Chapters For the Gossamer Rose of Antequus
When Diamonds Shed the Blood of Butterflies
Every word is a part of a picture. Every sentence is (or can be) a picture.
The reader uses their imagination to put those pictures together, and the pictures weave together to form the intricate tapestry that is a story.
There are many kinds of stories in the world: comedies, love stories, adventures, tragedies. Stories of laughter and love, warriors and sorrow. Each story has a beginning, a middle, and an ending (though what story can ever be said to ever truly end? Tellers of tales throughout the long centuries would dare anyone to find such a story). The magic of the story begins with those oft spoken words, "Once upon a time …"
And then there are the best kinds of stories to be had, the ones that have a little bit of everything.
Faerie tales.
In faerie tales, there is a stallion. He may be a proud prince or he may be a humble soldier. He may possess magic from a genie's lamp or the condescension of a good flutterpony met in the dark woods and treated with kindness. Perhaps he slays the wicked dragon. Perhaps he saves the beautiful princess in her tower. Perhaps the prince loses his kingdom to an evil wizard. Perhaps the humble soldier inherits a kingdom from a dying king.
Then there is the mare. She may be a beautiful princess or she may be a simple peasant filly. She may have a voice like angels singing or be trapped beneath an ancient and terrible curse from a wicked witch. Maybe she heals a beast in the forest. Maybe she breaks the enchantment on a sleeping prince. Maybe the princess gallops into the labyrinth to escape the monsters that so mercilessly hunt her. Maybe the simple peasant filly marries the prince and lives happily ever after.
And in faerie tales there is evil. Pure, dark, and vicious. An insidious poison that hounds the mare's hoofsteps or haunts the prince on his quest. There is evil in the world, as well—always has been, always will be. Evil needs no excuses. It needs no promptings. It only needs to catch the scent of prey, to feel the adrenaline pumping and taste the fear on the air…
.
Once upon a time, through the deserted subway tunnels of Manehatten, a pack of diamond dogs loped after their chosen prey. Bared teeth gleamed like moonlight on knife blades. And they could smell with their beasts' noses the delicious musk of the mare's fear.
She didn't want to run. Her legs burned and her lungs screamed. Her wings ached with her futile attempts at flight. A stitch ripped through her flank and sweat streaked her withers. But she didn't know how long it would take for them to overtake her if she didn't run. And if she were overtaken, they would most likely kill her for what she'd done to (and for) one of their own. If they didn't kill her, she would wish that they had.
So she ran. Her long mane streamed out behind her in dusty-rose ringlets. She'd been on her way home from the Manehatten salon. She'd gone there simply to make herself look nice for no reason. No reason at all. Just because she could. Because her birthday was approaching, would come in a little more than two weeks. She'd spent the day pampering herself because she wanted to.
It had brought the wolves down on her like a killing plague. So now she ran. The glass and stone on the concrete walkways cut her unprotected hooves. She hadn't worn horseshoes – this was Manehatten and the streets were well maintained. Her saddlebag slapped hard against her flank. The large, leather, satchel-like purse held some of her most treasured items. It slowed her down, but she didn't care.
Slowing down would nearly get her and the strange one killed. She would care about that.
She glanced over her shoulder. Desperately tried to gauge how far behind her enemies were. Tried to catch a glimpse of the russet coats like drying blood against the dingy gray of the subway tunnels. Suddenly she tripped over a homeless stallion lying across the pavement. She hit the ground—and the corpse—hard.
It ended up saving her life. A diamond-tipped arrow ricocheted off the grubby tiles on the subway walls. She shrieked and glanced into the homeless stallion's face. Rheumy eyes stared back at her. She choked on the cloying, too-sweet stench of alcohol and death.
Sucking in the air she'd wasted in screaming, she jumped up and kept going. Kept galloping. Kept choking on her own terror and tears. Kept praying the monsters behind her wouldn't try to shoot at her again. It wasn't as if she could hide anywhere. There was nowhere to go.
Her right foreleg throbbed with every step. She'd whacked it good on the pavement. Her usually velvety muzzle and cheeks burned where the dogs chasing her had cut her with their diamond-edged knives. Blood dripped into her mouth and down her forehead between her eyes. Just the thought of those fear-bright knives made a sob catch in her raw throat.
She shivered as icy blasts of air gelled her fear-sweat to her sides. She was so very cold in the freezing winter air. Cold and sick and chilled with the fear. Her throat burned as she heaved in great lungfuls of air.
She didn't look over her shoulder again. She didn't have to. One of the dogs reached out, swiped, and caught a good fistful of her mane. Yanked. She jerked out of their hold, losing strands of rose-pink hair in the process. The dog caught it again. Gave it a good, hard haul.
Against her will, she was yanked off her hooves. Stumbling, she smashed into the ground. But the clawed fist smashing into her face, braced by four brass rings, shot her straight up into the air again, and into outer space. Too dazed to scream, she floundered and gasped for air. Then the knife flicked out. Burned like pain under the fluorescents. A dark shadow knelt above her and touched the ice-cold edge to her cheek. She whimpered, hooves flailing weakly as she tried to get away.
