Griffonstone

Chapters

Prologue
The Young Prince I
The Iron Brother I

Prologue

Griffonstone

“Prosperity, an experience only short lived.”

Prologue

The weather was damp as the sky lay white with clouds over the massive oak and pine trees that remained stiff and aligned like sentries throughout the forest. Brown leaves lay scatter about with rotted wood among few fallen branches. A pair of three walked among this forest of rusty orange and murky brown leaves; autumn was coming just from around the corner. They had hawk eyes with sharp vision to spot prey from afar. Their beaks were yellow, tipped like a hook facing downward, whilst their feathery mane surrounded their neck like gruffs of fur connected to their lion like bodies exclude their front half where their talons remained. They were gryphons, native to Equestria and even noble creatures to the High Plains and Mountains.

These three weren't nobles, they were scouts set out with a duty to search these parts of the wild marshes, closest to the bogs, for any strange occurrences or unwanted visitors. One was young, new to his job as his feathers were dirty brown, with a beige coat that had some spots of dirt and untrimmed knots among his clumps of fur. His eyes were a piercing black as they scanned the area nervously, with small trembles that made him look more craven than he acted.

His brothers were much older than him, one of them with a white a bald white feathery head that came down with a gray streak among his mane. His coat was black, with a sharpen axe strapped by his own harness and a few beets tied to him. One eye remained gray as the other was an ashy blue as he squinted time from time to see where he was going.

The last looked more noble than them, but that was due to his coaxed full white body with a leather coat covering the rest of his form to not make him stick out among the rest. Highborn green eyes shimmer only faintly with each passing light from the sun that struggle to shine beyond those clouds above. Strapped to this scout who worn a smug grin and was shorter than the half blind axecrow, was a leather scabbard sewn with brown stripping of wool. Sheathed inside was a longsword that bore a steel pommel circle to have the engraving of a talon in the center and blue straps wrapped around the handle for a comfortable grip.

The three pushed on, behind them were great hills and mountains merged together. The rocky edges and even a few slits stretched out high and wide so the rest of the world below could see those towering breasts shadow over them in case the sun went around the giants. They were called the Titan’s Palms, as ancient as the equine race, with riches of gold, silver, and gems all alike, even mint which helped the currency in the gryphon society remain fluctuated for a long time. Though few lowborns beg to differ.

The young gryphon among the two looked back and gulped. They were out at a bad time, where the forest did not take liking to visitors. Especially when the wild wood was cursed.

“Don't piss yourself, Jareed. Don't want Gillian here to shave you now.” The supposed Highborn said, a snarky grin appeared on his beak whilst his predatory eyes fell upon the young bird with disdain.

“It's not right to be here.” Jareed responded, though he wish he hadn't.

“Then go back, we don't need you with your tail between your legs like some Diamond bitch. And while you head back, we'll be sure to visit your head and pay you respect for such a cowardly brother you were.” The white gryphon responded causing the crow beside him to scoff and move on ahead.

“You know nothing of these woods, Gothar. Nothing. They've a curse to them.”

Gothar laughed at Jareed’s response. “The Hangsman Woods, haunted because the Old-Old Mad King hung his son under one of these trees. The Sky God and Tree God cursed him forever and whoever came into these woods. Hey, if we're lucky on our search, we might find his old keep and piss on his grave.”

Gillion ahead admittedly chuckle to that. Though he said not one word along the way. Even on the start of their departure from their commander back at the Gate.

Jareed cursed under his breath. Gulped each time they passed by a five trees in one path. They shouldn't be here, he firmly believed. The ground was still wet from the last storm, the scent of muddy waters and formed swamps even blinded their sense of smell, and they were walking in blind, far away from home. Gothar was right, if he turned back and head to the Gate, they will take it as treason, abandoning their realm, and being a craven. He would lose his head as the only redeeming punishment for his family to take honor in.

What honor could you take after the dead, Jareed thought as he kept up with the others. Scouts were scouts, the King before had his army made strong and ready to die to protect the Gryphon borders from outside intruders. Livestock was gregarious, crops could be harvested, and the seasons of summer and winter proved both pleasant and cold, with neither side trumping the other.

Gothar coughed a bit without covering his mouth as he looked ahead and thought of a mean idea. “Jareed, here's something you could do. Scout ahead, see if anything needs to he looked carefully at. Once that is done, we could make camp.”

Jareed wanted to turn back, but the way Gothar looked at him, the young gryphon was like a cowardly pigeon with his puffy chest and cheeks. He wasn't a fighter, he didn't even have a weapon. He went ahead, passing Gillian that towered over him.

He kept a distance from the two behind him, ensuring that he wouldn't go too far and they wouldn't lose him. But as he listened to his own hesitant breathing and the crunching noise of leaves beneath his talons and paws on the bottom half, he felt like the three of them were being watched. It was not only till he stumbled upon a camp that had looked long abandon from before.

A kettle pot was on the dirt, old on the bonfire was submerged in stagnant water, and the satchels and tents were torn apart, few even crushed. By the time Gillian and Gothar got there, they looked confused. The crow tilted his head and scanned the area, whereas Jareed slowly snaked back, frightened and confused.

“The fuck is this? Did everyone think it was wise to leave their shit in the forest?” Gothar walked ahead, Gillian had done so too, walking over the small ledge beyond a soft dirt patched hill. “Look at this, a fucking massacre.”

Jareed gulped, unsure what horrors was before the two scouts. Even Gothar looked disturbed. When Jareed had enough courage to push himself forward, he looked over the hill, standing beside Gillian, and froze.

Stiff bodies, long dead with mangled faces and caved in chests, few without heads too, was laid out in a full circle with the head of a unicorn in the center whose eyes were gouged out with nasty dark snakes slithering in and out the sockets. Few bodies were seen hanging, ponies, diamond dogs, and even gryphons in leather armors; their bodies seem to not only be drained out of blood, but their throats were slit clean from ear to ear. This was an omen place, Jareed thought, and they stumbled upon an accursed site that scream for him to run back home.

