Griffinstone United

"So, how does Geomancy exactly work?" the black griffon asked the larger stallion, both of which were seated on a bench near the sunlight, the Academy providing shade as the morning sun rose. He simply shrugged.

"Jus' feels natural," he replied in his deep voice, looking at the table. Benedict shivered, pulling his cloak tighter. Since when was fall so damned cold? The griffon gazed at the table as well, where his two obsidian daggers lied. Despite saving nineteen prisoners, last night still felt like a loss. One had died, and the dragon — he still couldn't get over it — had flown off, most presumably telling of the mages he'd saw. Albeit, the Red Gear also revealed that they had dragon soldiers.

Big Macintosh was a quiet buck, barely ever talking. Big, strong, handsome; everything a mare would want, probably. Another question came to mind for Benedict. "How exactly do the griffons use Geomancy?" He was obviously peeved at having to answer so many questions.

"They use one of them magical gemstones and suck the magic out of 'em, gainin' a permanent power. Jus' like the other magic griffons, they 'ave to refuel ev'ry now an' then by fuelin' themselves off a gem, making it o' little more use than a piece of glass." That's new, Benedict thought.

"Has to be a certain gem, though," he added. "Like for a Geomancer who ain't an earth pony, they have to use emeralds." This was news, since Benedict had always thought that they could just draw upon their power. Apparently, they needed fuel.

A group of griffons followed a unicorn professor, dressed in the red robes that symbolized the Elemancy school, walking out from the building behind Big Mac. Eventually he grunted, getting up, taking his daggers. Big Mac looked up and nodded his farewell, putting his head in his hooves afterwards. Benedict had gotten some rest before the mission, but the large stallion looked restless, rings around his eyes.

Benedict planned on getting home and lying in bed, maybe stopping at the arena to practice on the way.

It was a short flight, only an hour or so from Talonton to Griffinstone, but it had taken longer as Benedict stopped, staring at the hectic streets of Griffinstone below him. They were always busy, it was Griffinstone after all, but there were griffons bustling through, shoving others out of the way. Curious, Benedict made his way downwards towards the commotion. Numerous griffons brushed past him, shouts and curses being yelled by all.

"Get outta the way!"

"Ah, shit!"

"Hell yeah!"

His dark velvet cloak that told of his rank helped him get through, but that didn't make it much faster. Eventually, he heard an annoying voice yell out, "News! Big news! All come hither, big news story!"

Benedict had to shove an especially large griffon out of the way who gave him a glare to get to him. There was a scrawny griffon standing on a box, ink stains covering him from head to talon, his hands clutching multiple newspapers. Benedict couldn't tell whether he'd stole them or was one of the scribes at the Griffinstone Print, but he reached out for one. The griffon jumped back, holding up a claw, then making a gesture for Benedict to give him something. "One bit per paper," he said in his ringy voice.

Benedict frowned at this. Despite all the years that had passed, some griffons were still greedy. Grumbling, he reached into his cloak and pulled out a golden bit, flicking it at the griffon's chest. He scrambled to catch it, tossing one of the papers at Benedict and then continued his advertising, shouting at passerby. Nearby, someone yelled of a thievery, but it would be next to impossible to catch someone in this mess. Flying upwards so that he was feet above the surging crowd, he unfolded the newspaper, wondering what was inside. It could be about the prison caravan, but it wouldn't have caused such an uproar. At that, he began to read, sitting down on a rooftop.

Insane Weather Strikes Red Gear

We've all felt these cold winds the past few days, but it seems that it's much more

than a simple harsh winter. Recently, the Red Gear revealed in their own words that

strange things were happening in their empire. In a camp near the mountainous

north, just north of Whitewing, children screamed and a camp director flew in

terror as he reports that his companion supervisor had been killed, and I quote,

'He was frozen in this giant block of ice, paralyzed, dead for sure. He was so

damned young, too. When I ran away, I saw this, this thing above him, smiling.'

The article continued on, but this was enough for Benedict. It just seemed like some guy had gotten frostbite, and some witness was exaggerating what he saw, adding his own touch. Some griffons did that; whoring for attention, whether it's cruel or not.

'I saw this thing above him' my tail, he thought, gliding towards Griffin Scone Superette, both Gilda's bakery and their home on the second floor. He lightly landed on the balcony, knocking on the door before pulling on it, only to find it locked.

Makes sense, he thought, waiting, the streets are a madhouse. After a short moment, there was a click and the door creaked open, weary golden eyes peeking out atop a purple mask. They lit up at the sight of Benedict.