Then the blade sank into her skin. Blood flowed.
And she began to scream.
.
Enbhárr had no intention of interfering. He was quite otherwise engaged.
Even as he subconsciously made that decision, he tossed the spill of his star-blond mane out of his face with a toss of his head and continued to spin and strike with the silvery twin war-axes held aloft by the amber glow of his magic. Sweat trickled down his scarred neck and shoulders as he moved with savage, primal grace, a vengeful phantom-stallion preparing for battle. Perspiration gleamed on his forehead, in the lines of his defined muscles, across his scarred chest, as he struggled to become as proficient with these rather unwieldy weapons as he was with knives, sword, and lance. The axe was not a favored weapon, but as a warrior of the Emerald Empire of Eimane Ablach, he needed to become equally adept at using any and all blades, not just those he favored.
His old friend, the only one who had followed him into exile—a rather large gargoyle nicknamed Blinkin’—watched as the prince worked himself to the point of exhaustion. How long had the prince been training? Five hours? Six? Longer? He could see the fatigue in the alicorn's relentless movements. See that he strained to move as if he were whole and healthy, though it was plain to Blinkin’ that the prince was not. When was the last time Enbhárr had actually slept?
The gargoyle knew that nothing he could say would force Enbhárr to take it easy, rest a little. No. Honor, the way of the warrior, chivalry, valor, physical prowess; that was what mattered to the alicorn prince. That, and his vindictive vendetta against the more mundane-ponies. His desire to find the last great weapon of the Empire—the prince's proper inheritance—and use it and the other three weapons to awaken the Emerald Battalion.
Once awakened, Blinkin’ knew Enbhárr would command the Battalion to slaughter all the ponies who dared stand against him and the other alicorn kingdoms and their neighbors. He would drive the ponies out of the fey forests and out of their cities of poisonous concrete and burning steel. Thrust them back to their primitive caves, where they would huddle in fear of the living darkness and the gusts of the windigos. Then he would raze those noxious cities to the ground. Nothing would stand in the alicorn warrior's way—not even the demands of his own healing body. Instead the prince would attempt to sweat out the iron sickness and the last vestiges of poison.
Their power meant Antequus royalty didn't have to worry about the iron that infected mundane pony cities. Usually. And when it did become too much for the magic running through immortal blood, there were gargoyle potions to combat the effects. But even then, the ponies' lead and iron could still be a problem. Especially when a virulent magical poison also sludged through royal veins. Yet the alicorn prince pressed on, training. Making ready for the coming war, and the slaughter of the ravenous mundane ponies.
Enbhárr knew what Blinkin’ was thinking. He allowed his lips to quirk into a brief, humorless smile for a moment before returning his focus to the training at hoof. Blinkin’ knew him quite well. Yes, he had a vendetta against the mundane ponies – even the ones who gave their pathetic fealty to that solar-powered traitor in Equestria. Mundane ponies were hollow, wicked, vicious…little better than animals. So no, he would not help the pegasus mare.
The crown prince of the alicorn kingdom of Eimane Ablach was cynical, jaded, angry, and brooding. He had only three loves in his life—three motivating loves, at least—and those were for his beloved twin sister, Epona; his father, Manannán the Silver-Winged, who still commanded the prince's loyalty from the far-off court of Eimane Ablach; and Enbhárr's love for his people. He trained night and day, giving himself only time to eat, sleep, and bathe, in preparation for the war that he knew was going to come one day. Nothing stayed or slowed him—not pain, not exhaustion, not illness. The feral-eyed warrior would not allow it.
He despised mundane ponies; hated the entire breed. All three breeds: Earth ponies, pegasi, and unicorns. They were greedy, selfish vermin that deserved to be butchered like the empty, hollow meat they were. One day, as the crown prince, as his father's son, as the prince of the alicorns of Eimane Ablach, he would raise the Emerald Battalion and use them to massacre the mortal ponies, and exact vengeance for their broken vows and the brutal rapine they had committed against the magical realm of Antequus and the more mundane realm of Equus. It was the last resort of a desperate people, but it was all he could do to protect his kind. And he would protect his people.
So he had no intention of helping a foolish mortal mare who ought to have known better than to wander the subway at night alone like an idiot sheep. She deserved the mugging she would receive. What was a few gaudy, valueless trinkets lost to some slobbering diamond dogs? Instead, Enbhárr focused on pushing through the fatigue and last vestiges of weakness from a bout with iron sickness. Gods curse this disgusting mortal city and the poisons that saturated the place. Even he could be brought low by such things for a time. Especially when first made ill by whatever coward had sicced the dipsa serpent on him only a few moons ago.
Then he caught the hideous scent of sadism and bloodlust.
It was thick, musky, seminal. It disgusted him. Choked him. His nostrils stung with it, as did his eyes. It was the stench of perverted arousal, cruelty, and the sickly scent of predators. He had to swallow quickly as bile rose in his throat. For a moment the prince recalled emerald eyes glazed with shock and pain. Golden blood soaking into a mane like spun garnets. The agonized screams of stallions and mares and foals, some he knew far too well, some he knew not at all. Grief sharp as a lance in his belly. Desperation. And other memories. Newer, fresher, choking him, roiling in his gut.
