Whiterun was big. No, I mean really, really big. I remember playing the game, and from the spot on the bridge to the front gates it was like five minutes, tops, to get into town. It took us half an hour at a jog to make it around to the front gates. Which were protected by more than the two or three guards I was used to seeing.

Multiple groups, each made up of four big armored men and distinctive in their helmets and horsehead shields, watched us approach. There was a pretty big crowd on the road as well, who were either on their way into the city before the sun fell, or headed out to one of the dozens of small, sturdy, Nord homes that Faendal and I had passed on the way up here. It wasn’t until we actually reached the gates themselves that we were challenged.

“Halt, state your business in Whiterun,” a guard said. He was a big guy. Balgruuf seemed to hire for size in his guard force, like Napoleon did for his Old Guard. The large man stood between us and the city, just as the last of the sun began to slide off the buildings.

“We seek shelter for the night,” Faendal said, being careful to keep his hands from his weapons and his tone of voice respectful. “We thought we could rent a bed in one of the inns. Is there any problem with that, guard?”

“As long as you keep your bow unstrung and the Jarl’s peace intact,” the guard said, stepping aside. “You and your pet are welcome in Whiterun. Make sure to clean up any messes he makes, eh?”

“Thank you, guard,” Faendal said, making a show of unstringing his bow, then taking the bowstring and putting it away in his pack. “We will keep the peace.”

“See that you do,” the guard said, as a last comment before turning to a group behind us.

If the outside of Whiterun had been impressive while jogging around its outside, nothing could have prepared me for what was inside the walls. The place was packed with people of all sizes, shapes and colours everywhere. Elves, humans, even a couple of Orcs, milled around in what sounded like a dozen languages. Over it all, I could hear the distinctive sound of metal being worked from the forge that I knew had to be just up ahead and to the right.

“Hey, I’d like to order something from Warmaiden’s,” I said to Faendal. “Won’t take a second.”

“We should try to rent a room in an inn first,” Faendal said, frowning a bit. “With night coming there’ll be a rush on. Unless…”

“Unless what?” I said, pausing in my mission to head to the famous blacksmith. I wanted to find out if she really did sound like Susan Ivanova.

“We could always pay a visit to Dragonsreach itself and see if the Jarl would guest us for the night,” Faendal said, rubbing his chin while the crowd moved and flowed around us. It was kind of nice that no one seemed to be freaking out that the elf was talking to a pony, who was talking back.

“That’s not a bad idea,” I said, thinking out loud. “In fact, it’s a pretty good idea. We can plead my status as a courier. From what I hear the Jarl is a pretty decent sort, and we would definitely be safe for the night. Let’s go.”

“What did you want to get from the blacksmith’s?” Faendal asked, as we turned aside to walk up the hill.

“Oh, I was wanting to commision or buy a couple of pieces of jewelry,” I said, as I pictured Derpy wearing a ruby necklace and Luna with a silver cuff bracelet.

“Oh ho,” Faendal said, a smile crossing his face. “I’ve seen that look on my own face before. You’ve got a special lady in mind. Or, is that a special mare?”

“Mares, plural,” I said, still seeing the smiles on their faces as I gave the gifts to them. “I’m good friends with both of them. Beyond that, things are still kind of complicated. Besides, it never hurts to give a lady something pretty.”

“Not unless it’s an amulet of Mara,” Faendal replied, as we made our way into the market circle at the top of the first hill. “Especially if she doesn’t return the sentiment.”

I felt a phantom hand slide down my mane and along my spine at the name of the goddess who had staked a claim on me. My body twitched in a involuntary full body shake to throw off the feeling. If anything though, the feeling of hands on my body intensified as the phantoms traced the outlines of an immaterial harness being strapped to my body.

“Harnessed to my purpose,” a voice whispered in my ear, and I was about to reply when the feeling of tightening belts left my body. I looked up, to see Faendal looking back down at me in concern.

“It’s nothing,” I said, reassuring the elf. “Mara likes to remind me occasionally that she has plans for me.”