"Bennie, come on in!" she said, opening the door to its full extent and closing it behind him with her tail. Benedict took off his armor and cloak, quickly opening his bedroom door and throwing them inside before continuing with her mother. She embraced him in a warm hug that was greatly returned before backing away, ignoring the craziness outside and rather asking about something else.

"So, how'd the whole surprise attack go?" she asked, walking down the stairs with him.

"Well, we saved nineteen prisoners, but one died, and now the Red Gear knows about the magic stuff." It was only after Benedict said this did he realize that Gilda shouldn't have known about it. He stopped as Gilda continued, opening his mouth to ask how she knew such, but he saw his answer sooner rather than hearing it.

Sitting in the downstairs living room behind the counter and kitchen was a griffon with a dark navy coat, a lighter blue plumage that was greying from age. He sat in one of the two couches of the room, making room so that, to Benedict's silent disapproval, Gilda could sit with him. Benedict sat down at the other couch, the hearth between them giving off a comforting heat.

Benedict was good friends with Peyton, but his whole demeanor changed from one of a happy griffon to a passive aggressive hostility towards him whenever he was with Gilda, like she was a territory that Benedict had claimed. The fire flickered as the tension in the room stood, Benedict silent. Eventually, Peyton spoke up in a deep voice.

"Hello," he said simply, Benedict hesitant to respond. Eventually, he relaxed, cursing at himself for being so weird. It's nothing wrong, cut it out Benedict. Gilda had said so herself.

"Hey." The silence once again returned, Gilda frowning. She eventually broke the thin ice between the two, speaking up.

"So, why don't you tell us about what happened?" she asked, shaking in excitement. Benedict winced at the word us.

He shot a look at Peyton. "Didn't he already tell you?"

Troubled, Gilda was about to say something, but the old griffon interrupted. "Benedict, this is silly. I only told her about the problem, but I'm sure there's more to it, especially from a first person perspective."

"Spies got kidnapped, one died, we rescued the others," he grumbled, looking down. Once again, he cursed at himself for being so rude, but he couldn't help it. Gilda was shooting daggers sharper than his from her eyes, the look silently telling him to snap out of it or she'd spank him right then and there, despite that he was nearly twenty-one years old. He complied, dropping his ridiculous attitude.

Peyton brought up another topic. "So, you've read the recent news, right?"

"Yeah," Benedict said, looking up and, as commanded, dropping his attitude. "Some guy in Whitewing got frostbite."

He chuckled. "It was more than frostbite, a lot more, actually, based on what the Empress of the Red Gear is asking of us."

Benedict perked up, intrigued. "Wait, what's she asking?"

Peyton, glad that the room was cleared of tension, replied, "Well, unbelievably, she's asking for a peace treaty and will be arriving all the way from her home in Lyonroyle for a meeting with the King and his Council some time tomorrow. Apparently, this isn't the first time one of them got frozen stiff near the northern parts, nor is it the first that griffons had seen something in the distance."

"How do we know it isn't a trap?" Benedict asked, crossing his arms. He didn't like the whole war between them, but he still didn't like the Red Gear, not after what had happened before.

"Oh, it won't. She's agreed to be completely stripped of apparel and gear, as well as dignity, then given back appropriate items. And there's suppose to be a couple dozen guards surrounding the Tree where the meeting's happening."

"Huh," he thought, interested. The Tree was the King's residence, the large castle slash tree that was surrounded by another stone wall within the city's walls, as well as the Council's meeting place. There were more reasons to its being, but those were the main two.

A sharp ding! rang from the kitchen, Gilda getting up and eagerly leaving. "Scones are done!" she yelled through the doorway. Once she left, there was another awkward stillness. This time, Benedict was the one to break it.

"So, you know about the Academy, right?" he asked. In response, Peyton snorted.

"I know the place up and down, everyone in the Council has been making regular stops there to oversee it. Banana Toss has been asking us to come over more, she's crazy." He paused. "Er, you do know who Banana Toss is, right?"

"Yeah, I know her, the headmaster," he said, Benedict bummed that he already knew everything. It wasn't very long until Gilda was back with a steaming tray of griffon scones, setting the plate on the table and grinning. The two both knew how good Gilda's cooking was, so they immediately dug in, despite them being smoking hot. Benedict didn't know Peyton's reason, but he had only then realized that he was starving.