He swallowed again, trying to block out the echoes of his own screams, memories of the burn of thirst in his throat and gnawing hunger in the pit of his stomach, the nauseating ache of his bones and the weight of his torturers staking him out and bringing their weapons smashing down on his—
Enbhárr shook off the centuries' old memories, but could not shield himself from the foul reek in the air.
"My prince?" Blinkin’ questioned softly. He had seen the horrified, sickened look on the prince's face. "What do you sense?"
"A mare…mortal. And dogs." His voice was oddly distant, musing, as if he were commenting on the weather. But Blinkin’ had seen the revulsion in feral eyes like molten bronze. Seen the phantoms of the past in those eyes. "They hunted her. They have caught her. They mean to torture her. Kill her. Because…"
He could taste the faintest traces of their thoughts, that pack of wolves in dog skins. They had hunted this mare for vengeance. Because she had taken one of their own away from them to someplace safe. They had dogged her hoofsteps in secret for days, searching for the opportune moment to strike. And they struck this night because she carried a new, red leather saddlebag and had curled her long, rose-colored mane. That was all. Those were their reasons. They would rape, torture, and murder a mare because of…
Before Blinkin’ had finished processing the prince's words, Enbhárr was striding from his subterranean home, motioning for Blinkin’ to remain. Over his shoulder, the alicorn called, "Stay here, my friend. I want to make sure my…home away from home…is well guarded. Don't wait up for me."
And he began to run, to gallops, like a bone-white wind through the pillars of the Manehatten underground. He'd thought it would be a simple mugging. He'd been wrong. With Druantia's mercy and Dione's grace, he would arrive in time to prevent any more than that.
If there is one thing I despise more than mortals, Enbhárr thought, the embers of long-banked fury fueled by old grief smoldering to life, it is a coward. And a creature who preys on those weaker than they is the worst sort of coward . Memories tried to crowd his mind at the thought, but he ruthlessly shoved them aside. He had his reasons; he needn’t dwell on them. No mare, mortal or otherwise, is to be tormented by sadistic monsters when I am there to stop it. I will not bear witness to anymore atrocities until I must.
No more.
.
It was like a hammer. They beat her body. Pounded against her. She was drowning in the burning pain and the blood. She could taste both running down her throat, choking her like poison. Her legs had long since been rendered numb by blows and cuts from the knife. She no longer had the energy to do more than push at her attackers with chipped, cracked hooves. She was floating, or drowning—she couldn't decide which. Strangely, she smelled sickening forests, and tasted the musk of wolf fur on her lips. Concrete burned cold as ice against her skin through her cream-colored coat, bit into her battered wings. Her face was a sheet of fire. Distantly, she felt something crack inside her. Vaguely registered the new pain.
Not again, her mind—and her memories—screamed at her over and over again. Not again, help! Twilight, Dashie, AJ! Rarity, Starlight! Pinkie, Sunset…help me…please not again, not again…
But the pain and the icy cold and the crushing weight pounding into her smothered the plea. Snarled at her, Yes, again. Again and again. Yes.
Then the hammer blows were still, and she was granted blessed respite. She drew a gurgling breath, and barely managed to keep from choking on the blood in her mouth. She spat it on the ground and blinked as the darkness above her moved away, allowing the dim fluorescent light to kiss her eyes. She groaned as the feeling began to return to her legs. Cried out in shock and agony when a fist connected solidly with the side of her face. Fire erupted under her cheek. Added fuel to the burning.
"Don't think we're finished, peggy," the rough, bestial voice growled. "We just got us an interruption, that's all." And he hit her again, in the ribs. Something else cracked, and she rolled and hunched in on herself. Couldn't catch her breath even to whimper.
"You will not touch her again."
The voice that spoke was ice-cold and clear as fresh spring water in the mountains. It made her teeth ache to hear it—or that might have been the throbbing in her skull from the beating she'd so recently received. She blinked past the haze of pain, and beyond the dark mountain of her attacker standing in front of her, out of the eye that wasn't swollen shut, she saw boots.
She couldn't focus beyond the boots. Black leather laced up the sides, supple, but scuffed and worn, as if they were old and had seen much use. It was amazing, what things she noticed as her four legs jerked helplessly and her head throbbed, as blood seeped from her body.
For a strange, bizarre moment when the entire world became one surreal dream, she thought she saw a giant cat standing in those boots, a large pale cat the color of fresh cream with golden eyes like the blood of ancient trees. A lion intent on the kill. Then it shifted to look like an ivory hound with firegold eyes and teeth bared in challenge. But then she blinked again, trying to focus on the soft, white fur of either beast, and the strange phantom-creature disappeared as her vision blurred.
Shuddering, she tried to prop herself up, but the shooting pain that lanced from her shoulder to her hooves dropped her again.
"She your mate?"
The voice that demanded this information was gruff, accented with a touch of Baltimare's tang. It made its victim shiver at the sound of it. She curled up, trying to remain inconspicuous enough that they forgot about her. If they forgot about her, she could get up and run.
