of Winds,” Celestia continues. “Gilford has sworn that no harm shall come to you or I. He, and his subordinates, shall protect you at all costs.”
“A-are you totally sure you can trust him? Your experience and intelligence far surpass mine. It’s just that I…uhm… I just wonder if we can really trust him.”
“Whenever a concern enters your heart, share it with me.” Celestia sighs, and looks to the slowly shifting clouds. A strong breeze rushes us, causing her mane to flow and twist like a dancing ribbon. Grumbling to herself, she straightens her mane out and casts a scornful glare at the offending breeze. “Concern has crossed my heart, but I have faith in Gilford. Besides, he is not one to deceive. If he wanted to kill us, he would just summon storm to ravage Equestria. Even during the war, I had faith in his words.”
The war. To prepare for this trip, I have studied every book I could get my hooves on regarding the griffons, their culture, their king, and the Pony-Griffon War. Despite scouring whole libraries, there is very little about those last two. From what I have been able to piece together, the war occurred over a thousand years ago, lasted two years, and the griffons lost. The terms of their surrender involved them relinquishing several thousand square miles of their kingdom. Overnight, Equestria’s size almost doubled, allowing us to sustain our expanding population. Officially, there is no treaty between the griffons and the ponies, only an informal neutrality pact that boils down to the griffons stay on their side of the fence, we stay on ours.
Information about the Griffon King… I mean, Gilford, is even sparser. His real name is never even mentioned. Honestly, I assumed his name was Griffon King, but I guess that is rather silly. The few facts I can find are mingled with fanciful legends, unless you believe he stopped an erupting volcano by flapping his wings so hard, the lava cooled.
“We will be touching down in approximately thirty minutes,” says the airship’s captain, a pegasus member of the H.G.L. By the sun, that is the second time somepony has managed to sneak up on me. Celestia trusts the griffons, and I trust her, but I cannot shake a worry we are flying into a trap.
“Thank you, Sky Marshall Black Cloud,” Celestia says.
The obsidian pegasus bows his head curtly. He turns and trots away, and Celestia and I are left alone on the deck of the great airship. Celestia spoke the truth (why wouldn’t she?) The temperature grows cooler the closer we draw to a distant city silhouette. The winds grow stronger, and I fear being blown off the edge of the ship. Trotting forward, I brace myself against the railing and hug the cold steel to my chest.
“Gilford is just flexing his wings,” Celestia coos.
Legends state that all the winds of all the world emerge from the beat of the mighty Griffon King’s wings. That is impossible, right? He’d have to be a giant. A god.
The city of Griffany is the Griffon Kingdom’s capital, their version of Canterlot, you might say. While their little villages are sparse, with cute little tents and not much else, Griffany is a city built to last. The buildings are mostly made of stone, and many stretch to the clouds, leading to additional parts of the city. So I guess it’s like Canterlot and Cloudsdale rolled into one megalopolis. The designs of the buildings all boast sharp edges and boxy frames, quite unlike the smoothness of Ponyville or the needless regality of Canterlot. I don’t like it, and as the winds continue whizzing by us, I hug the railing tighter.
Oh, how thankful I am when we finally dock at the tower on the outskirts of the griffon city. With shaky hooves, I step onto the wooden platform. My whole body must be quaking, since the griffon guards can’t help but chuckle once or twice. Princess Celestia steps off the zeppelin and onto the platform, and they are the ones who start to shake, their armor clanking and clattering, their spears rattling in their long, sharp claws.
“Greetings, noble pony emissaries,” one of the griffons says, bowing her head, which strikes me as odd. Eye contact is absolutely crucial in griffon culture. If you break eye contact, you are telling the other party they are not a threat, so you can afford not to look at them. An odd tradition, certainly, but who am I to judge? How she bows, looking to the floor for two or three seconds, is that an insult, or is she trying to show her respect by adopting a pony greeting? A pony could go mad with the possibilities. The griffon woman’s feathers are solid black, as is her fur, which I suppose isn’t that strange. What is odd is that her beak and claws are black as well. In fact, the only color on her body seems to be her golden eyes. Her face is fairly slender, and her beak rather long. All things considered, she resembles a raven or a crow more than an eagle, like most griffons. I wonder if she’s some sort of subspecies, or by the shimmer of her appearance, is she wearing a glamour spell?
“I am Captain Geraldine of the Murder,” the griffon woman says. Yeah, that’s not too ominous a name…
“I, and all of the Murder will be serving as your adjutants and bodyguards for the duration of your stay. If you have any questions or concerns, please address one of my team. You may identify us by our black feathers and gold armor.”
“It is a pleasure to meet you, captain,” Celestia says. “May I ask why Gilford is not here to greet us, though?”
Geraldine bows again. Its three seconds before she lifts her head. I count it. “He works to put the winds at ease. His sincerest apologies are extended, and he has arranged a special showing in one of our theatres to entertain you in his absence. The play is, uhm… translated into your language, it would be called Fly Away My Son, and Never Look Back, Never Let Them Catch You, Never Let the Black Water Touch Your Wings.” After a pause, she adds, “It sounds much more elegant in our language.”
A play? Oh, I have loved the theatre since I was a filly and my parents took me to Manehattan. Shining Armor had just been accepted into the Point military academy and I… well, I didn’t take it too well. The theatre was a chance to cheer me up. Getting to see a whole new world right in front of me, the opera singers and the dancers and the scenery and just everything about it! I wonder if I’m smiling, just a bit, because Celestia strokes me with her wing and Geraldine is clearly working hard to keep a giggle suppressed.