The three chuckled and shared stories, though Benedict's mind had begun to drift afterwards, for two reasons. He excused himself, both griffons understanding why just by looking at his fatigued posture. He climbed up the stairs, his mind groggy from his lack of sleep, also trying to focus on the Empress of the Red Gear. He had never thought that this war would end in his lifetime, and it was even more unthinkable of the Red Gear being the ones who wanted peace. Then again, they were doing it because of these supposed 'frost attacks' that were beginning to seem much more real.

He sighed, opening his door and flopping onto his bed. The fact that Peyton and Gilda were together didn't even cross his mind as he refused to get up to put away his daggers, instead just tossing his belt at a table, missing horribly. He also didn't realize that the sun was setting, the light turning to an intense red after being filtered through the crimson curtains of his room.

He gazed about his room, bored. The curtains complimented his bed sheets, casting a strange glow over them. His carelessly thrown apparel had been tossed beneath a small cloak rack, with various knickknacks strewn about some shelves and tables. Pictures of his family, besides his father, books, broken hilts of weapons and more. He never thought that he'd fall asleep, but it happened instantly upon closing his eyes.

***   ***   ***

"Benedict..."

"Benedict?"

"BENEDICT!" she screeched, making him jerk in his sleep.

He mumbled "Five more minutes," but the griffon above wasn't having it. Instead, she grabbed the sheets and tore them from the sleepy griffon, moving him on the process. He fell on the floor with a thud, but he still didn't move, instead muttering for more time. Gilda frowned, leaning closely towards his ear, holding her claws up as if to tell a secret.

"BENEDICT! WAKE UP!" she screamed, finally getting a reaction. He jerked open, yelping and clutching his ear, hitting his head against a table.

"Ow!" he grumbled, slowly crawling back towards the bed while holding his head. His efforts were fruitless, however, as he just tumbled back, Gilda dragging him to the middle of the room, yanking the curtains open. Benedict hissed at the blinding light of the morning sun, holding up his claws. His mother only rolled his eyes, walking out. A minute later, she appeared with a sloshing bucket. He didn't know until it was too late that she was pouring a gallon of ice and water on him.

Splash!

"Benedict, so help me, if you don't wake up," she said through her beak, seething. "There's a man outside who wants to talk to you about the King!"

At this, and the barrage of cold water, his eyes widened and he jumped up, shaking his head. "You didn't have to do that," he grumbled, grabbing his cloak and stumbling towards the bakery's front door in a lumbering gait. He strapped his belt around his waist as shambled over like a zombie. He bumped against the door, taking a moment before opening it. Gilda stood at the staircase, tapping the railing impatiently and bitterly.

A griffon with a stiff posture and clean, pressed uniform stood there, looking him over with skeptic eyes. He held a yellow envelope in his hand. "Are you Benedict?" he asked, expecting a 'no' by Benedict's current appearance. Rather than being formal, he grumbled a yes and snatched the letter, tearing it open with his beak after two failed attempts with his unsteady morning claws.

He unfolded the paper and saw that it had been personally written in the most formal handwriting. His exhausted eyes went over the words, his beak moving while reading it to himself.

"Elite Knight Benedict,

It has come to my attention that you are one of the best of the best, and I, King Harold, must require you to perform a task. Empress Selena has recently asked for peace, unbelievably, and I have recruited many of Griffinstone's most loyal to guard the Tree. We don't know what games she is playing, and are afraid that she is using us as pawns. So, I ask of you, Elite Knight Benedict, to be my personal bodyguard. The meeting will be occurring at sixteen hours, so please be ready and meet at the Tree's top balcony. I will be awaiting you personally."

***   ***   ***

The city of Griffinstone was still waking up as Benedict landed on the highest perch of the Tree. Few griffons roamed about, unlike the other day when the streets had been packed. Mothers and fathers happily led their children down streets, stopping at stores and restaurants alike. He, however, had a duty to do that was very important.

He waited silently by the door after rapping on it three times, leaning on the railing while feeling the cold wind smack against him. Humming a tune, he gazed down and looked about the grounds that were inside the wall. There was one gate that opened up to the city, a large cart stopped inside, multiple guards of Griffinstone staying near it. Selena must be inside already, he noted as the door opened, one of the King's many servants poking his head out, a nervous expression plastered on his face.

"Sir Benedict?" he asked, the charcoal griffon responding with a nod and showing him his ruffled cloak. He opened the door further, bowing his head for Benedict to come in. He had white plumage, an uncommon mark on his forehead, and a brown coat. "Sir Benedict, welcome to King Harold's home. He has tasked me to lead you to him."