Maybe.
The mysterious speaker made a sharp sound of disgust. "Mares are not property."
She had to look again, even though something deep inside screamed at her not to do it. The voice was so cold and deadly it seemed to freeze her marrow; to crystallize her blood. She raised a trembling hoof to brush her damp-sticky hair from her bleeding face and saw a stallion, his coat so shockingly pale in the dim subway light it was tinted with blue under the fluorescents. A silver mane that slowly morphed to pale gold hung past muscular shoulders. Firegold eyes shot with crimson were set in shadowed sockets, and the hair around his lips was dark as night. An intricate scar slashed across his race, tracing around the scarred ivory horn jutting from his forehead. She quaked at the sight of him, though she didn't know why. A strange sense of familiarity shivered through her. An odd sense of familiarity, and a very healthy dose of fear. And just a glimmer of hope?
He carried two silver-bladed axes on gold-etched black handles, floating in twin clouds of amber magic. The blades gleamed like pain. The beams of fluorescents hit the cruel edges, giving off intangible sparks of starlight that burned her good eye with their brilliance. Strange, savage death kissed every line of those weapons.
As she stared, the stallion shifted and massive, ivory wings flared out in a sweep of white from his back. An alicorn. A male alicorn. But that meant…
They would do well to run, she thought absently. More lucidly, she prayed, Maelstrom and Mistralia…help me. Please…
"Look, eśe —dis ain't none of your business. The puta and us, we got ourselves an understanding—"
With a look full of loathing and dark fury, the pale warrior snarled, "Be quiet."
Years later, she would try to describe, to her foals, to her friends, to her brother and her parents what had happened that night. Some of them would never understand, but her foals and her dearest friends—Twilight, Applejack, Rarity, Rainbow Dash, Pinkie Pie, Sunset Shimmer, Starlight Glimmer, and Discord—would understand what she meant when she said that one moment, the blond stallion had been standing there, aloof and isolated from the group of brutal diamond dogs, and the next, he was crouched over the dog who’d so recently hit her, an axe-blade buried in the dog’s back. A fine spray of crimson blood arced across her savior's nearly-white chest.
She tried to gasp, but her throat, squeezed until bruises circled her pale yellow neck like a necklace of shadows, was swollen nearly shut. Trying to draw such a deep breath made her nearly choke. Despite her pain, her bruises, her blood staining the concrete, something told her that the pack, despite the stallion’s presence, was still dangerous. She had to get up.
In the time it took her to make that decision, the blond warrior had struck down four of the nine dogs who'd set upon her. He leapt to decapitate a fifth, when a sixth one, cowering on the ground and feigning death, suddenly struck out with something that glinted star pain bright in the light of the overhead fluorescents. The steel knife bit into the stallion's foreleg, right above the ankle. She tried to gasp and choked again. Had the cut severed her rescuer's Achilles tendon?
The pale stallion fell to one knee with a cry that was more rage than pain, and the blade descended again, sinking into the meat of his hip. His head jerked back and his spine bowed, his body instinctively flinching away from the weapon.
The pegasus he’d fought to rescue glanced around frantically as she scrambled to her hooves, shaking with effort. Every movement sent burning needles of sensation down her previously numbed legs. She ignored the feeling, casting around for her saddlebag until she found it lying a couple feet away. In it she kept rocks, a habit from her days in Cloudsdale that had never gone away. With shaking hooves, she pulled out a good-sized stone and hurled it. Her leg screamed at her as she did, protesting the abuse it had suffered, and her aim fell short. She'd been aiming for the dog with the knife, trying to hit his temple.
She got him in the back.
The stone projectile had the desired effect, however. The dog whirled to look at her, his face purpling with rage, contorting viciously. She tried to move back, but her hind legs buckled, unable to take her weight. She fell to the ground once more. Her cheek cracked the pavement. The dog had enough time to take a single menacing step toward her before something silver arced across his throat. He took another step, stumbled, and his head fell from his shoulders. The dog whom the blond rescuer had been attempting to kill when the knife blade had interrupted him lay dead as well.
Six diamond dogs down, three to go. She was feeling pretty good about those odds until she heard a resounding crack : a gunshot. It echoed through her skull. She couldn't hide her wince, couldn't muffle her scream. The white alicorn stallion stumbled. Staggered. Aqua-green eyes registered the gunshot wound, black against the moon-pale flesh. Dark amber blood streamed from the wound.
Crimson-washed bronze eyes sunk within darkness like rings of smudged kohl met a frightened, aqua gaze shadowed by bruises. Rage, regret, relief, staggering pain and almost brutal exhaustion—they warred amongst themselves behind his eyes. She felt something akin to a sob hiccup in the back of her throat. Her own regret burned. She swallowed it, swallowed her panic, trying to wet her throat. It was swollen and hot saliva would wet it enough for her to speak, at least a little.
She climbed unsteadily to her hooves, body shuddering. Hot blood streaked her skin. She stumbled toward her rescuer even as she raised a trembling leg to point at one of the dogs approaching him from behind. The pale warrior whipped around and the axe blades sank down between neck and shoulders on either side, rending flesh from clavicle to bottom ribs.