“Get a closer look, craven!” Gothar smacked Jareed’s back, sending him down the hill, causing his feathers to be stained with more dirt, dead leaves, and a few specks of mud. Jareed groaned, pushing himself up. But when he did get up, his eyes widened and suddenly found himself pressing his back against the muddle erosion of the hill.

More corpses littered the floors, with half their limbs torn off. Their bodies seem to still hold onto their belongings. A bear couldn’t have done this, one against fifthteen meant trouble for even it, bandits would have made off with whatever they can keep, and the Diamond Dogs around here hung their victims, not maimed them, especially if it were one of their own.

“What’s down there, Jareed!” Gothar shouted.

“The dead.” He breathed out. But his voice was too low to be heard.

“Speak up you twat!” Gothar sounded annoy, but Jareed could care less what the highborn thought. These bodies were torn apart by something.

“The dead!”

“The dead? Fool...of course they’re dead, but what else down there. Any fuck with a different banner or somethi-” Gothar went silent, Jareed didn’t understand why. It wasn’t like him to go silent in mid-sentence. Gothar would finish whatever he had to say and add an insult in the middle of it.

“Gothar?” He called, but no response came. “Gillian?”

Think about the stables, think about the hay, think about the hot oven, just think you craven. But these thoughts did not subside the terror growing in Jareed’s heart. He slowly peeked out from the sides, keeping his head up. There he saw Gothar looking down at him, neck against the ledge with his cold eyes.

“Gothar?” He spoke out his name too soon, before the head of the highborn fell into his paws. Jareed nearly screamed, his body froze, covered in his iron brother’s blood. It was missing from its body, half of the neck looked torn off with a few bloody feathers.

Thump! Thump! Thump! The floor shook and Jareed did not dare scream still. He could feel himself bouncing from these sudden vibrations. He clutched onto Gothar’s head, that still expression seeing right through his craven soul. When Jareed turned around, he could see the killer before his eyes. Hooves for feet, large meaty legs of fur, a pouch of orange hair on his crotch, a maimed chest full of scars and cuts with a bulk of orange fur, and the immense size that reached half high to the tree. What was left of Gothar’s body dangled by the leg in its mighty fat hands, and in the other was Gillian, dead perhaps from the immense force of being crushed. Jareed stayed still, looking at the giant. He wished he were these trees, they weren’t scorn for being so tall and silent. They feared nothing, they lived for a century with little to no fear of death.

The giant turned, it’s one eye blinked. It was a red toad-like eye with a yellow iris for a widget shaped pupil. It saw him, it knew he was there, it watched him piss himself staining his legs and rusty brown leaves beneath him. He dropped Gothar’s head, his body frozed up as if falling back against that muddy dirt wall.

It dropped Gothar’s body and soon step upon it causing a large splat to be heard. Gillian was squeezed harder and harder before he was dropped next. The giant and craven were quiet, eye to eye.

Jareed didn’t realized it until now that he was quick on his feet, climbing the dirt hill. He he ran, he fell onto the floor, and when he picked himself up, he continued running as fast as he could daring not to look back. The giant didn’t chase him, but the haunting memories of the dead would.

He was a craven, cravens always ran from their duty. But he had to tell them what he saw, he had to make them believe him.

The Cyclops have returned.

Author's Note

The story is still under a working progress. Chapters will be put in orders fans of GRRM (George R.R. Martin) might understand. An example will briefly be explained when the next chapter is up in how I'm going to organize this fanfic. But I hope you like it, a good start takes time of course! The story is also a brief history of King Grover, before his son came into reign. A possibility of looking at many scenarios that might have went on and the show and comics have not explained.

Criticism is beloved, opinions are accepted, and be sure to point out any errors you might have found that I could fix up.

The Young Prince I

The Young Prince

“Clams! Clams! Clams for sale! With the freshest morsels you can have! I got some vinegar too!” Boomed the young gryphon as she stood upon a block of wood with a box strapped to her neck full with clams. Young Gilford paid no mind to her.

Gilford was the youngest of seven. He had the brightest blue eyes like his mother, the head like a falcon similar to his father, and the speckle black spots of feathers for a mane like his uncle. His coat along the tail was gray with a light pigment of blue, one might have easily confused him for a raven if it weren’t for the silver tipped tail. He worn only his jerkin, a leaf green color shirt that had a brooch of his father’s sigil: The Crowned Gryphon.

He walked through the town’s hall, markets have been booming. Stone cakes, bluemoon cider, fresh trout, mutton on stock, and pork. Even the blacksmith’s shop had that vulgar scent of sulfur in the air, the smith was at work. Daylight proved to be one of Gilford’s favorite times of the day, it was where life in Griffonstone was alive.

“Clams! Clams for sale!” Gilford looked at the young bird, he didn’t know her very well, but she always put herself in the center of the town. Her father fished for a majority of the time and provided some of the markets the finest game he captured with his strongest nets. Yet, he didn’t know her father either, just what the passing townsfolk would ramble on before they gave the young prince small bow and pass him small respectful greeting along the way.

“My lord.” One would say before hobbling along their way. “Our gracious prince,” another will say with praise. “Gods be good with you, Prince Gilford.” Yet, Gilford had little interest with the gods.

He was only seven-and-two. His name day would come soon and he would finally be old enough to get his first suit of armor from the smith. There he would be proud and stand alongside his brothers in the training yard. After passing through the small town, greeted kindly by every griffon the small town could hold, he made it to the wooden gates of Grover’s castle. His father had always enjoyed the view of the mountains, and his grandfather who was the king before him believed that a king should always be stationary at the highest point of them all, so that his followers know he will watch over them all for danger.