“You’ll have to tell me about that,” the elf said, as we pushed up the hill to the upper areas of the city, and as we did I was sure I could hear a feminine giggle.

We emerged up onto a large, round plaza that was dominated by a massive tree. The sucker had to be at least a hundred feet tall and a solid ten across. I recognized Gildergreen in an instant, even though I was once again taken aback by how big everything was compared to how it had been in the game. Even that crazy Talos preacher wasn’t alone, but instead was the head of a group of evangelists. I laughed out loud as a thought hit me.

“What’s so funny?” my companion asked, staying in front of me to clear a path for us.

“He’s preaching about Talos,” I said, and Faendal made a ‘go on’ gesture. “He’s a Talovangelist.” I laughed some more, and my bodyguard looked at me like I was a crazy person.

“We should get a move on if we want to get there before dinner,” he said, trying to restore some sanity to our relationship. I sobered, nodding in agreement and we both stepped forward briskly through the crowd while I did my best to stop rubbernecking at everything.

“It’s almost supper,” complained the guard at the door to the entrance to Dragonsreach, when we got there about fifteen minutes later. “The Jarl isn’t hearing any more petitioners today.”

“My companion is a courier,” Faendal said, as I trailed in his wake. “We’ve come to request the Jarl’s hospitality for the night.”

“That’s a pony, not a courier,” the guard said, displeasure in his voice. “Off with you and your cheap tricks, elf.”

“I am a courier,” I said, piping up and I could see the guard’s eyes bulge, even through his helmet. “Are you going to be the one to have to explain why you turned away such an unusual creature as myself from the Jarl’s court?”

“Not sure if you’re pulling a fast one, elf,” the guard said. His voice was still dour, but he put his hand on the door to open it. “But even if you are, the Jarl would be interested in seeing how you’re doing it. Okay, you can go in. Talk to Avenicci and he’ll assign you a place.”

We went on in, and the place wasn’t all that full. Almost immediately Faendal and I were noticed by two separate individuals with very different agendas.

“A pony? I want him!” declared a young girl wearing very nice clothes. “Steward, fetch me that pony.”

“I believe he already belongs to someone,” said a tall man, who I recognized as Proventus Avenicci. The guy had only given my character about eight thousand quests to kill bandits, so his features were pretty familiar to me. Ignored, the little girl stomped off in a huff to complain to someone else about not getting what she wanted.

“This is a courier who seeks the Jarl’s hospitality for the night,” Faendal said, indicating me. “With the war and everything else…” He let his voice trail off.

“As long as you don’t mind sleeping in the Great Hall, we have room for you,” Avenicci said, misunderstanding my bodyguard’s comment, and checking some notes. “Please take a seat at one of the lower benches.”

Faendal and I looked at each other and we both sort of gave a “whatever” shrug, while the steward turned to talk to some other people. We were just settling ourselves at the table when a mountain of a man stepped in front of us.

“What’s this then?” said the bearded wall of armored muscle. “I knew security here was terrible but this isn’t right. My brother doesn’t allow pets in his hall.”

“Faendal may be an elf,” I said, deciding to put a stop to this whole thing here and now. “But he’s no pet.”

“By the Nine, it talks,” Hrongar said, taking a step back and putting his hand on the hilt of his sword.

“Walks, talks, slices, dices and makes julienne fries,” I said, and with deliberate calm I picked up a heel of bread and took a bite. “Anything I can do for you?”

“What seems to be the matter, Hrongar?” Jarl Balgruuf said, from the high table. I tried to keep calm as guards began to surround us, taking their cue from the Jarl’s brother.

“I don’t, I can’t believe it, brother,” Hrongar said, leaning forward. “There’s a little pony here at the table. Sitting, eating and talking like a regular person.”

“Talking? Irileth, bring this new wonder of the Age forward,” Balgruuf said. The housecarl came down the line of tables to stand beside Hrongar, half drawing her sword.

“Are you going to come with me, or do I have to make you?” the grumpy Dunmer asked, staring at me.