Seven dead. Only two left. At least, that's how it seemed. But a sharp, cold zing puled through her chest, starting from where the golden torque with its carved kunzite stone had once rested, warned her. There was danger approaching. They had to get away. Her instincts screamed, and her panic surged. She had to get them both out of there, right now. Something horrible would happen if they remained. Even as she was fighting panic, she was forming a plan—half a crazed idea, rather, but it was all she could think of.
He glanced at her, and something in his eyes told her to run if she could. But she couldn't. She couldn't leave him. His injuries were horrible. He could very well die here, alone in the subway, because he had tried to protect her from the scum of Manehatten. The idea made her heart burn like a candle flame. It gave her the power to croak, "Behind you!"
He turned, and the spiked hafts of the axes plunged into the dog’s belly. The diamond dog gagged and died, scarlet bubbling between white fangs and slack lips. She shuddered and grabbed her rescuer's foreleg.
"Be gone from here," he snapped. There was something hateful in his expression, but she didn't care. His coat was soaked in blood, his and the blood of the diamond dogs. He limped badly from the wound at his ankle. His right leg wouldn't support his weight.
She saw the leader of the pack, her attackers' alpha male, raise the gun. Aquamarine eyes widened. Her hero turned, raised the axes as he shifted to stand between her and the lead dog. The warrior stumbled as he put weight on his bad leg in his haste to attack.
The gun fired twice.
Blood poured from the new hole in his left shoulder. His foreleg hung like a useless lump of meat in front of him. She had to fight not to be sick. Had to think clearly, had to suppress the shock that wanted to simply numb and blur the world into nothing. Had to time all of this just right. If she got it wrong, even a little, they would both die. She needed to hear the padding of pawsteps. She knew they would come. The pawsteps of the approaching enemy, but their assailant didn't know that.
She bumped her muzzle against the alicorn stallion. He flinched at the contact and twitched away from her touch, but she knew he would act exactly the way he needed to in order to save them both. When she heard horse shoes clanging on concrete, on metal stairways, she screamed as loud as her tortured throat would allow, "Officer, Officer! Help us!" She tried to wave a hoof, as if she could see someone.
The dog jerked and half turned to look in the direction she was waving. A silver axe flew through the air with a flash of xanthous light and embedded itself in the monster's skull. He fell to the ground, and she turned to the stallion who had thrown the axe with such deadly accuracy.
"We have to get out of here," she whispered. Grabbing her saddlebag, she ducked beneath the larger pony’s injured front leg to take his weight, making it easier to lead him. He tripped and stumbled. She nearly fell with him. "Ow! Okay, okay…"
She sucked in a breath and tried to think. Her body was numbing itself, compartmentalizing the pain of her injuries, allowing her brain to numb her to what had happened so she could think. It was an old trick from her time as one of the Keepers of the Elements. It would cost her later—suppressing trauma reactions always did, she'd learned that through her work developing her emblem talent—and only the blanket of shock allowed her to manage it at all.
But even with the trick, fire burned inside her and sticky blood cooled on her skin. Everything hurt, especially her right front leg, her slashed and bleeding face, and the places where her wings connected to her back. She didn't want to think of what would happen when the shock and the mental walls she'd put up dissolved and the trauma came back. Last time she'd dealt with something like that, she'd passed out.
Maelstrom and Mistralia, gods of the clouds and winds, give me the strength, she begged silently. She pulled the pale stallion's leg and settled it more firmly over her shoulder, trying to more easily support some of his weight. He tensed, but allowed himself to lean on her a little. His pain was almost tangible. Help me save us both. Help me stay strong, stay focused. I can't do this without your help. Help me, please.
A warmth stole through her chest, and she closed her eyes. Everything would be all right. Everything would work out the way it was supposed to. She could do this. She could . And if she couldn't, well…she'd figure it out when she got that far.
The pale stallion weighed much less than she'd expected, but he stiffened as soon as she tried to get them both moving. Gritting her teeth, she locked her legs, supporting him as well as he staggered to his hooves with a groan stifled behind clenched teeth.
"Okay…okay, come on. There has to be a safe place here somewhere. Yeah. Come on."
"How are you doing this?" He demanded gruffly from between clenched teeth. "A moment ago, you could barely move."
"You need help. I have to help you." As a wave of dizziness and horror tried to choke her, she bit down hard on the inside of her cheek. The sharp stinging pain ripped her back to the blissfully almost-numb present. "I had time to gather my strength and get a second surge of adrenaline. Come on, we need to hide out until they leave. Let's go."
"I do not want your help."
"Um…no offense, my lord," she murmured, remembering to whom she was fairly certain she spoke, "but you need my help. So don’t talk; save your strength and try to walk if you can. Come on, come on…" Her voice was breathy with fatigue, with pain. She didn't sound impatient, only exhausted. "We gotta go. Is there somewhere we can go?" She saw him open his mouth to speak and knew she needed to press her advantage, now, before he got enough energy to really make a good argument. So she hissed, "Look, I'm not leaving you here. If you know somewhere we can hide until they forget about us, I suggest you tell me so we can get there before more of them show up. You're in no shape to fight. There's steel and Teflon in those bullets—poisonous to your kind of pony."