There are no stairs that lead off the tower. Geraldine simply flutters to the solid ground. Princess Celestia does the same. I’m terrified of making a fool of myself by failing to fly, and settle for a simple teleportation spell that places me beside my princess. From there, it’s a short walk through a large gate, guarded by a pair of especially burly looking griffons. Their feathers aren’t dyed black, and their armor is silver, so they must not be part of the Murder. Just regular guards… regular guards who could probably tear off my wings with their bare claws and gobble up whatever is left.
Griffany is a five hundred square mile city, with a population of about eight million. At least that’s what the griffons say. I suppose they might exaggerate their numbers to make them seem better off than they really are. During the Pony-Griffon War, a massive wall was erected to protect the citizens in case of an invasion. Although that specific wall has long turned to dust, the griffons have routinely built walls, either out of habit or to make themselves feel safer. I find it odd when I still feel the wind in my fur, but I guess King Gilford has something to do with that.
What surprises me most about the GRIFFON Kingdom is how many non-griffons are trotting about. The griffons got hit hard in the war, you see. Their population was devastated. At the same time, there was an, uhm… a boom of… well, following the war there were a lot hippogriffs: the product of a griffon mother and a pony father. So, faced with a low population and a lot of mutants, Gilford introduced the concept of Honorary Griffon. A hippogriff born to a griffon citizen is a citizen himself or herself, no ifs, ands, or buts. Also, after a ten year service in the armed forces, a non-griffon can apply for full citizenship. All he has to do is chose a new “griffon” name and poof. He’s protected by the law, he has the right to run for office, hold property, everything! Even criminals can apply for something similar. It’s a neat concept, actually. If nothing else, it gives the kingdom remarkable diversity. Seeing other creatures with hooves certainly puts me at ease. Sure, there are many, many griffons and hippogriffs, but I see a few pegasi walking or flying, and even a unicorn or earth pony here and there. The griffons don’t seem to mind their hooved company. OK, so maybe I was expecting a “griffon” side of the road, and a “hooved” side of the road, but everything seems well intermingled, even harmonious.
Celestia’s presence does wonders to break up that harmony. The pony citizens are ecstatic to have her in their midst. In fact, a few of them cannot keep their jubilate expressions under control, and wear comically wide grins as they gaze upon her majesty. The griffons look upon her with utter fear. No mock bravery, no chest puffing, no standoff stares. They lower their head (again, breaking the custom of eye contact) and rush by her as quickly as they can, if they don’t just move to the other side of the street. Is the Murder here to protect us, or put the population at ease, I wonder?
I’m confused when Geraldine leads us off the city streets and into a large park. I find the trees, lacking leaves but instead with green needles, unnerving for reasons I am not certain of. Along a beaten dirt path, we walk. Geraldine is quiet, as is my princess. Only the winds, almost sounding like whispers or coos, speak. Clearing my throat, I hope to break the tension.
“Geraldine?” I ask. “That was the name of the Griffon King’s advisor during the war, was it not?”
“Yes,” the captain says. “That is why I took it.”
“I’m sorry?”
“I was not born Geraldine. There was a time, when I was young and stupid, that I did stupid things. For my crimes, I should have been thrown into prison, but Gilford offered me a chance. I took the name Geraldine, and joined the H.G.L. From that time on, I have been Geraldine, and no one else.” She turns to Celestia. “I hope that you find our forest to your liking, Sun Queen.”
“I was here before,” she says, with a slight smile. “When Gilford and I were still young, he took me here. My, how these trees have grown. Your knowledge of agriculture is impressive.”
“We have many earth pony and zebra immigrants who tend to these trees.”
The trees part into a clearing. Dozens and dozens of pillows and cushion are arranged in a half-circle, in place of a real playhouse’s aisles and rows. Further up is an elevated stage that is little more than a large wooden platform. It’s strange. In Canterlot, a playhouse’s stage is a work of art itself, crafted from the finest mahogany, adorned with reliefs and grotesques, and draped in the finest fabrics that can be had. This stage is much more streamlined. It is certainly crafted sturdy, but lacks any… pizzazz. A black curtain stretches across the stage, the heavy weight and density of the fabric concealing everything past it. The sky grows dark. I look up to see several griffons wearing long, baggy black robes assemble heavy clouds to properly block out the sun above us.
Geraldine gives us a seat in the very center of the audience. I worry that Celestia’s size will block whoever sits behind her, but it’s a moot point. No one sits behind her, or in front of her, or to our sides. We have an area, about ten hooves in all direction, barren of guests. Even the ponies seem afraid to come near. I scoot closer to my princess, worried she might be insulted, but she doesn’t seem to have noticed. Her eyes are locked on the black curtain, so the very moment it opens, she will be set to enjoy the show.
The griffons in the sky part the clouds so a delicate ray of sun shines onto the stage. The curtain opens. I stretch my wings around myself, feeling a bit of a chill run up my spine.
Revealed on the stage is an elderly, rather plump griffon woman, wearing a red robe and walking on her hind legs with her wings stretched behind her for balance. I have read it is a technique that allows a singer to better manipulate her diaphragm. By the haunting voice that escapes her beak, it must be true. She sings in an ancient griffon language, using the power and strength of her chest to reach everyone in attendance. For the opening song, some background is provided: monsters have invaded her homeland, and she has lost her husband in the resulting war. Her son is of age to fight, and eager, and so the story starts.