Gilford knew only what Old Yolanthe shared to him whenever he was sent to bed for the night. Half her stories were for little birds, the other half were for those who wanted to sleep frightfully at night. Gilford was that other half, he enjoyed scary stories, they were myths. Though his brothers did not fancy them one bit, Gendry threatened to have Yolanthe’s head if she ever was caught giving Gilford nightmares again.

The guards posted recognized their young lord and opened the gates immediately. There he could spot the training yard, some dummies made of hay where either hanging over the walls for the archers or bullseye crafted with hey were placed far in the corners to challenge the young sharpshooters.

“Glad to have you home, my lord.” One of the guards greeted him, a bulky neck of brown feathers, whilst his chest was garbed with brown boiled leather. His coat was sleek and black and he was only a five years older than him. Gilford always felt envious nearby him, but kept it to himself.

“Where are my brothers, Marcel?” Gilford asked curiously, his lion’s tail wagging back and forth. Had he been born a wolf, he wondered if his tail would just stay still like most griffon’s.

“Your two brothers are in the yard training, your other brother, Gendry is in the studies.” Marcel answered obediently, following his young lord who walked ahead.

The recruits were trained here in the yard by Marcel’s father, Montaine. Montaine was old, one of the oldest few who could still swing a sword. He trained his father before, though his father and uncles before. When he came upon the yard, he spotted his brothers. Mikel was the oldest, one of the most identical versions of Grover with a falcon’s head, white spot around the yellow bill, and mighty large wings and grey feathers. Yet he was only Thirteen-and-Nine.

The older brother beside him was Dumont, the fortunate one some of the lords would call him. He remember the story that it was a long harsh winter and Dumont next to his sister Catherine had nearly froze to death as hatchlings, but Grover and their beloved mother Yvonne stayed together and kept them warm regardless of the ruthless weather. By the next year, Dumont and Catherine were born as twins. Dumont’s coat was golden, his feather head was black and that of a hawk, and his bill was brown. He had horns like an owl, but they were merely extra grown feathers. When he turned his head, spotting the youngest of the litter, a smile spread upon his bill.

“Little brother, come here!” Dumont called out, he was only a year younger than Montaine yet those dull green eyes made him seem younger.

Gilford groaned, he was teased for being little. When he came forward, Ser Marcel stayed back to keep his eyes on the gate. Gilford passed around the beams that held the barracks in place. The armory was on the bottom floor. When he got to his brothers, Dumont lifted him up onto a pile of hay to get a better look inside the circle fence at two of Montaine’s friends sparring with dull blades. Dion was a colt and bastard, brown and had a shaggy black mane that matched the color of his eyes, yet for earth ponies, he was good on his hooves and held a firm grip of the blade with his mouth. He worn no armor, his body was covered with mud and dirt. His friend who kept a good grip of his own blade was Duron. A messy griffon, fat and full like a blimp with sausage digits on his paws and untrimmed claws on his talons. He had a nasty looking bill, splotched black like ink that matched the feathers on his head. He was nicknamed Ser Raven, even if he wasn’t a knight yet.

They came at each other on equal grounds, the Bastard colt of Acornfield and the Fat Raven. When they collided blades they both knocked each other into the mud. Dumont and Montaine both laughed, Gilford resisted the best he could before laughing himself. Soon enough some of the guards and serving girls had noticed and chuckle and few times, few had giggled.

Dion and Duron both got up and laughed too. They dropped their backs, pat one another’s back and stopped at the end of the gate where the princes were. When Dion saw the little lord Gilford on a stack of hay, he then said. “Ah, so the young lord is bigger than his brothers eh?”

Gilford flushed. Dumont laughed a bit, before Dion patted Gilford’s head gently. “I’m only jesting, it’s nice to see you again, m’lord.”

“You both were matched.” Montaine said, seating himself down with his paws forelegs folded.

Duron gave a hearty laugh. “Aye!”

“I don’t know what you’re agreeing with’em for, we both fell!” The colt said with a soft laugh.

“Aye, but you fell first.”

“You fat bloat.”

“Hayshitter!”

“Language you two,” Montaine said, holding back a soft laughter. Gilford enjoyed their company, one day he will be in that ring wielding a blade of his own. Gilford chirped at the thought aloud.

“Montaine, what do you think of them golden cloaks those princesses have down there? Equestria was it?” Duran asked.

Gilford had heard many things about the lands and kingdoms outside of Griffonstone. The Griffons ruled the mountains that separated the North from the South, like a towering wall of ample rocky hills, mantle with either snow or trees where only Autumn and Winter existed. Equestria was a land mainly inhabited by ponies of three races. Gilford dreamed of visiting there with his brothers one day, he would soar with them in the sky, seeing the rest of the world for himself and all of its beauty.

“Do not take the entire world to being beautiful. There are uglier parts in it too,” his father would tell him when he asked about the kingdoms outside of Griffonstone. Some kingdoms had fallen way before he was born and majority remained. “Parts that take no liking for the sight of a gryphon.”

He wondered what Equestria would be like if his brothers visited. They were at peace together along with a few kingdoms overseas and inland. Gilford was taken out of his deep thoughts soon by Montaine’s light pat to the back.

“Come now, little brother. It’s time to go eat.” He said and Gilford followed his two brothers whilst Duran and Dion stayed behind to relax. His mother would be most displeased if muddy birds walked inside of the castle. She was strict when it came to looking clean and noble like.

The hall was humid, stone walls everywhere with glass windows that shown the East and West side of Griffonstone. The Crowned Gryphon’s golden banner was on the highest point of the wall for all those who had entered would see its powerful presence. Alongside were the banners of the Soaring Falcon upon their blue colors and white stripes; that was the Gregoire’s banner. To the right of the Crowned Gryphon was the Wall Beneath The Moon or his father usually called it the Bridge to Dunkensdale; the Grosenvoir banner was older than the two it was beside, proud companions that stayed loyal to Grover’s family for many years.