“Come on, Faendal,” I said, putting down the piece of bread. “Looks like we get to meet the Jarl.” Escorted past the diners who looked and pointed at us, we quickly found ourselves standing in front of the Jarl of Whiterun.

“By Ysmir, it’s true. A talking little pony, here in my hall,” Balgruuf said, gesturing with an eating knife. “Do you really speak, or is this some sort of trick by the elf. No offense, elf. If it is a trick, it’s a good one.”

“I’m a courier, noble Jarl,” I piped up, bowing low to the man. “As such, I have the powers of speech and reason. Faendal here is my protector.”

“Protector?” Balgruuf said, raising an eyebrow even as he waved most of the guards away. “Couriers don’t need protection. If there is one thing the Empire and the Stormcloaks agree on, it is that the person of a courier is not to be touched.”

“As you may notice, I am not a person. In the strictest sense,” I said, indicating my furry chest. “I’m a pony. There is a war on, dragons in the skies, and there’s been at least one attempt to chain me to a stall for the rest of my life.” Faendal tried to hide his embarrassment, but Balgruuf picked up on it.

“What say you, elf?” Balgruuf said, his tone sharpening. “Did you have something to do with what this po—courier is telling me.” Faendal looked like he’d been hit with the Jarl’s axe as he stood there, open mouthed and trying to find something to say in his defence.

“He did, great Jarl,” I said, and I saw a storm gather behind the Jarl’s eyes. “But he did so out of misguided love for the wrong woman. When he realized how wrong his actions were, he asked my forgiveness and offered to protect me in my travels, even if it should cost him his own life. I accepted his offer and his apology.”

“And now he travels with you, paying off his debt of honor like a true Nord,” Balgruuf said, nodding as the rising fury behind his eyes dissipated. “I can respect someone working to overcome their past. Very well, come and sit here near me. I’m sure you have many stories to tell of your travels, and I’m sure my court would like to hear them. Proventus, see to it that our friends here have a bed tonight. Wouldn’t want anyone to think they’re part of the common rabble now.”

After that things went pretty well. The food was great. The meal at Alvor’s had been plain, but hearty. This was rich and savory food, and I even got to try a sweet roll. Holy crap, those things were good. Conversation ebbed and flowed around us as the meal progressed, but things got a little dicier though when the topic got to the civil war.

“Who do you think has the right of it?” Farengar asked me. He’d been looking at me in a weird way all through the meal. I don’t know what it was, but something in the look screamed, “THREAT” to every one of my pony instincts.

“May I tell a small story?” I asked, looking at my host for permission.

“We Nords love stories and songs,” Balgruuf said, smiling. “Go right ahead, little courier.”

“The land I live in now, is ruled by two immortal pony sisters,” I began, noticing a woman writing down my words. “Light and dark. One rules during the day, the other by night. All their lands benefited from their wise and loving rule. But the sister that watched over the night did not get the praise and honours she thought were her due. Enraged by what she saw as disrespect, she rose up in rebellion against her sister.”

“Wait, you said they’re immortal. Are they Divine?” Hrongar asked, looking somewhat offended.

“Some call them goddesses, but they don’t call themselves that,” I said, mollifying the big Nord. “They are however, very powerful. Being blessed with the greatest strengths of all three of the pony tribes.”

“Three tribes?” came from Farengar. “There are three different kinds of your people?”

“Yup,” I tossed back. “There are pegasi, whose wings give them the power of flight and control over the weather. Unicorns, whose horns give them the power to cast spells and use magic at will. Finally, there are Earth ponies like myself. We draw power from the earth, giving us great strength and endurance.”

“A good attribute for a courier,” Balgruuf said, nodding sagely.

“Exactly so, Jarl Balgruuf,” I said, continuing. “So, as you can imagine, when the Sisters fought, their battle nearly tore the sky itself in half as they fought with hoof, wing and horn.”

“They fought a duel, then,” Balgruuf said, a small smile touching his lips. “Kept everyone else out of it, and worked it out between themselves. Good for them. What happened?”