The monsters are, of course, played by griffons, but they wear flowing white robes and odd masks over their face, similar to ones I have seen in Zecora’s home. They also wear iron boots, which give them a noisy walk. The arrival of these monsters is always preceded by a deep, powerful thumping. At first I think it’s the boots, but I notice one of the stagehands is clopping two halves of a coconut shell together to amplify the chilling rhythm. In a pony play, there is usually a unicorn who provides magic for the special effects: the scene changes, the smoke, the sparks and water if the play should call for it. Sometimes, in more elaborate performances, there is a whole crew. The griffons don’t really have magic, though. I have read about their shamans, who can call upon the elements, but there isn’t a subspecies who have horns. At least that I know of. For this production, the griffons use much more naturalistic means. Griffons in tight black robes, and wearing black masks and black gloves, move the scenes and provide background smoke or winds. To simulate fire, griffons wearing flowing red dresses dance with orange and yellow ribbons. If the play calls for a night scene, the griffons in the sky manipulate the clouds.
The story follows the mother griffon as she goes through her various chores: writing letters to her son, keeping morale up at home, mourning the death of her husband, and nurturing several eggs that have been left in her care. In fact, in several scenes she carries an egg swaddled in warm wrappings. How she rocks the egg late at night, how she cleans it with a damp cloth, and sets it on a delicate pillow when she must sleep… How fascinating it is.
It’s the end of the play that I must make special note of. The monsters, the horrible mask wearing beasts with the iron feet and white robes… have won. They defeated the griffon armies, and have summoned a horrible flood to purge the land of any survivors. The son returns to rescue his mother, to carry her to a distant land where he promises they will be safe. He finds her pinned to the ground with a massive boulder crushing her legs and lower body. The son struggles to move the boulder, but is unable. The griffon woman begins to sing the last song of the play.
The song moves too quickly for me to follow every word, but I understand most. “Please, my son,” she sings. “Fly away, and never let the black water touch your wings. Go, my son, fly far and fly fast, and never let them find you.”
From the side of the stage, a group of griffons approach. Rather than dressed as the monsters from before, or in the orange and red of the flames, they now wear various shades of blue. With long stretches of cloth flowing behind them from the subtle gusts of their flapping wings, they are meant to simulate the approaching flood waters. The griffon son continues trying to move the boulder. I start to worry this isn’t part of the play and somehow the prop department used a real chunk of rock, since he is struggling with everything he has to move it. All the while, the mother’s voice haunts every heart in attendance. Laying on her chest, she cannot use the depth and power of her diaphragm, but that only adds a new level of agony to the scene.
“What a pain, what a pain,” she sings. “My dear son, please fly away. Away from this land. Yes, let the monsters have it. Let the monsters have me, as they have your father and your brothers. Please fly away and be safe, my son. Leave me. It is all I can do for you.”
The “flood” touches the rock. The mother pushes her son away and stretches her wings in front of her face. The son can’t see it, but she’s clenching her beak shut with her claws, no doubt to keep herself from screaming out as the “flood” starts to envelop her. The griffon son flaps his wings and finally takes to the air. Blue cloth is draped over the mother, who lays on the ground and doesn’t move. The curtains close. That must be the end.
To my side, I can hear Celestia crying softly. I think I’m crying too. Everyone is crying, even the stone faced griffons who I didn’t think were capable of shedding tears. At least I don’t feel like a wuss. The black curtain opens again. The entire cast comes out, including the griffon mother at the very front. In an instant, I am on my hooves and clapping. It’s what you do in a Manehattan, after all. It’s an instinct, a means of showing your support for the performers.
Celestia puts a hoof on mine and gently pushes me back into my seat. No one else is clapping, I realize. In fact, a few of the griffons are casting scolding glares at me. Even Geraldine looks quite annoyed.
We travel back the way we came, through the dense forest of the park and to the streets. My wings are drooped and my head is down. I had no idea you don’t clap when a play is finished. None of the books I read or the tutors informed me of that little fact. It’s just one of those things griffons learn and no one thinks to teach.
“It is alright, young princess,” Celestia whispers to me.
But it’s not. The ponies and the griffons have had a non-aggression pact for over a thousand years, and there’s something deeply wrong about that. Our empires are right beside each other. We exchange our goods and art and ideas, and yet there is nothing unifying us as one when threats loom. We were not prepared for the invasion of the Changelings, or Tirek’s wrath, or Discord’s madness. Things turned out alright in the end, but things could have been handled better from the start. Besides, what of the monsters greater than Discord or Tirek, or the swarms even more voracious than the Changelings? What will we do then? What if this one misstep costs us the treaty?
I am happy when we finally reach Gilford’s castle, a towering structure in the very heart of Griffany. Griffons really do love walls, it seems. Running around the castle is one about fifteen hooves in height. Stone griffons are mounted on top of the walls, though I notice a few of them move, and suspect that they are actually sentries wearing elaborate camouflage. An elderly griffon, who I assume is the castle’s majordomo, is at the front gates to greet us. He and Geraldine squawk and caw some sort of exchange. When finished, the majordomo trots off and Geraldine turns to us. Her beak is in a slight smile. “The winds are calm. My king will see you now.”