She was hazarding a guess. She'd seen that the sclera of this stallion's eyes was nearly burgundy, not white. And he was a male alicorn. They only came from one place – Antequus, the realm of magic. It was one reason she didn't fear this stallion as much as she might have otherwise. If she was wrong, this would all be for nothing. He'd think she was mad as a hatter. But she could tell by the way he tried to flinch away from her that she'd been right on target. He was one of the fabled alicorns of Antequus.
"You—"
"I have the Sight. And I work with magical creatures on a daily basis. You pick up a few things. Now really, we really need to go!"
She put the last bit of volume her voice would allow into that last word. He glared at her for what seemed like a thousand years before giving her an almost imperceptible nod. She tensed her shoulders and began to move.
They were silent, the better to hear their enemies. Hoofsteps stomped on concrete, and they moved faster. Pain lanced her body, stealing her breath away. She bit her lip to stifle her moans. Her rescuer was in worse shape than she could have imagined anyone surviving. She owed him. She had to help him.
"You are bleeding," the blond stallion beside her hissed. His slightly pointed teeth were still tightly clenched. She snorted.
"So are you. You need to hust now. Begging my lord's pardon," she added as an afterthought.
"Why are you doing this?" He demanded. His voice dripped with venom, with fury. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. Refused to answer. She needed what little breath she had. He pressed, "Answer me. And it is, 'Your Highness.'"
"Oh. I’m very sorry, Your Highness," she said, and kept moving without answering. For a long time, there was no speech between them, save for the tersely muttered directions her rescuer bit out from between gritted teeth. Her vision was beginning to fade in and out, things becoming flickering and white and sparkling.
She blinked and bit her tongue to pull herself back from the brink of fainting. She had to do something, or she would fall at his hooves. Her legs were cold and numb. She was gasping now, near the end of her strength, but she knew she couldn't afford to collapse. What if her companion needed her help? What if the icy walls she'd erected between herself and what had just happened suddenly collapsed as well? She'd break into a million pieces. She couldn't afford that. Not again, not yet. Not ever.
"What is your name?" The pale-skinned stallion demanded, though his voice was laced with pain. She glanced at him.
"Your Highness, why are you talking?"
"Because I no longer hear the sounds of pursuit. So tell me, mare, what is your name?"
She sighed, and tried to keep the world from spinning out of control around her. Taking in a deep breath through her nose and out through her mouth to reduce some of the vicious pain threatening to crush her, she finally admitted, "It's Fluttershy, Your Highness."
"Fluttershy? What sort of weak name is that? "
"It's a pegasus name," she found herself saying. “Most of my siblings have names like that. Zephyr Breeze, Summer Showers, Rosewind, Ocean Mist…Since you don't like me, why are you asking?" She could tell by the revulsion in his golden eyes that he positively loathed her.
"The sound of silence irritates me," he replied, his voice wicked ice cold, like starlight in the subzero depths of space. She fought a shiver. "I would prefer even your irritating voice to the sound of my own thoughts at this moment. You are more fortunate than you can possibly imagine, that I decided to save you."
"Regretting the fact that you did?" Fluttershy asked, only half-joking. He glanced at her, then away, and she knew the answer instantly.
She sighed, but didn't comment. If she was right, her rescuer had every reason to gripe about the fact that she'd "imposed" on him, as it were. Fluttershy knew many of the ponies of Antequus didn't like Equus ponies, or at least cared little about hurting or manipulating them for a moment's amusement. She even admitted that some mortals deserved that hatred. How was this alicorn to know that she wasn’t one of those dark-hearted mortal ponies who relished the pain and torment of other beings? Many of the more magical creatures of the world didn't believe such ponies even existed anymore.
"If it makes you feel any better…I'm truly grateful," she replied softly. "I know in the end they would have killed me. Thank you, Your Highness."
Fluttershy felt the alicorn stiffen even more. Start to pull away. In retaliation, petty though she knew it to be, she pulled a little. She wasn't going to let anything happen to this idiot just because he was trying his hardest to upset her and make her leave him behind.
She had no doubts that that was exactly what he was trying to do. Well, she wouldn't have any of it. He needed help. She wasn't a monster, no matter what he thought; she wasn't going to just leave him to die. Besides, without the need to help him driving her…she'd likely collapse and let herself bleed out on the pavement.
"Where are we going?" She asked wearily after several tense moments.
"A safe place," he mumbled absently, glancing around. They needed to hurry. He smelled the tang of ozone, which meant a subway train was coming, though not for some miles yet. They had perhaps ten minutes.
But he also caught the irritating stench of diamond dogs. Angry. On the prowl. Hunting for something…or somepony. Also no more than ten or eleven minutes away, but moving quickly, quicker than Enbhárr and Fluttershy could in their current, injured state. Fluttershy, being mortal, was slower, weaker. His only chance of escape without further risk of injury would be to leave her. He contemplated the idea for a moment. After all, she was only a pathetic Pegasus pony. He owed no pony anything but a swift, merciless death.
