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~