Of the three of us, I think Geraldine is the most excited. There is a spring in her step and her wings sometimes flap without purpose. It’s kind of cute, actually. I can’t blame her. I get the same way whenever I am requested to stand in Celestia’s presence. The good captain leads us through a grand hallway, adorned with portraits of various griffons, as well as a few portraits of ponies and hippogriffs. We pass a gorgeous portrait of Commander Purple Heart, one of Equestria’s premiere generals who was exiled to the Griffon Kingdom for reasons Celestia does not like to talk about. Adjacent to his is a portrait of Geraldine. I mean, the original Geraldine, from whom the captain took her name. The resemblance is striking, actually.
My hooves stop before an especially beautiful portrait, one of a hippogriff. This hippogriff looks back at me with meek eyes and a quivering beak. His facial feathers are smoky grey, and his eyes blue, though half lidded in a nervous cringe. Dressed in handsome, regal black robes with his wings tucked neatly along his side, he must be a hippogriff of some importance, but I do not recognize him. Beneath the frame, I find his name engraved on an ornate golden plaque. “Aris.”
“He was one of Gilford’s advisors in the years following the war,” Geraldine says.
“I know of his many writings, but I have never seen a portrait of him,” I respond. “I was not aware any existed.”
“He was a little sensitive about his appearance,” Celestia says softly. “Only among his closet friends did he ever allow his glamour spell to fade. You see, he walked with a claw in one world and a hoof in another. Often, he said it was as if he was being torn in half. Is that a common sentiment among hippogriffs, captain?”
There is tenseness in Geraldine’s beak, as if she struggles to keep her words her own. How strange.
The hallway comes to an end with a pair of very large doors. Through them, we arrive in a dining room, where a griffon of enormous proportions is sitting at an equally massive table. Hearing the clop-clop of our hooves against the polished marble, the griffon stands from the table and crosses the room to stand before us and… by the sun, he is huge.
Compared to my princess, who stands eight hooves at her crown, with an additional six inches from her horn, I would measure this enormous griffon at twelve hooves in height. His head is down, however, bent on his neck so he can better examine us. It only makes him seem larger. His right eye is shining gold. His left eye is concealed beneath a black fabric eye patch. His facial feathers are dark gold and the fur of his lion body is as black as one of Luna’s starless nights. Just standing in his presence sends gusts through my fur and feathers. I should shiver from the coolness, but instead it puts me at ease. Did I mention he’s big? Having examined us enough, his head lifts back and stands on a thick neck… and his beak peeks into the smallest of smiles. I… I think at least. Beaks do not move or manipulate the same as a pony’s lips, but… it’s small, but I think it just might be a smile.
“It has been too long, Gilford,” Celestia says. “Your kingdom is as beautiful as ever.”
The smile, if it ever existed, disappears. “Yes. You have not been past the walls since you and your sister trotted in as conquers, isn’t that right?” The great griffon’s lone eye turns to me.
I stumble forward. “I am Princess Twilight Sparkle of the Equestria Empire. It is an honor to stand before you, mighty Griffon King, who defeated the cruel tyrant Lawful and saved the griffons from enslavement. Grand Lord Gilford, the Shepherd of Winds, who united the warring griffon tribes under a single banner, and ushered in an age of prosperity not before known. I thank you for allowing me to place my hooves in your kingdom, although I am far from worthy.”
Gilford chuckles softly to himself. My heart sinks. Did I say something wrong? Did I miss one of the steps? I maintained eye contact at all times, I’m sure of it. I have not assumed a hostile stance, at least to my knowledge.
“I am aware that you ponies enjoy loquacious speeches, but there is no need for such grandeur. We are equals, after all. If not, you are certainly my superior.” He stretches his wings and, by the sun, each is practically the length of Celestia’s body. I know the legends that all winds emerge from him is ludicrous but… it almost seems possible.
Without more words, he returns to his seat at the table. I notice a pair of carved thrones that flank him to his right. The one closest to him is made from white oak, with golden trims and a red cushion on the back and seat. Beside that is a throne of smaller dimensions. It is crafted from very dark wood, with dark blue trims and lighter blue (though still fairly dark) cushioning. Gilford’s own throne boasts a great deal of black and gold, perhaps to match his natural coloration.
“Please, join me,” Gilford says, waving a claw.
The seats are elevated quite a bit: mine significantly more than Celestia’s. Of course, it is so we can all sit at the same table, but it reminds me of a booster seat for a filly. Gilford’s eye remains on me, though it is impossible to read the emotions on his beak. He finally mutters, “I was expecting the Night Queen.”
“I apologize, Gilford,” Celestia says. “Luna is more experienced with the ins and out of our empire, as well as with lifting the sun and moon. For that reason, I asked she remain behind.”
“I imagine that pesky act of genocide would make for awkward table talk, as well.”
Celestia cringes. “Other than that, Twilight represents a new generation, one unburdened by past hate and prejudice. This is a new age, after all. I felt it fitting she should attend this meeting.”
His focus is on me again. How I wish I could read something, anything, from the position of his beak or the casual half-lid of his remaining eye. His feathers are combed and smoothed. There is a pleasant scent in the air, so I would guess that Gilford bathed before this meeting. Such an odd thing to notice, but one I do. “Magic Queen, what did you think of our theatre?”
I gulp and go rigid. “I-I was quite impressed by it.”
“I heard you clapped your hooves together at the show’s climax. Perhaps you were not aware a period of silence was expected.”
“It was not meant as an act of offense!” I stutter. “When in Canterlot, one claps to show their awe. Even in our tragedies, we clap as a cathartic release.”