“Fueled by her fury and rage, the younger sister began to overcome the elder, determined to bring Night Eternal to their kingdom. At last, she who ruled the day had no choice but to summon the seven most powerful magical artifacts in all the land to her side,” I said, knowing I was stretching the story a bit. “Using their power, she banished the Night Princess to the moon for a thousand years, until a magic could be created to cleanse the anger and jealousy from her sister’s heart.”

“It sounds like almost a perfect ending,” Hrongar said. “No one got hurt, other than the one sister and things were over quickly.”

“Not quickly,” I said, seeing eyebrows twitch in surprise. “You see, the younger sister had a point. She really hadn’t been getting the respect she was due, and it was only after everything was said and done that the older sister realized that much of the blame for what had happened lay at her hooves as well.” I took a breath.

“And at every sunrise and sunset, she sang a song of sorrow and regret to her sister, trapped on the moon so very far away,” I said, and then I gave them the words to the lullaby that Luna had heard coming up to her from Equestria, every night for a thousand years.

“Why don’t you sing it yourself, pony?” the woman who had been writing down everything I’d been saying.

“I’m a pony,” I said, laughing. “I can’t sing worth beans. If I tried it would just come out as braying.” I didn't want to admit that pony or person, I couldn't carry a tune in a basket.

“Do I have your permission to try? You said it was a lament, yes?” she asked, and I nodded my permission. The whole hall went silent as the woman began to sing.

[embed]https://youtu.be/i7PQ9IO-7fU [/embed]

“Did I get it right?” she asked, in the silence that followed after the last notes of her voice.

It was all I could do to nod. She hadn’t just gotten it right, she’d gotten it perfectly. Every note had been coated with Celestia’s sorrow and regret over what she had been forced to do. Every person in the hall had felt the pain of the Solar Sister as she had risen and lowered the moon, each day for a thousand years.

“So, you are no brute beast after all, something of a poet perhaps,” Farengar said, breaking the silence. “I see the point you were trying to make through the song, however. There is always pain when brother fights brother, or sister fights sister in the case of your people.”

“This is why my side is the side of Whiterun,” Balgruuf rumbled from his chair, his voice pitching to carry through the hall. “You’ve done us a service pony, by reminding us why this damn war needs to end, and soon.”

“Courier,” the woman said to me, approaching the table. “May I have your permission to perform this song in the future, for others?”

“Ya, um… yes, you have my permission,” I said, mainly because it would have been a crime to deny her after that kind of performance.

She inclined her head in thanks, and a strange expression crossed her face. Happiness, and greed combined, along with something else I just couldn’t recognize. As she went back to where she had been sitting, I noticed that several of the diners had begun to get up and start to leave. Apparently, the song had been a cue that the meal was over and now was the time for after dinner things.

“Courier,” Balgruuf said, addressing me. “I would like to have a word or two with you. Your protector may come as well.”

“Sure,” I said, getting up from the table. Faendal and I fell in behind the Jarl, who waved Farengar over to join us. The four of us made our way over to the court wizard’s work room and office.

“I have a job for you of my own, little courier,” the Jarl said, once we were somewhat private. “I’d like you to deliver a letter to Ulfric Stormcloak and General Tullius of the Legion, inviting them here to discuss a truce, maybe even the start of negotiations. Whiterun isn’t High Hrothgar, but it is central to all of Skyrim and we’ve kept ourselves apart from both sides, so far. I’ll make the task worth your while.”

“I don’t know, Jarl,” I said, thinking it over. “It’s not that I don’t want to help you, but I still have deliveries to make, and I’d like to get home sometime soon.”

“Which of the Nine do you look to, pony?” Balgruuf asked, sounding a little irritated that I hadn’t accepted the job right off the bat. “I can only think that a follower of Arkay would deny a chance at ending the fighting.”