"How are you feeling?" She asked breathlessly, and tripped over her own dragging hooves. They both started to go down, but she caught them, steadied them. Her breath hissed through her teeth as she fought the waves of nausea and searing pain. "I am…so, so sorry, Your Highness. My fault. Gosh. Move, hooves," she snapped down at the ground, as if ordering the appendages around would make them obey her. "Did I jar anything? Any fresh bleeding?"
"No," he replied slowly. "No."
A debt of honor was being incurred here, and it greatly displeased him. Infuriated him. He loathed mundanes, despised them for their spineless, heartless, gutless behavior. For everything they had done to the two worlds as well as to so many of his loved ones. To himself. They had exacted their twisted pleasure and vengeance on him time and again in his many centuries. Mundane ponies were monsters.
Yet here was a mortal mare who had remained behind, severely injured and afraid, to make sure he survived the fight he had engaged in to save her. Even now, when it was obvious to an imbecile that she needed medical attention, she refused to leave him, because he was injured.
Either she was a simpleton, a madmare, or not altogether mundane. Those were the only possible explanations.
He heard pawsteps, closer this time. Smelled the pack approaching them. Far enough away that they could not yet see or be seen, but close enough that they were nearly out of time. Gritting his teeth in anticipation of the pain, he made a decision and with a snake-quick strike, darted under Fluttershy and heaved her over his good shoulder.
"What are you doing?" The utter terror in her voice enraged him. "Stop! You're in no condition…what are you doing?"
Her voice dropped to a whisper as he approached the gap between the concrete walkways and the subway rails. Even as they watched, a viper-rat sizzled and fried as it touched the third rail coursing with electricity.
"Watch the middle bar," she squeaked.
She squeaked because her body was reminding her in painful ways that it currently didn't like her, but she had no choice but to ignore it. She felt muscles bunch, coil, and then her rescuer sprang, leaping so that when they landed, it was on the far side of the tracks, well clear of the electrified rail.
The impact of their landing sent rockets of pain shooting through Fluttershy's hips and face, and she bit her lip to stifle a scream. Fresh blood exploded from the countless knife-slices bisecting her ruined muzzle.
Enbhárr did not ask her if she were all right. He knew she was not, and he did not care to hear her lie to him (or to whine) about her status. He did not ask if she were bleeding still. He could smell the copper fear stench of her blood, feel it dribbling over his skin and smeared across his shoulder and back. He shuddered in disgust.
"Are we almost there?" The mare whispered. He turned his head until he could look at the slashing ruin of her face.
"Yes," he managed to say calmly. She was watching him with wide, fearful eyes like twin seapony lagoons. As if he was the answer to all her prayers. Her salvation. It had been…centuries since anyone looked at him like that. The last person had been Epona, as a child, when their mother…
Enbhárr's chest ached with the struggle to draw breath. His skull throbbed from loss of blood. The last embers of iron-fever would be rekindled by the poisonous metals in his body and the pain would only continue to get worse. His body, already weakened by poison and illness and exhausted from hours of training, wouldn't last much longer. But he could carry her as far as the entrance. That burst of effort had shaved three minutes at least off their journey. If he continued to be able to maintain this pace, then they would be safe in moments.
He heard a click , and turned slightly to look behind him. Fluttershy tried to focus on the concrete that rose above and away from them, but everything was blurred. Enbhárr saw the dogs, saw their toothy grins, saw the gleam of the light upon the steel barrel of the gun, and spun as the weapon fired. A bullet, burning with pain and toxic lead, ripped into his side. His breath shot out of him, and he hit his knees on the ground. He tasted toxic metal, scented it, and realized a train was coming.
Fluttershy whispered, "No. No . It isn't fair. Put me down and get out of here. Please, you have to run—"
"You killed our friends," the first thug, the one to the left of the gunman, called out. Fluttershy fell silent. Tears made her cheeks shine under the dirt and blood on her face. Burned in the slashing cuts. "All for the peggy . You're gonna die. No weapons now, my friend."
Bronze eyes met lagoon blue. Both burned as they urged the other to abandon them and run. Enbhárr got to all four hooves. The mortal mare on his back cursed under her breath, calling him ten kinds of idiot. The alicorn warrior didn't care. He had engaged in a battle to save her life. Mortal or not, abandoning her now would be dishonorable and cowardly. He had made his decision. Like a true prince, he would abide by it.
He tried to sprint. He was as slow as a mundane now. The gun clicked. He picked up speed, or tried. Dizziness slammed him hard. He stumbled. The entrance to his sanctuary was less than sixty seconds away.
The gun fired, twice.
A bullet bit deep into his good arm. Fluttershy landed on the ground in a heap as he fell. She cried out when the ground hit her. Agony shot through her back, her legs. Her skull screamed at her.
Another bullet found the back of Enbhárr's right thigh as he struggled to rise. He stumbled and fell hard to the floor, hooves scrabbling.