Along the columns of cobblestone and black rock were the banners of other lords who sworn fealty to Grover for a better peace and tomorrow. The Ivory Dragon in ocean blue colors, the Dawnstar that was golden upon the black linen banners that had its ruby trims knotted along the sides, the Howling Timberwolf in green and black, and even the Black Talon of Tyro, Conqueror of the Old Days when Princess Platinum came to withhold order between the gryphons and unicorns; magic was not very loved by the birds back then and still is not today. History existed in this mess hall, metal chandeliers that never once rusted, shields and blades mantled for display, the hard stone that remained cold and rather difficult to clean for the servants, and grand table his family had used for many centuries.

Gilford attended to his spot in the table, across him was Montaine and Dumont. To his right sat his older sister Catherine, a rather beautiful gryphon with a red coat and patch of brown feathers along her neck. Her eyes were green and her features along with her bill matched Dumont’s, the fact she was his twin had made it clear enough for the both of them that something made it easier to distinguish them. He had remembered the story where his father had dressed Catherine in armor and Dumont in a dress, accidentally confusing them if it weren’t for their mother laughing at his folly and the twins playing along. There had been life on their father’s beak.

Near Montaine was Gendry, he was rather studious. He had small glasses to help his brown hawk eyes see better, the beak of bald eagle; carved down like a hook, and the whitest body of snow that tended to reflect the glare of the sun whenever it fell upon him. He didn’t have the longest wings in the family, his were good for only mid-flight, that his father considered it a rather challenge from the gods to raise him properly. Gendry was older than him, had the proud wits that could teach an entire academy if he was accepted to one, and carefully examined situations for his father.

Gilford was still young and even he founded Gendry smarter than the others. Montaine and Dumont were fit for fighting like knights, Catherine was best on remembering lovely songs and dreaming of knights that might one day take her hand in marriage, and his last two sisters, who sat across Dumont, Ysabelle and Leona. The twin falcons that took a rather beautiful appearance from their father’s side mixed with their mother’s.

Ysabelle had a rather similar coat and feathery mane like Gilford, except there were few spots white on her coat and lovely garnet color eyes. Leona was two years apart from him, being older and born before him, she had a rather lean beak, her talons seem thinner, and brown eyes had a fire in them that made her be nicknamed “The Fiesty Cat” which she had found silly and annoying whenever Dumont teased her. Ysabelle looked up to Catherine a lot, though Ysabelle had a temper that differ her lady-like appearance. He remembered when she pour wine over Dumont’s head for teasing her when she spoke of a knight that she found lovely. Ser Lancelotte, a plump owl for a face gryphon that came for a short time with his lord-father in respect towards the King’s peace with the princesses of Equestria.

When their father had arrived beside their mother, Gilford couldn’t help but smile. Queen Yvonne was at her mid-age, raising her chicklings had given her crow’s feet, but that did not prevent the wondrous beauty his mother possessed in her brown feathery head, combed back ever so slightly, next to those streak of white fur. Whilst his siblings tails matched the same color of their feathery mane, his mother was just like him. A different color to add in the pinch of uniqueness. It was amber, a lovely strain of red that Grover confused for fire once in his life. Though Gilford was positive his father was only teasing her affectionately. Her eyes were emeralds, green and flawlessly shimmering with age and compassion.

His father was older, rough around the cheeks, and yet had a sharp yellow beak. His fur was grey, with his feathery head which had a white patch on the face. His wings were quite large, lightly pink beneath the feathers, but few could easily mistake it for red and gold. His father’s eyes were sharp, they were almost a pale gray, but upon a closer inspection, they were light and yellow. When he sat down in his seat with his mother beside him, they were given the serving platter from the servants that came in by numbers.

The family were all here.

Roasted pork, crispy bacon, black sausage, black bread, a few chopped bits of lamb and even the sharp scent of eggs scrambled beside cook fish. Some fruits like mangos and pears were there, with bananas cut into thin circles for Leona to stab with her wooden stick. As they took their meals into their plates with the metal forks given to them, more servants arrived to pour fresh water into their cups. Father would have drunken mead or wine, Gilford thought, but he seemed to not be in the mood.

“Mother.” Montaine greeted with a warm smile, Yvonne returned it back.

“I hear that the Equestrians are having a fuss again. There’s some centaur coming from the badlands stirring up trouble.” Dumont said, earning a cold glare by his older brother for interrupting him.

“One at a time,” their mother peacefully said. “Hello, Montaine, how goes your training?”

“It fairs well mother.”

“That is nice, now Dumont, you know that is something you must talk to your father with.” It was a male thing, the hens had no place in these sort of politics. Gilford was told of this plenty of times from Catherine.

“What they go through is naught to us.” His father said, strong words that came out calmly from his beak. He did not wear his crown today, finding no reason to since he was at a dinner with his family. Soon, Montaine will be next in line, then Dumont, and eventually him. But he never found himself as a future king, Gilford always desired reaching out to become a fine knight who would be written in the thousand page book of the Great Talons.

“Father, shouldn’t we at least see if they require some form of help?” Montaine asked. Grover gave it some thought but soon shook his head.

“My family, Griffonstone, and Rocky Mountains are more important than the ponies’ quarrels. They are princesses after all, alicorns who could lift the sun and moon, that is their duty as it is ours to protect these mountains from mad invaders. However, the Badlands are south of their lands, nowhere close to ours.”

If anything, the Diamond Dogs were their greatest worries. Dumont though saw differently in the situation. “Father, personally, it could benefit us. If we help them, ponies will remember that the gryphons had came to arms to defend them from this vile centaur. The princesses are quite generous.”