Gilford lifts a claw. I recoil. “Do not fret about lapses in your manners, Magic Queen. You are a stranger in a strange land, after all.”
I don’t know if I should categorize Gilford’s manner as paternal or patronizing. If Celestia said the same thing, I would immediately be put at ease, but I just don’t feel… good about sitting here, in a booster seat, with that damn golden eye punching me in the soul. Best to be polite, though. “That singer, she was amazing. The way her voice could travel, and the control she had over her breathing.”
Gilford smiles. Yes, he definitely smiles. I can see it in the corners of his beak. “We griffons tend to have stronger respiratory systems than equines, and our language requires a trained diaphragm to speak properly.” Bracing a claw on the table, he rears up and displays his powerful chest. “It is the reason we have adopted the language of you ponies for trade and business. We tried pigeon, but it did not work out.”
“There are pigeon griffons?” I ask. “Uhm… forgive me, but is the captain some sort of other sub-species, as well? Some sort of crow?”
Both the captain and the king give me a baffled look. Actually, the captain looks rather nervous. What did I say?
“Pid-gin, dear,” Gilford says. “P-i-d-g-i-n.”
I lower my head, frowning deep. By the sun, he probably thinks I’m a total moron. He continues speaking without making any reference to my utter stupidity though. “Non-griffons have difficulty speaking our tongue, though the Night Queen was remarkably skilled.” He pauses. “How is Luna?”
It is Celestia’s turn to speak. “It has not been easy, but she is adjusting to the world around her. In those long years trapped on the moon, she lost so many friends to age and sickness. You and I are the only ones from the time before her exile, and she longs to see you again. Do you wish to see her?”
I lean a little closer and squint, trying to read Gilford’s expressions. A twitch of the brow, a quiver of the upper eye lid, the movement of his eye as he looks from Celestia to myself, and a tug in the corners of his beak. How interesting.
“We have you to thank for her liberation, do we not, Magic Queen?” he asks. “You purged her of the darkness in her heart, and she is now free to rule her empire as she sees fit.”
I giggle and blush. Why did I just giggle and blush?
“I would like to hear your many stories,” he continues. “You plan to remain in my kingdom for a week, yes? There will be plenty of time to share. First, Geraldine, would you be so kind as to bring the bottle of brandy I have been saving?”
Geraldine nods and leaves the room. When she returns, a large bottle is carried in her claws. I mean, really large. It’s probably bigger than my chest. She flutters over to Gilford and pours a large amount of strong smelling spirit into his glass. Next she moves to Celestia and does the same. As she flutters to me, I grow nervous. It is a grave insult to refuse food or drink offered by a griffon. I think it’s actually above the whole eye contact thing. I detest alcohol though. It makes me sick in the core of my stomach, to say nothing of how it twists my thoughts.
“Only a half-pour for her,” Gilford says. “Please take no offense, Magic Queen, but you are a little young for this proof. If the half-pour is too much, feel free to pass out. I will see to it that you sleep without trouble.”
“Of course,” I say quickly.
Gilford examines his glass. Using the soft pad of his fore claw, he strokes around the rim several times. This causes an odd “whooooo” sound to rise out of the delicate dome. “Do you know the story of brandy, Magic Queen?”
I shake my head weakly. With my magic, I tug the glass closer and softly sniff. It smells… I can’t really say what it smells like. Vinegar perhaps?
“About five hundred years ago, a few griffons traveled into your empire and sampled your succulent wines. Eager to bring as much of it back to the kingdom as they could, they found if they distilled the wine, they drastically reduced the volume. Only after returning did they realize it also altered the taste. Brandy is a marriage of pony productivity and griffon ingenuity.” He lifts his glass. Lacking fingers, Celestia has some trouble gripping her own glass. Why she doesn’t use her magic, I am not sure, but she eventually manages with the tip of her hoof. The glasses touch, and bringing the brandy to his beak, Gilford drinks it all in one gulp. Celestia does the same, and places her glass down. Steeling my resolve, I bring the glass to my lips and throw it back. The explosion of the flavor almost knocks me off my chair. Only by putting my hooves on the table can I hold myself steady. That was just half-a-pour? What would a full drink have done to me?
Geraldine is quick to refill the glasses, Celestia’s first, and then Gilford’s. I’m terrified she will refill mine, but she makes no movements towards me.
“I must admit,” Gilford continues, “I was surprised when I received your letter, asking permission to enter my kingdom. You, Sun Queen, are the victor of the Griffon-Pony War. Technically, all of this land is under your hoof. Let us drink to the old times, before there was so much tension between us.”
Gilford gulps down his glassful down. Cringing slightly, Celestia does the same. Geraldine refills both glasses, Celestia’s first, then Gilford’s.
“Now we stand at the cusp of a new era, do we not? Your sister has returned. When I learned of her exile, I fancied it some sort of divine punishment, passed down for all her crimes. Yet a thousand years later, when I learned of her safety, I was happy.” He lifts his glass. “To Luna.”
Three drinks. I’m not sure if I should be sick, or worried, or just downright confused. Geraldine fills the glasses a fourth time, Celestia’s first, then Gilford’s. Gilford’s feathers are barely ruffled, but Celestia is starting to turn green. Gilford continues. “More than anything, let us drink to the future. For no matter how dark the world may seem, the sun will always rise tomorrow, so long as you are there to guide its path. To you, Sun Queen, for remaining so vigilant all these years.”