"Alright." Benedict picked at his cloak as the servant shut the door behind him and started walking towards a staircase. It looked like they were in a bedroom, bunks all around. Probably the servants' quarters.

The Tree was a giant, created upon an enormous, white tree, though it was now covered with stone and enlarged. It split off onto branches leading to multiple rooms, but the main throne room was a floor above the entrance, and the Council's room nearer to the top of the tree. Benedict assumed that the meeting would occur in the Council's room.

After taking a couple flights of stairs, the servant ushered him into a room that was empty, save for some flickering torches on the walls. Another set of oak doors were set across from the ones he had come from, as well as a large griffon in an elegant robe. Benedict squeed when he saw him.

King Harold the magnificent stood before him, the actual King Harold! Dressed in a flowing and shining lavender garment with a white, fluffy outline, an axe bigger than any that Benedict had ever seen, a small iron head of a griffon molded onto the top. The King had a dark brown beak on darker plumage, a dark purple coat below it complimenting his apparel. Immediately, Benedict closed his eyes, bowing as the servant had. Rather than hearing a 'hello' or 'welcome,' he just heard a throaty laugh.

He chuckled as Benedict looked up. "Please, there's no need for that." He flashed a charismatic grin, the fire to his left and right creating creeping shadows. Benedict was even more surprised to see a hand reached out to him, waiting for him to shake it in return.

He did as so. "I, uh..." Dammit, quit stuttering! "I didn't really expect this," he said, looking at him and then around the room.

He chuckled once more. "Oh, this isn't the Council room. It's the room behind these doors, but you must know something." Benedict raised his eyebrow. "Empress Selena has a bodyguard of her own who had been let to carry weapons, since if we didn't let her, Selena'd cancel this whole thing."

"Is the Council in there as well?" he asked. He nodded.

"Now remember, as your job of my personal bodyguard for this moment, you must keep your eyes peeled on her bodyguard. If she tries anything, be ready to react. Now, ready?" Benedict nodded, earning a clap on the shoulder as the King pushed open the doors. I was expecting a much more... less... him-like King.

Stained glass windows cast the room into a rainbow clutter, all of the griffons (And ponies) painted over with the light of the windows. Banana Toss looked up and waved, but Benedict was more focused on the griffon at the other side of the table.

Sitting down was Empress Selena, a flat expression on her face as the King slowly took his seat. She had a white plumage and a grey coat. Beside her was the noted bodyguard, a griffon wearing a chainmail top and a crimson scarf, the holster of a long revolving musket on her back, earning her the stares of multiple guards that stood in the corners of the room. Similar to Benedict, she had a dark black beak and claws, but the similarities ended there.

With cream-colored plumage that ended in tips of a brown that was the same color as her coat, she stared hard at Benedict, as did he. In case she reached for her musket, Benedict would be ready to pull out his unused crossbow.

King Harold scooted his chair in after seating himself, looking down at his filled cup of ale that everyone else around the table had, Benedict standing firmly by his side. He noticed few familiar faces, but Peyton was visible next two griffons he didn't know. Banana Toss was now looking at the Empress, however.

"Empress Selena and Miss Carolyn," the King said, the Council quiet. She simply nodded. "So, you have come from Lyonroyle to ask peace between the Kingdom of Griffinstone and the Empire of the Red Gear, correct?"

"Yes, we are looking for a peace offer." she said in an annoyed tone. It was obvious that she wanted to get this over with. King Harold smiled, however.

"And we are glad to offer one, so that we can join nations and become one unified Griffinstone, and to put an end to this fighting. But, may I ask you why have you asked for something like this so soon?"

"I've already fuckin' told you," she muttered in a gravelly voice, taking a sip of her ale. One of the griffons among the small audience gasped; no one would dare speak of the King that way, but he merely smiled.

"But would you mind explaining it so that me, my bodyguard, and the Council of Griffinstone may hear it?" King Harold leaned back, awaiting for an explanation.

Eventually she groaned, giving up on stalling. "Well, it all started a couple months ago when we were sending some reconnaissance teams to scout out the north. We were hoping to establish some new territory. They never returned, and when we send a team to find out what happened to them, only one of the cowards returned to report that his fellow soldiers had been 'frozen to death by this thing.' We ask him what it was, of course the damned idiot doesn't remember.

"And so a month passes and we forget about it, assuming he was delusional and the reconnaissance team had died or gotten lost. The end, right? Well, apparently not. There's another death, but this one was actually an attack on us rather than us sending griffons to the north. A family on some camping trip had been found paralyzed and frozen, the son missing. His body was later found ripped apart in a lake. No witnesses.