“Arkay is a bit of a suck up to his daddy,” I said, remembering my meeting with the Divines, and I got the weirdest sensation on the back of my neck. Like someone was trying to pull me backwards, but I ignored it and pressed on. “It’s just that I have someone waiting back home for me. Besides, it’s not like Nirn is the only game out—”

My words were cut off as a sudden voice thundered in my head, “YOU SHALL NOT REVEAL THE NATURE OF THEIR REALITY TO THEM. ONLY OUR CHOSEN PROPHETS SHALL DO SO.”

I had a sudden flash of insight. Those bastards. The assholes at Bethesda hadn’t ever needed to create lore for the Elder Scrolls series. The assholes had been taking fucking dictation the whole time from the gods of this world. No wonder the history in game was so rich and in-depth, and the whole concept of the Divines using the game devs like that just pissed me off in a huge way.

“Hey, I passed your trial, and I have free will, so you can fuck right off,” I said, in the vaults of my mind to the voice, thoroughly annoyed. Aloud, I said, “Just so you know, Nirn is actually—”

“IT SEEMS YOU NEED A LESSON IN HUMILITY,” the voice thundered, and I felt straps wrapping around my head, muzzling me with excessive firmness. “PERHAPS WHEN THE DAWN COMES, AND SPEECH IS YOURS AGAIN, YOU WILL REMEMBER THAT SO LONG AS YOU WALK IN OUR REALM YOUR WILL IS SUBJECT TO OUR OWN.”

“What just happened?” Balgruuf asked in surprise, looking to the other two in the room while I pawed at the muzzle with zero effect. There was no slack at all in the piece of tack, and my mouth may as well have been welded shut by the straps that clamped my mouth closed.

“Look at the noseband,” Farengar said, pointing to my face. “That’s Akatosh’s symbol. If I had to wager a guess I’d say our young friend here managed to annoy one of the Divines just now.”

“Don’t feel too bad, little pony,” Balgruuf said, a hint of laughter in his voice. “We’re all pawns in the schemes of the gods. Now, what say you about my proposal?”

I made a lot of “mmph”ing sounds combined with waving my hoofs around trying to say, “Are you serious? I just got Godsmacked, and you want me to play mailman for you?”

“Jarl Balgruuf,” Faendal said, interjecting as he saw Balgruuf start to frown. “My employer here was trying to commision or purchase some jewelry earlier for some special women, I mean mares, in his life. Perhaps that…”

“Hah!” Balgruuf laughed. “It seems the life of a male is no less complicated whether you are a man, an elf, or a pony. Farengar, might you have something from your enchanting work that would suffice?”

“I believe so, my Jarl,” Farengar said, going over to his enchanting station and rummaging a bit before coming back with a pair of large silver circles. “These are a pair of circlets I’ve added a couple of minor enchantments too. Nothing major, but perhaps suitable?”

I heard the question in his voice and turned my gaze to the circlets. Both were made of silver, one holding what I recognized to be a large moonstone, and the other had some form of cloudy quartz, I think. They would make great presents for Luna and Derpy. Call it fate, kismet, a pushy Jarl, or even the will of the Gods, something was driving me to make this run for Balgruuf. I shrugged my shoulders and nodded. What could go wrong with a simple delivery to the heads of the most powerful factions in Skyrim.

Yeah, I didn’t believe that either.

“Thank you, courier,” the Jarl said, clapping me on the shoulder. “These things from the gods usually don’t last long, or only until you do what they want you to do, so I’m sure that muzzle will come off in time.” I nodded, which was about all I could do.

“Excellent,” Balgruuf added, while everyone else stood around like idiots, including myself. “Proventus will see you and your guard to your rest. Meanwhile, I’ll have those letters ready for you by morning, along with some food for the road. Good night, and fast journey little pony.”

About twenty-odd minutes later, I was curling up on a straw bed just off the kitchens. There had been only the one bed, and I’d tried to offer it to Faendal. With my size and floof I didn’t really need a bed, although having one was nice. Faendal, was tall and had been on his feet all day, but he’d waved me off when I tried to use my limited ability at charades to get him to use the bed.