Four drinks. Celestia uses a hoof to rub her slender stomach. Her lips twitch like the lake a stone has been thrown into. She’s panting and even from a distance, I can smell the repulsive odor that drenches her breath. Gilford is clearly quite pleased with this outcome of his little game. He maintains his reserved façade, but there is a twitch in the corners of his beak that shows he longs to smile wide. Much to my shock, Celestia points a hoof at Geraldine, who nearly squeaks in fear, perhaps expecting her feathers to spontaneously combust. Finally understanding, Geraldine flutters over and refills Celestia’s glass. She forgets to refill Gilford’s, until the Griffon King clears his throat.
Doing her best to lift her head despite the intoxication pumping through her veins, Celestia stares directly into Gilford’s eye. “To you, Shepherd of Winds, for without you, what a horribly stagnant world this would be. What ships would fail to sail, what seeds would fail to spread, what pegasi would never know the sweet bliss of gliding on a current. My sun may warm your feathers, but your winds allow my wings to spread.”
Celestia swallows down her brandy and drinks it all down with a single gulp. Moments are spent with Gilford examining her, before he lifts his own glass to his beak and gulps the contents down. My princess is panting hard. She uses a hoof to wipe her stained lips and struggles to remain erect in her seat. I’m having a bit of trouble myself. There is a bad sickness in the pit of my gut and my eyes are dizzy, from the brandy or the tension in the room, I can’t be sure.
“Mighty king,” I start, hoping to draw attention away from Celestia, and also that by speaking I might ease my sickness. “I would enjoy hearing of your great adventures and many battles, especially against the mad tyrant Lawful. The tale of how you defeated her and saved your kingdom is one I know by heart. Celestia often spoke of the grueling battle during my lessons.”
Gilford sighs. I bite my lip. “Lawful took from me my eye,” he says. “I tore her to pieces and cast the pieces to the winds. For over a thousand years, I have shifted the currents and clouds in a desperate hope she would never reform. For over a thousand years, I have dreaded the thought of her returning, because I will not able to defeat her again.”
“If she does return, I pledge you may aid!” I shout. “No matter if a treaty is signed and our relation is official, I will stand beside you, and you need not face the tyrant alone.”
I wince when he lifts his claw, but I don’t think he notices. He merely takes the crown off his head and sets it on the table. It is a fairly standard crown, with six decorative pillars an equal length around it, each about as long as one of Gilford’s slender fingers. In the very center of the gold, I notice an obsidian jewel delicately resting in the metal’s embrace. “You would stand beside me if the threat of Lawful surfaced?” he asks. “Tell me, Magic Queen, what else do my griffons have to gain from a formal alliance with you ponies?”
I clear my throat. For months, I have been rehearsing this speech. Sitting tall and quite proud, I begin. “Griffons generally lay four eggs at a time, but, on average, only two of those eggs survive to hatch. Of those two, only one will make it to adulthood. I would guess it is a reason you have kept the Honorary Griffon law in place. We can provide advanced healthcare, and dramatically improve your birthrate. In addition, we can lend our expertise in construction and architecture to help you develop the unused portions of your land, which will be necessary if your population expands as we predict. Our knowledge of agriculture will increase your food supplies, reducing the likelihood of famine: a serious threat to your griffons, especially those on the outskirts of your kingdom. Most importantly, we have an infrastructure and can provide our armies and the Elements of Harmony should a threat such as the mad god Lawful return, or if Tirek seeks to tear the magic from your souls, or if the Changelings seek to steal the love of your lands.”
Griffons and love… I try not to giggle.
“Mmm, how very generous of you.” Gilford takes a sip of his brandy. “Now tell me, Queen of Magic, what do ponies have to gain from an alliance with us?”
I stumble for something to say. What is his concern with us? Shouldn’t he only be concerned with what the griffons can get out of this deal? I mean, sure, we have benefits but… wait, what are they? By the sun, I’ve rehearsed selling our alliance on behalf the griffons. I haven’t thought about benefits of our own. Perhaps sensing my fear, Geraldine flutters over and pours a bit of brandy into my glass. I don’t want to drink any more, but it’s a grave insult not to take what is offered. If nothing else, the drink will buy me another second or two to gather my thoughts. My hoof shakes too much to pick up the delicate glass. I settle for using my magic and take a gulp.
Much to my surprise, the kiss of brandy helps ease my nerves. Geraldine gives an oddly friendly wink.
“G-gilford,” Celestia glares, gulping down her sickness.
“Please understand my reservations, Magic Queen: I was once the pet of a hoofed tyrant, and it is not a life I wish to return to.”
“It’s not like that,” I say quickly.
“If we are reliant on you for our food and the safety of our eggs, and you are reliant on us for nothing, what are we but pets to sit at your hooves?”
“No, it… it’s not-”
Celestia places a hoof on my shoulder and eases me back in the throne. She’s mad. I can see it in her eyes. She’s also very, very sick from those accursed gulps of brandy.
“There are no words to describe what Lawful did to you,” she says. “For that reason alone, please consider a formal alliance, so we may stand against such mad tyrants together. There are benefits for us as well.”
“Would you care to share them?”