"More time passes. We can't find anything pointing to what or who caused this, but now we're sure that it was a 'what.' Surely you dimwits have noticed the cold weather recently, right?" The Council once again looked up at the cool headed King nervously to catch his reaction, but he simply nodded and waved a claw for her to continue, unsettling her for she expected a more aggravated response. King Harold held his claws up to his beak in a thoughtful expression, waiting.

"Well, one more death was found. It was in this small camp for children to practice in combat training in Whitewing, for aspiring soldiers and such, but the supervisor's assistant had gone missing. After a short walk, they found him frozen solid in a brick of ice. The supervisor reported seeing some black figure, just as helpful as the other idiots. Everyone's gone paranoid and are afraid of the north, and we need to fix this problem before it gets out of hand. This isn't natural either; if you'd seen the body of the kid, you'd know. It was ripped to shreds."

There was a long silence before King Harold finally put his claws to the table, taking a long drink from his ale before responding. "We will happily accept your offer with a vote among me and my Council, but we must first discuss the conditions."

"What are they?" she asked, skeptical.

"Well, I understand that asking of you to rid yourselves of those guns and muskets would be impossible now, so I will not forbid them."

"Hang on a minute," she cut him off, slamming the table. "You won't forbid them? If we're joining together, I expect that the rulers of two nations will still be rulers, not the idiot in some ugly robes and him only."

"If you'd let me get to it and not interrupt like a child, that would be pleasant." A deep frown creased her beak at this blatant insult. "Yes, I am completely fine with you retaining your high ranking as a ruler, but we will both be rulers together. That means that we will both make decisions together with my Council." He paused. "Er, you do have something similar to the Council of Griffinstone, yes?"

"Yeah," she said with a wave of a hand, as if it was obvious, "I have the three leaders of Irelion, Cobble Claw, and Whitewing."

"Oh, and I've also heard that you have recruited dragons?"

"And I've heard that you've got some mages and wizardry shit going on," she retorted, the King's pleasant smile unchanging.

"Tha's me," Banana Toss whispered, waving a hoof, despite the rest of the Council's silence. Despite trying to keep a serious manner, Benedict had to stifle a laugh at the mare's goofiness, quickly regaining his composure as a threatening, strong bodyguard.

"So, do we have an agreement in conditions? Your empire gets to keep their wrong weaponry, we will unite, and we will both be of equal power?"

Everyone was silent, heads turning towards Selena. She grumbled an "I suppose," leading to the Council all grinning and cheering. They had just ended the war!

"Well, I guess we don't need a vote to tell that everyone thinks the same. Now, I assume that you'll be off to tell your empire of the changes? I will be holding a meeting with my own people." he said, getting another nod for a response. He gave a warm grin. "Great. Now, I'd like to discuss these deaths near the north with you once you are done with your message. Come to the Tree when you return."

Selena was about to get up when the King held up a claw. "One more thing, a request. I'm guessing that Carolyn is one of your best, as is my loyal guard Benedict, so I was thinking that the two could spend some time together."

"What?!" They both screeched at the same time. He stared at her, as did she, in disgust. Benedict looked up at the King, confused.

"Why?!" he blurted out, perplexed.

"Simple: I'd like you two to bond while I discuss things with Selena once she returns, both as a sign of our nations getting along and as part of a plan that I have for these murders in your Empire, Selena." Carolyn looked at Selena for support, but she just looked down.

"Might as well," she grumbled, making her droop miserably.

"Now, I don't care how you two do it, but I suggest that you, Benedict, might show her around Griffinstone. Then she can show you around the Red Gear's empire."

Benedict was unable to decline, he was the King, but he was still incredibly peeved by this. Before he could dwell more on this, King Harold rose up and held up his mug. "Now, I was expecting this, so I had the chefs create a feast for all of us on the lower floor." Murmurs broke out through the crowd as they all rose, passing by the King. Empress Selena and Carolyn followed pessimistically, the guards following. This left only Benedict and King Harold in the room, both bathed in the varying colors of light.

Rather than repeating 'why?' Benedict decided to ask a different question.

"Uh, King Harold?" he said, scratching the back of his neck.

"Yes?" he looked down at him, a good head taller, making Benedict feel like Irvin.

"She was being so... well, bitchy, but you acted as if she were complimenting you."

"Oh, I did that to annoy her," he grinned. "It was amusing, I must admit, but I think she'll warm up to me. Everyone does."