“Only when they are the ones who are being asked. Griffonstone has to worry about our kin and the Diamond Dogs. They might be free from the Dragons thanks to the princesses, but they aren’t free to pillage our lands.”

“Not all Diamond Dogs are like that father,” Leona said, though it wasn’t her place to speak; their mother was stern about that. Leona had been born more of a lion than just a lioness with wings. Gilford could have sworn he had another brother in the family. “Volkar is nice!”

“Leona, eat your food.” Yvonne said sternly.

Gilford ate some of his, but he was curious though in his brothers’ conversation wtih their father.

“Leona is right, Yvonne. Volkar is good.”

“He is your ward, father. He has to be.” Catherine said, she didn’t pay much mind to Volkar, though Gilford wondered where he was all this time. Only the king’s family was allow to attend together during a meal, after that, anyone could eat together.

“Ward he might be, but he’s like another brother to me.” Montaine said, “I don’t think Diamond Dogs are all bad, father.”

“I believe that, Montaine, but not many would agree. His father still curses me for making him and his pack surrender when we had lay siege to his kingdom. It will be time before I send his son back to him.” Grover did not seldom any love for Vulcan of the Diamond Dogs. Griffons and Diamond Dogs had their long war, but now peace was upholding that feud. Gilford hoped it stayed that way.

“Father, it is almost Gilford’s nameday.” Gendry spoke up, it was sometimes rare that he did at the table. Everyone was stilled that Gilford thought he might have said something wrong. His father smiled at him, one of the rarest sights to see.

“That is true, you are almost done being a fledgling, son. The next full moon will come and you will be a proud and strong gryphon like your brothers.” Grover said.

“Except Gendry here, the only he could lift up is a book.” Dumont laughed.

“At least I can read.” Gendry snapped back, his feathers looked almost ruffled with a mighty temper.

“Enough you two, no teasing at the table. You don’t want to get wine all over you again, Dumont. Do you-” But Yvonne was cut off when the doors were open and a messenger rushed in.

Grover was quiet, the rest of the others looked at him with stillness in their breath. Ravens in black were the finest gryphons that delivered news all around the kingdom. Grover was approached and handed a letter with an Iron Helm blood ink stamped to seal the envelope.

“What is wrong?” Grover asked, resting a paw on the panting young gryphon’s shoulder.

“Your grace, the letter...the letter is from the Great Commander. He told me that it is up to you to handle it.”

The King’s Justice, Gilford thought as he shivered when his father opened the envelope. He narrowed his eyes and sorrow once more lingered on in that esoteric mind. Grover had a duty to prefill.

“What is Grover?” Yvonne asked.

Grover sighed. “A fledgling...a deserter.”

Author's Note

So, here's how I'm going to make an order of the chapters to come. As of now you notice The Young Prince I Well, take in mind of the I or Roman Numeral. It will organize the chapter numbers for the characters. It's a rather easy task, keeps me in track of what I am doing too. More chapters are to come, I'm planning on releasing two in one day soon, but first I might have to find me an editor and I know just the right pony to do it~

Thank you for reading, darlings~

The Iron Brother I

Author's Note

Apologies, I've been very slow due to Real Life events. But I managed to get a chapter down for you all, darlings. If there are any errors, or run-on sentences, due let me know. I edited it for a while and hope it's pomp and ready! Also, Happy Thanksgiving!

The Iron Brother I

The Iron Brother

The wind blew ruthlessly against Russel’s red feathers. His black bill itched and facing the back of his brother’s fat arse only infuriated the gryphon more dressed in brown boiled leather attire with a silver brooch of The Crowned Gryphon. He was blind on his right eye, keeping just a brown cloth wrapped around it to hide the scarred a blade inflicted upon him long ago. His only seeing eye, black and sharp, kept an eye on the prisoner in chains walking beside him and the rest of his brothers in the same choice of apparel.

The poor boy was still young and the news he bore had only troubled him enough. But he had failed to serve his duty and abandoned his brothers in process whether or not they were dead. Russel wanted to ensure him that he had done his duty well, that it is not everyday some brother failed at some point in their life, but that would do no help. Jareed was walking to the Carver’s Rock; the same rock named from the traitor of the Old King who was beheaded. Jareed’s head was facing down to remember everything that was before him.

It was a march up the hill, but not towards Griffonstone. Jareed’s father was with them, his mother however was not. A mother mustn’t see her son die before her eyes or there will be a much greater grief than knowing they’re dead, Russel thought.

The hill was vacant of trees, leaving only a fresh field of grass and some stones. The sky was white with clouds suffocating the blue sea and Celestia’s star. West was the sighting of Griffonstone on its fine mountain. The Stone Nest Russel called it sometimes, just to see his cousin puff up and snap at him. It did not matter, he served the realm, not the king.

Cold-Eye approached from the side, a bit puffy he was, the white feathery hawk looked more like an owl with his green eyes blinking on different sides of his face. Russel hated him, he respected how he fought and done his job proudly, but his attitude had always annoyed him.

“He sputtered out all that nonsense...Cyclops, bugger that. The Cyclops are beyond the mountains. Either they’re asleep or dead, it doesn’t matter. They’re not here.” Cold-Eye said, glaring at Jareed. Jareed could hear him perfectly, Russel bet, they were close by him and it would be awhile before they join with the King and his soldiers.

“We don’t know what he seen…the fact in the matter of this is that he abandoned his brothers and failed to do his duty.” Russel said lightly, he didn’t know if Jareed told the truth, but who would be there to vouch for him? Gillian and Gother were presumed dead.

“Doesn’t matter if it’s a truth or lie, the King’s justice be done.” He spat to the side. Jareed flinched when he heard a menacing squawk.