“I’m fine, I’ll just lean against the wall,” he said, but he didn’t object when I lobbed the pillow his way. “Wouldn’t be right for you not to have the bed.” I rolled my eyes, lay my head down and was quickly asleep.

I sighed as I looked around the grassy meadow that was full of the scent of wildflowers, the hum of insects, and the warmth of summer. Another freaking dream visitation. This could not be good for my REM cycles. I swear, if I went crazy from lack of proper sleep, I was going to sue somebody.

“Good evening, James,” Mara said, sitting in the tall grass a couple of dozen feet away, the very image of a mother goddess with her flowing white dress and a crown of flowers in her hair. “Come and sit by me.”

“Screw you,” I said, still pissed about the muzzle thing. My bad mood went up a couple of notches when I realized I hadn’t said anything coherent at all. The damn muzzle was stuck onto my dream self as well. I growled, the only sound really left to me that could indicate just how annoyed I was getting.

“Come here, James,” Mara said, the humour leaving her as one of her hands dropped into the grass around her. “Now, please.”

“Pony not like smiling God lady,” my growl might have translated as. “Pony say, ‘screw you too’.”

“James, you can either walk over here like a civilized being,” Mara said, and her hand drew taut the lead that ran between her hand and my collar. “Or, I can drag you over here like an animal. Your choice.”

I growled again, but stomped over to the fertility goddess, my hooves leaving deep divots in the loam as I came over. I noticed as I did, that the lead between us never slackened, as it shrank of its own accord while I closed the distance before coming to a halt in front of her.

“Oh James,” Mara said, reaching out to ruffle my mane a bit as my obedience restored her good humour. “You have the fire of youth, but it’s impetuous nature as well. What did you think was going to happen when you tried to defy a being with the power Akatosh has? You need to learn a little discretion, my pony.”

I grumbled loudly, but inside I knew Mara had a point. Okay, so maybe Akatosh was using game devs as cheap prophets. What business was it of mine? It hadn’t hurt anyone as near as I could tell, and was it really cheating if the lore wasn’t really from the imagination of other people? I whuffed out a breath and lay my head down at her feet in acceptance of the situation.

“Good boy,” Mara said, petting me, and as she did I could feel her power roll through me in cleansing waves. “Your ability to remain open to ideas and concepts is one of the things I like about you. It also makes you a danger.” I made a questioning noise as I raised my nose off the ground to look the goddess in the eye.

“You are an outside influence,” Mara said, a small secretive smile on her face. “A force of self-willed chaos in a realm that except for three occasions, has been strictly governed by ordered prophecy.” Considering who my employer was, that made sense in a strange sort of way.

“It’s why many of my fellow Divines look upon you as a threat, and the true reason we intercepted you on the edge of our realm,” Mara said, the smile fading away to the most serious look I’d ever seen her wear. “What Jarl Balgruuf has asked of you is just a small fraction of the changes, you could bring into being. Many of the gods fear these changes. I do not. Life needs the challenges a little chaos brings, so it can grow tall and strong.” Impulsively, I leaned my muzzled face against her leg in thanks.

“I wish I could keep you, as my own pet pony. Much as Clavicus keeps Barbas,” Mara said, and I wasn’t sure if that should make me happy or scared. “You are certainly better to have around than that mongrel, but time runs short, and your greatest trial approaches. There are three things you need to know.” I gave Mara my full attention.

“First,” Mara said, pulling me close so that our faces were mere inches apart. “From now until you leave Nirn, your fellow Equestrians will not be allowed to intervene in any way. Second, I cannot help you either, except to insure that the only agencies acting against you are mortal ones. Finally, if it all goes wrong, remember the ball of power I put inside of you.” Everything around us began to shake, as if the land was being struck by an earthquake.

“You are being woken,” Mara said, ruffling my mane one final time. “Good luck, my little pony.” My eyes creaked open a moment later, to see Farengar shaking my shoulder. It was still dark out, and I was still muzzled.

“You need to get up and get out of Whiterun,” he said, urgency plain on his face. “You are in terrible danger.”

Author's Note

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