Celestia uses her magic to lift the crown from her head and places it before Gilford. She turns it to the side and reveals an ugly crack that races up the polished façade. “Compared to the mad gods and the tyrannous devils, I am but an ant, and my little ponies dust to be blown away on a whim. You fear Lawful’s return? Every night I am plagued with terror about her, or Discord, or Tirek. I want you to know I will protect your griffons with my life, but I want to know my ponies will be safe under your watch as well. We need an alliance, Gilford. We need the strength of the griffon, the endurance, the ingenuity and the will to stand strong in a storm.” She pauses, and her face grows sad and heavy. “Why can’t you see that?”
Gilford makes that “whooooooo” noise with the tip of his claw and the rim of his glass again. I find it slightly unnerving, mostly because I have no idea how he is doing it. Fingers are something that baffle me. “You and Luna committed a horrible crime against my griffons. If I had summoned a great twister to carve Equestria in half, could you ever forgive me?”
“I lost ponies to your griffon raiders!” Celestia snaps. “Foals skinned and gutted, pegasi whose wings were torn from their body, earth ponies used as slaves and then ground into meat to fill griffon belies!” She slams a hoof into the table and rises slightly in her chair, but the intoxication hits her, and she is forced to sit back. “The war was a dark time for us all, and we both did horrible things. We stand at a new era though. Past crimes can be forgiven.”
Gilford takes another sip of his brandy. Celestia rests her head in her hooves and tries to steady her breath.
“You will forgive my interjection, Gilford,” I say softly, “but I do not believe that you let us into your kingdom just to ridicule and mock us. Surely you would not entertain us today if you did not desire a treaty.”
“Do you know why I surrendered to your queen?” Gilford asks.
Blushing, I admit, “The history books are vague. Regardless of past crimes, is your society not built on forgiveness? That is what the Honorary Griffon League was founded on: sweet mercy. A creature, any creature, may come into your kingdom, sign a new name, and all past crimes are forgiven. By the sun, Gilford, how many crimes have you forgiven in your reign? How many traitors or rebels have you welcomed with open arms? How many ponies have you made citizens, granted the complete protection of your laws and your government? What could Celestia and Luna have done so many years ago that it is still a scar on your heart? What keeps you from forgiving just once more.”
“We were friends once,” he says. “Celestia and I. Not close friends, mind you. This isn’t some cliché laden work of pony fiction where she and I were once lovers. We were cordial though, and we shared drinks and war stories every few months when our kingdoms could spare our absence. I was welcome at her castle and she was welcome at mine. Her sun warmed my feathers and my winds changed the seasons. I cared for her subjects, and I do believe she cared for me and mine.”
“I did,” Celestia chimes in. “I still do.”
Gilford glares at her, but says nothing about her interruption. “The war began perhaps two decades after your pony tribes united under a single banner. With the benevolent hoof of Celestia to guide you, your population boomed. The same occurred when I unified the griffons. As our numbers expanded, so came the need for more resources. If pony and griffon eye both fell upon a fertile strip of land or stretch of clouds, fights broke out. These fights turned to battles. The battles turned to war.”
“Two years,” Celestia says, sitting up. “The war stretched for two years, because you refused to compromise. You refused to even sit at the same table as Luna and I to talk.”
Another glare from Gilford is directed at Celestia. Geraldine flutters to me and pours an especially large gulp of brandy. I push it away with a hoof.
“I feared for our eggs,” Gilford continues. “If ever a pony found a nest, the eggs were smashed beneath vengeful hooves. There were even stories of ponies boiling the eggs and returning them to the nest so the mother would not immediately realize.”
“No hoof that acted by my command,” Celestia snaps.
“And the flood?”
That silences all of Celestia words. Gilford takes some time to stroke the rim of his glass. Oh, how I hate that ominous “whooooooo.”
“To bring a swift end to the war, before it entered its third year, Luna moved the moon out of its usual orbit. A great flood rushed through my kingdom, decimating whole cities beneath the cruel waves. My griffons tried to take the clouds to escape the cold chill, but what do you think happened to those who could not fly? To those too young or too old? What do you think happened to the chicks trapped in the shell of their eggs?”
Eyes wide, I turn to Celestia. She is unable to meet my gaze, and only utters, “I didn’t know.”
“No, how could you? How could you know that beneath this very castle is a passage that leads to a bunker? It was built to shelter myself in the event of an invasion, but, fearful for the eggs, I moved them there. How could you know that, though? How could you know that your flood would smash hundreds of eggs and extinguish the flames that kept the rest warm, and an entire generation of my griffons would be lost over night? We agreed to maintain our duties, Celestia. I would control the winds, and you would control the sun, your sister the moon. Eventually, the griffons and the ponies would have solved their territorial dispute and come out stronger for it, but you could not grit your teeth and endure. So you did something drastic and stupid.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Yes, you said that when you first trotted into my kingdom as a conqueror. You said you assumed mothers could carry their eggs to the clouds. There would be casualties, but you could not know thousands would be lost. The eggs were smashed or stillborn, all the same.” Gilford turns to me. I almost squeak as the golden eye focuses on my shuddering form. “Do you understand now, Magic Queen? Do you understand what you ask me to forgive?”
The throne screeches as Celestia pushes away from the table and stands up. Head hung low, she trots past Gilford and out of the room. Perhaps worried about what a drunk alicorn in Griffany could get up to, Geraldine hurries after her. I feel the heat of Gilford’s stare. Frightened he may turn his wrath to me next, I submissively meet his gaze, but much to my surprise his eyes are heavy. He sips his brandy before setting it aside. For moments, we sit there in awkward silence. I enjoy it. Better than hearing that damn “whoooo.”