Do you plan to scare the boy even more? Russel thought as he did his best to keep his thoughts together. “Spare him the venom, Crow.”

“But not the mercy. He knew the price, he said his vows, and yet he broke them. Even the others find it rather difficult to forgive. Gothar was better off dead, Gillian though; that was a fine brother. Quiet too, we called him the Gentle Giant.” Gillian might have been a gentle giant, but even Giants had their breaking points. Gillian snapped the neck of a maester and knight. His excuse was avenging his sister who had her throat slit after being raped by the knight and the sacrilege maester.

Every brother had a story, whether or not they were true, once you are part of the King’s company, you’re branded, clipped, and shadowed too. He remembered how Gothar cursed every gryphon once his wings were clipped, yet looking at Jareed’s; that bird proved lucky. The wings didn’t seem properly clipped, if anything, Jareed had a few minutes to be in the air before falling to the floor.

By the time they came across guards, there Grover stood with his fine golden crown on his head. The same crown his father had on his head and his father before him. Russel came forward, the leader of this small party and Crow-Eye lifted Jareed and threw him to the floor before the king.

“Cousin.” Grover greeted, with his two sons, Dumont and Montaine standing by his side. There was also a Diamond Dog, with a husky head and white fur with red eyes. He looked like a pup, wearing only a vest and stood on his two hindlegs and in his paws, the sheathed sword of Grover. Russel knew him as Volkar, the prisoner of Griffonstone treated like another lordling under Grover’s roof. He had no quarrels with him, but when he noticed Crow-Eye’s stare, he saw hatred in his brother’s eyes.

We are defending the borders from mutts like him, Russel was sure those words went on continuously in Crow-Eye’s head.

“Your grace, we bring you Jareed. I am sure our letter has given you enough details in what he’s done.” Russel said, keeping his eyes on his cousin. Grover looked fiercer with that crown on his head. When those eyes fell upon him, he knew it wasn’t his place to make japes like the old times. We were young back then, Russel thought, now we’re grown living in two different worlds.

Jareed looked up at Grover and met his cold gaze. This was going to happen to him, yet he came back. Russel wondered why Jareed didn’t just deserted. You could fly, even for a short distance, whatever happened outside those walls you could have survived! But it was too late to yell at the fledgling. Jareed was doomed to the blade. They soon brought him towards a stump where a tree once was, his head was placed down with his legs on the grass.

“Jareed, you have not only abandoned your brothers, you have also deserted your post and attempted to flee without reporting to the Lord Commander. Whatever story you may have, you may speak it before me, your father, and the brothers who continuously, with effort, guard this realm.” Grover was a just king, he never would simply curse a fool for being a halfwit nor than he would curse an even greater fool for shooting his paw with a crossbow. Russel could see it in his eyes, there was a merciful soul.

“I regret what I have done, your grace. I know that there is nothing that could say otherwise to change this. I am ready to die if that would protect my family’s honor. But I am no liar and shan’t die a liar even if I’m a craven, your grace. They’re real, they’re out there. The cyclops.”

“Shut up you damn disgrace!” Crow-Eye shouted.

Jareed’s father remained silent the entire time. Russel could see the pain in his eyes and knew that his father believed him in every way. Russel would have done the same for his own son if he were still alive.

“I, King Grover, the first of his name, son of Galvin of Glover hereby sentence you to die. You may say your prayers, Jareed, son of Gustave.” Jareed bowed his head to the king’s words, the boy did not cry. He was true to his words, but that did not matter anymore. As he began whispering his prayers, Volkar came forward with the king’s blade and when Grover grabbed the handle with his two talons and unsheathed it, he made his own quick prayer, lifted it high, and swung it down.

Only Jareed’s father flinched. It was only a passing second before his son’s body went stiff, slumping against the wood after the guards let him go. Russel came forward to lift up Jareed’s head and held it out towards Gustave who took it with both his talons.

“He was no craven...he was my boy…” Grief, Russel regretted coming forward when the others would not. Grover’s blade was sharp and strong, no blood remained on those lines once he sheathed it and Volkar was back to carrying that heavy piece of metal. “He was my boy.”

And now you have only two. Russel did not say such words aloud, he was in that same predicament too. The same face he made when he received word of his son’s death. His only son, Freman.

It was upon Gustave’s request they bury his son under their Oak tree, he belonged to the Wood God now. Russel and Grover walked among the hill, heading back to Griffonstone. They did not speak to each other nor broke a glance at one another. Some could have easily confused them for brothers, but that was but a rumor nobles loved to gossip whenever they see a brother of the blade and the king walking side by side.

We serve no king, we fight in no wars, we bleed for our realm, and die with our swords. Vows, a piece of it that had value even Russel taken to his heart. There weren’t only gryphons within the Iron Helms, there were ponies too, zebras, and even a few diamond dogs here and there. They all had their purpose to serve. Every one of them was a criminal in some way.

When they made it to Griffonstone, their guards had taken their leave. Russel’s nephews wandered off to pay respects to Jareed’s mother and two brothers. Gustave attended with a few guards of the king to prepare his son’s burial. As they walked along the streets, Russel felt nostalgia cloud his thoughts. He remembered the small town that the castle towered over. Once in a blue it was busy, other times it was quiet. The sky was still being strangled by those clouds. Perhaps the gods were sad over Jareed’s death or maybe scheming a storm to punish Grover. His brother was no bad king, he done his duty, he delivered his justice, and he was ready to make plans in sending a letter to that fat owl in the Southern district about his son’s disappearance. Gothar wasn’t a likeable fella and surely the entire nest knew that. The boy was sent there by choice so that his family would gain fame and honor. Those who choose to go were admirable, it was true, but those don’t and are sentenced there as some sort of mercy; a gamble with life or death, they spit on the nobles.