“What do you think of the brandy?” he finally asks.
“Did you invite us here just to spit on the offer of a treaty? You have forgiven so many crimes. It was a horrible misstep my princess took, but you have forgiven so much. What is the difference in this matter?”
A quiver of the eye. A clench of the beak. I feel stronger somehow. It might just be the alcohol filtering through my system, or perhaps seeing the sad gaze in the king’s eye eases my fear. He isn’t some great god, after all. He’s like Celestia: flesh, and bone, and hopes, and fears.
“What is the difference, Gilford? If you can forgive the pony soldiers who maliciously smashed eggs, or the rebels who wickedly sought to overthrow you, why can you not forgive Celestia, acting by mistake? What keeps your gaze locked on the past?”
My mouth is parched. I take a careful sip of brandy and the kiss of sweetness eases the tenseness in my soul. I look at Gilford again, and see something different in his eye, and suddenly I know the answer to my own question.
“The difference is you ordered the eggs locked beneath your castle.”
Gilford is back to rage. He rises suddenly and slams his claws onto the table, causing a ripple to run through the wood and knock several of the glasses to the floor.
“Chose your next words carefully, child, and remember that I control the air you breathe.”
A long, deep breath confirms that Gilford has not purged the room of oxygen. Not yet, anyway. Filling my lungs with the sweet kiss of air, I begin. “Each night, your mind goes over the flood. You are positive if you just flew a little faster, or beat your wings a little harder, or accepted Celestia’s invitation sit down and discuss a treaty, everything would have worked out. Instead, you failed to protect the eggs. You were too weak. To now accept Celestia’s aid is to admit you still lack the strength to save them.”
Gilford sits back in his throne. He looks exhausted. He looks defeated. I flap my wings and flutter to him, and wrap my arms around his thick neck. “Used your magic to read my thoughts?” he asks.
“Of course not,” I say softly.
“Then what right do you have to speak with such certainty?”
He could just shake his head and knock me away, but he lifts his claw and takes me around the middle. With surprising kindness, he sets me in Celestia’s throne. “Am I incorrect?” I ask. Be empathetic and understanding, but do not appear weak. Do not waste words, but do not be rude. I swear, these sort of conversations are like playing a game of chess against a master. Truthfully, I have no doubts that I am correct in my assertions, and I want nothing more than to hug Gilford and assure him everything will be alright. I am here representing my ponies, but it’s hard to see the trickles running down his face, or the quiver in the corner of his beak, and hold a strong façade. He looks down at his claws, then to me, then around the room, I assume just to waste a few moments.
“Each night, Celestia lays in her bed and relives the events of Luna’s exile,” I say. “She is positive that had she been stronger, or faster, or better, she could have spared her beloved sister the thousand years of banishment.” I wipe a few tears from my eyes. Great, now I’m the one crying. “Even the few times she has raged and cursed Luna’s name, she can never blame her sister or absolve herself of guilt. I hope you are not offended when I say you and she are quite alike.”
Gilford doesn’t nod, grimace or groan. He just… stares forward, blankly. I’m not even sure he’s still breathing.
I flap my wings and ease myself to the ground. Maintaining eye contact at all times, I give a courteous bow to my host. “If you so desire, I will leave with my princess at first sun tomorrow and you will never hear from us again.”
“No… No, I…” He finally finds the strength to wipe the tears from his face. “We need this. My griffons need this treaty.”
“As do the ponies. Will you sit with my princess and myself tomorrow to discuss the terms?”
“I will.”
I know it is breaking griffon custom, but it is a pony sign of respect to bow fully; taking your eyes off the other party because you know you have nothing to fear of them. With that, I trot out of the room and down the hallway, looking for Geraldine or Celestia. I want to see my princess.
Author's Note
This is a fic that I have been planning for several years, and have been alluding to in several prior fics. After almost six months working on it, I am happy to finally get it out. It was a lot of work, and a lot of sweat, but I think the end result is worth it, and I think I managed to tell a complex story and hopefully not bore anyone to tears.
Celestia and Twilight already have established characters, but Gilford I had to design from scratch. A lot of things influenced him. The biggest inspiration came from songs such as “Shepherd of Fire” by Avenged Sevenfold, “Enter Sandman” by Metalica, “Highway to Hell” by AC/DC, and “Gimme Shelter” by the Rolling Stones. He is designed as someone visually frightening, but at the same time charismatic and actually a pretty decent guy when you get to know him. He definitely has many layers beneath the surface.
Gilford, nor Celestia, are written to be one hundred percent in the right in these situations. Celestia committed a horrible crime, but had no idea how much damage she would do, and had the noble intention of ending a war that had already taken hundreds, if not thousands of lives. Gilford was unwilling to negotiate, but wants the griffons to learn to fight for themselves and such. Gilford is holding onto an ancient grudge at the expense of his present Kingdom’s wellbeing, but also had to experience life under “Lawful” (essentially the God of Order, while Discord is the God of Chaos) so he is terrified of the “big government” the ponies practice.
As with many fics of this nature, I have probably four times as much lore as I could actually include. In my notes, Lawful, the Pony-Griffon War (or Griffon-Pony War, depending on who you ask), Gilford’s history, the “Black Gem,” and the history of the Griffon Kingdom all have pages and pages of background. If anyone has any questions, please do ask.
I hope everyone enjoyed this story, and please Thumb Up if you did. I have really worked hard and would love to see it receive some attention.