Rapists were castrated once they’re crime was discovered sometimes. Cravens had their tongues torn out. Thieves would be maimed. Murderers will be lucky enough to survive being beaten to a pulp, yet trusted to still hold a sword. Russel was in neither of those categories, he chosen to serve the realm after his son’s death.

“Gilford will be pleased to see you, cousin.” It was a rarity Grover had ever called him cousin.

“It’s almost his nameday right?” Russel asked.

“Aye, he’ll be ten. That’s the exact age, not two and ten.” Grover answered, as if the sternness in his voice had left him and some proud father taken his place.

“How is Yvonne?” Russel asked, missing his cousin-in-law.

“She is well. I have plans to take you to the rest of the family. Your men could relax and stay here for a few days.” Grover said, it may have seemed that the bird was happy, but Russel paid close attention to his cousin’s beak. He was still disturbed from Jareed said.

“His father,” Russel recalled, “he believed his son.”

“Any father would with the amount of love they have for their fledgling. Jareed was only sent there because of Lord Wanterly’s request.”

“You mean demand. I heard it from Jareed and Maester Ether Dream. Wanterly’s son had started trouble, beat the pulp out of Jareed and when Jareed decided to fight back, his son pulled a blade out on him.” Russel stopped though when Grover gave him a stern glare. He only does that when he knows I’m right.

“Jareed was no lord, no knight, not even a squire at that. He was not born noble.”

“Neither were our great ancestors. Last time I checked, we pillage, robbed, killed, and went on our way.”

“That’s not the case.” Grover said, passing by a murder of crows that stood around gambling with dice. They were the oddest sort of gryphons that served as the King’s entertainers; mummers for the poor and rich.

“The case is, Jareed saw something and whatever it was, cyclops or not, Gothar and Gillian are perhaps dead.”

“Russel, as much as I love you. As much as you are family and family is everything. I want you to let it be. The justice has been made.” Grover said, but Russel took it more as a command than just a simple request. There was no justice, even Grover felt that way.

When they entered through the gates and into the Stone Nest, Gilford was the first to greet them beside his mother.

“Uncle Russel!” He rushed and latched his talons around his chest, Russel sat down and returned the hug, catching the little fledgling with a wide smile.

“The one and only! How are you, Gilford?”

“I am doing great, it is almost my nameday, will you be around by then?” Gilford asked, hopping onto the ground as he backed up to look up at his uncle entirely. Such a small gryphon, it was rather adorable.

“If I’ve nothing to do around that day, yes. Do not worry, I’ll be bringing you something to have.” Russel laughed, ruffling the feathers with his talon causing the poor prince to stumbled left and right dizzy. Yet, when Gilford regained his balance, he smiled brightly, a smile that matched Fremon’s. Yvonne came up to them, kissing Grover’s right cheek and then kissing Russel’s left.

“You look quite tired from your travels, Russel.” She said, a warm smile from her had always cheered him up. They had history together, friends that could have been more, but soon the love they shared that Russel had wished intimate vanished. He saw her as a sister and the gryphoness of his heart was in Goldentooth, south from Griffonstone.

“The road has been rough, but we made it safely here at least.” That was the hardest part after all. Your wings are clipped once you are part of the Iron Helms. So it took long to arrive anywhere.

“Come, come, we just had the first course before the meal. Dinner is being ready as we speak.” Grover said as he walked off. Russel watched Gilford followed his father from behind. Russel stayed for a moment as Yvonne frowned.

“He’s grown very wary over the days. The Lords are trying to drain him of all his attention when he needs to be focusing on keeping the peace here between all kingdoms. Grover is rather a struggler don’t you think?” Yvonne asked, the love for her husband was admirable. Russel pitied his cousin, he was a great king, but even Kings had their weak points.

Russel walked beside Yvonne, their eyes trained forward as they passed by the yard. She was always his best counsel in life. The times he had visited, she was the only one who gave him advice in how to lead his brothers as a prominent ranger. You can’t protect the mountains for too long if you are full of doubt, he remembered.

“What did Jareed do, what drove him to desert?” Yvonne asked, even the boy’s actions had affected the Queen.

“He deserted, instead of coming back to the gate, he went around and try to sneak past the guards. He didn’t get far, but by the time we caught him, he was stricken with terror.” It wasn’t the terror from us. Russel was confident Jareed had seen something out there. He was still just a fledgling after all.

“Poor boy. Was there someone with him? Why was he sent out in the first place?” She had a lot of questions, but gladly shorten them to not overwhelm Russel.

“He was sent out with two gryphons, scouting out for any trouble. They were supposed to be back after three days. It was their first day, Jareed returned not too later smelling terrible.We asked him where his brothers were, he told us they were dead.” If only he had come to the gate, if only. But it was too late for those thoughts to surface, Jareed was dead.

“May the gods judge him fairly.”

He was young, Russel thought. But even the young would have to meet their end at some point.

When they were inside of the castle, Russel was led into the dining hall. There he found the rest of his little nieces and nephews. Leona and Catherine having a small argument, Gendry reading a small book, and Ysabelle chewing her food in little bites. Gilford rushed onto his seat and Leona hopped out of hers, rushing over to her uncle faster than her little brother did. He caught her in a hug, squeezing her tight after hearing her squeal and giggle.

“I miss you uncle,” he knew already, “It’s great to see you again!” Leona was set down as Russel gave a hearty laugh for her. Grover and Yvonne found their seat. Catherine and Ysabelle got out of theirs to give their uncle a hug too.

“Uncle, it is great seeing you,” Catherine greeted him with a courtesy bow. Ysabelle had done the same, mirroring her sister’s posture. “Hope your travel was well.”

“Aye, your uncle’s trek was well, long sadly. He’s quite hungry, mind showing him to the table?”

The servants brought an extra chair that was beside Gendry. When Russel came over to the table to sit with the family at the same time that Dumont and Montaine returned through the entrance, Gendry was the only one who did not greet him. He remembered Gendry ever since he was a fledgling. Words were stronger than swords, Gendry had once told his brothers. This young gryphon would grow up to make a fine maester.

“Aren’t you going to say hello to your uncle, Gendry?” Yvonne asked as Grover resumed eating his meal.

Gendry shut his book and looked at Russel to the right. “Uncle.” And then began eating his food calmly. Yvonne could pick up the disdain in his voice faster than the old fool could.

He never appreciated my colors in the realm, Russel thought.

“He had a long travel, Gendry, aren’t you glad he’s here.” His mother tried softening the disdain in his voice, but Gendry shrugged.

“He has already done his duty. I see naught much to speak about.” Yvonne had surrendered from there, there was no way this fledgling was going to care if his uncle lived or died. You were my son’s friend, as well as Jareed’s. Do you blame me every day for taking them away from you? Russel was served his meal, similar to the others and began eating it.

“Uncle, how is it over there...in the mountains?” Gilford asked.

“Let your uncle eat, Gilford.” Yvonne insisted, though Russel languidly waved his talon. He was fine explaining everything that would excite his nephew.

“Don’t worry, he’s only curious is all. Cubs should at least know the life of a lion.” But they were not just a part of a lion, they were bold and noble, something Russel had doubted many years ago after his son’s death.

“The Iron Helms serve the realm as you know, they’re duty is to protect Griffonstone and kingdoms below from foreign invaders that attempt to cross over Mt. Everhoof.”

“That is north of Everfree, we are west though.” Dumont pointed out.

“Aye, but that is another station, there are more stations that your father here, King Grover, placed for the protection of the entire realm. The north, south, east, and west. Even his father done the same thing, consider it a peaceful alliance between kingdoms without any internal affairs.”

Gilford looked excited, Leona did too. “Have you seen dragons?” She chirped.

“Leona, dragons are asleep, they’ve been asleep for hundreds of years.” Catherine said, yet that did not soothe her curiosity.

“No, little cub, dragons are asleep but then again, some say they’re long gone. It matters to what the maesters believe, we Iron Helms have to just protect our borders.” Yet, what if there are cyclops? That will cause problems and inspire other threats beyond the borders to want to break through the gates and climb over the mountains, perhaps even cross the sea. By then he understood why Grover didn’t believe Jareed, or perhaps did and made it best to not be spoken of again.

They finished dinner all together, the dessert was some crumb cake and cream-filled dough. When nightfall began, Grover requested Russel’s presence along with Gendry. Gendry looked at his uncle only briefly and saw just a ghost, before turning away and following his father into his solar. Russel had followed behind, making note that it was just not the time for the boy to forgive him for his mistakes.

The fireplace was hot and allowing the room to become warm. Smoke went up the chimney as the wood snapped and tear underneath the inferno that torn apart it whole. A round table was set up in the center, bookcases of the Old Kings and Valor volumes that his uncle loved to read were safely kept in storage. The window was closed, glass frame and all. Wooden beams supported the ceiling, old stone that stood up for centuries with some dust gathering at the walls. Wine was delivered by Volkar, holding a plate and three small cups with the glass case of Saddleian: Saddle Arabia’s finest wine, fit for kings and queens.

“Volkar, you may stay here.” Grover said, but it was not much of a option for the Diamond Dog, he knew it was just an order sweetened by milk. While the ward waited at the corner after pouring wine into the three cups, Grover was the first to sip and sit down. Soon followed the others.

“I have given thought about Everfree and its princesses.” Grover said.

“I thought it was not our problem.” Gendry said abruptly, the boy was smart, but he was also too sharp and brash. Words were better than swords.

“I know what I said, but I have given some thought to it. There has to be some way to assist them in case the future grows dark for us, when Griffonstone requires help from another kingdom.”

It wasn’t easy for a kingdom to request help from another kingdom, Russel understood that.

“Cousin, I serve the realm, not the kingdom. Why do you have me here?” Russel asked spotting his king’s frown forming along the bill.

“Gods help us, Russel. You heard from what Jareed said. Maybe or not it was true, the fact that there could be some danger out there proves enough that we might be letting our guard down for something worse. Which is why I want you back by the morrow at those gates, forming whatever strategy you can and head out to handle the threat.”

Did he think he was in control of the Iron Helms? Russel pressed his talon claws against the table, digging each nail in. But instead of speaking out, he remained silent. It was the King’s right to speak. As guests, they are to listen.

“Every duty is not done without action and reason. Gendry, I am sending you to the Everfree to handle their affairs.” Russel was taken back as much as Gendry was.

“Father? That seems too much...what about mother? The others? What use would I play out in this?” Gendry was too stunned to make sense of this.

“Because you are my son, you are smarter than the others, even me. My brother is coming soon, we are to make our own plans with Griffonstone together, but for you though, I want to ensure you are in Everfree before he gets here. To become the Princesses maester.”

“But I haven’t went to Crystal Empire to form my bond yet.” His son protested.

“You have, I spent a good sum of money for the maesters under the queen to deliver me the requirements for you to be qualified as a maester.”

“What is the meaning of this, Grover.” Russel said his name sharply. “He is still too young to be a maester for them, that, and are you not supposed to interfere with foreign affairs. What changed your mind?”

Gendry looked at his father stunned. Russel thought this was some punishment for not being a knight like his brothers, but there was more to this. Grover loved his flock, he will do anything in his power to protect them. His brother was no kind Gryphon, weakness in the family would only sprout trouble between the few.

Grover cleared his voice and then said. “Because I am your King, a father, and will do everything I can to protect my family and kingdom all together.”

The king had spoken and Russel could have sworn he saw his uncle talking instead of his cousin.