The moment he was on the ground, Fluttershy was on her hooves, clasping a stone.
By all the gods of cloud and wind and rain, please, don't let me miss, she prayed silently.
She threw it, hard. It hit the dog’s paw, and he dropped the gun. It went off, and he screamed as blood gushed from his other paw. In his gyrations, he kicked the gun onto the tracks, which rumbled with the weight of the approaching train. Fluttershy whispered a prayer of gratitude even as she hauled her rescuer up.
"Tell me where," she commanded breathlessly. Her knees buckled. She quickly locked them and bit down on her tongue. The pain helped steady her a little. "We have to go. Tell me where!"
"Straight," he gasped. Pain made him dizzy. Blood-loss made him cold. He wanted to rest, just for a moment, but…but in rest lay death. "Fifteen feet."
They staggered forward. Fluttershy looked around wildly. Bright light washed over them, and the subway train shrieked at them. She gasped and cried, "Now what?"
Enbhárr touched the wall of concrete with a bloody hoof and gasped out, "Guardian, let us pass. Slay our enemies."
Fluttershy's vision twisted, doubled, and she knew somehow she was going to die. Blood or train, that's what she wondered. Would the train make her into a pancake? Or would she turn into a puddle of blood?
That was the question, wasn't it? The crimson liquid dripped onto the cement. Everything sparkled around her and her skull buzzed. The speeding train bore down on them, screaming that they were going to die. She tasted death on her tongue.
She blinked at the wall as a gaping darkness yawned before her. Her own eyes or the whispered words of her rescuer?
The alicorn warrior lurched forward, dragging her with him, and she fell…through the wall. The subway train whizzed by them like a herd of carnivorous centaurs.
Enbhárr sagged against the wall. Safety. Blessed safety at last.
He turned to Fluttershy, who dropped to the floor in a graceless heap. She sank into oblivion as the world went black around her. Just before unconsciousness closed up her senses, she smelled the sweet scent of lilies and roses, and inexplicably thought, Princess Celestia?
Author's Note
Author's Note: Like my fanfic Rip Off the Wings of a Butterfly, this fic is mostly done. It's also pretty long, so there will be steady weekly updates for quite some time (barring catastrophe or death). I'm basically darkening MLP (as do so many of us) and tossing in one of my favorite things - Irish mythology. I always thought it was strange that in a world where even small towns have access to magic, people flipped about Zecora. Which made me think - just because Equestria has magic doesn't mean there isn't another world with more magic (like how the human world has places like Fairyland or Santa's workshop). So I decided to explore the mythos we haven't seen yet in Equestria. Hopefully I do a good job.
And I like writing about Fluttershy. She has great hair.
References Made in the Chapter:
The idea of Antequus comes from the word “antiquity,” which basically means back in the historical medieval-ish days of magic and unicorns and heraldry and blah-blah. Antequus is sort of like the faerie world of our real world – it exists alongside the “mundane” world, just beneath the skin.
Eimane Ablach is the pony-fied version of Eimain Ablach, which is another name for Tir na nOg, the Island of Youth in Irish myth. Sort of the like the Irish Island of Avalon.
"Every word is a part of a picture. Every sentence is (or can be) a picture. The reader uses their imagination to put those pictures together..." is an almost direct quote from the movie The Mighty , which is based on the book Freak the Mighty (I can't remember who it's by, but it's a pretty unique title so if you want to read it, it should be easy to find). It was one of the most interesting explanations of reading I'd ever heard.
What is iron sickness? I've read a lot of faerie books, and in almost all (if not all), iron is toxic to the fae. Even someone like Enbhárr, who's a strong and tough faerie horse, would be affected if he was in the city long enough (this is also my theory for why he looks so sick in the auction house scene; it's the only scene where he looks almost... dead). As he lives underground and such, obviously there are ways to circumvent the iron sickness, so why it didn't work this time is up to you. But that's just a little back story on that. Toodles!
A dipsa serpent is a snake from the medieval bestiary (I assume that means it's not real) that's so small it's really easy to step on, and so poisonous that by the time you've realized it's bitten you, you're a second away from dying anyway. Here, I've altered it a bit so it's a type of faerie.
The thing about the stones was something I actually did in middle school. I carried rocks in a fanny pack around my waist in case I ever needed a weapon, because I was afraid of guns and was too young according to my parents to own a knife of any kind.
For the Gossamer Rose of Antequus
A Noose of Amber and Gold
Enbhárr ignored the screams. The golem he had set as the protector of this sanctuary had waited for the train before crossing the tracks and dealing with his enemies. Now he heard the wet sounds of tearing flesh, the shrill neighs of terror, and found no pleasure or pain in them. The alicorn simply ignored them. His wounds burned as iron contamination spread like a disease through the flesh, coloring it the sickly blue of a drowned corpse beneath his ivory coat. Exhaustion beat at him. His muscles ached from the mundane metals and from the sickness still ravaging his body. A wave of dizziness washed through him, and he groaned. When it passed, he glanced at the mortal mare sprawled upon the ground by the entrance.
Never before had he brought a mortal to one of his sanctuaries. He had never had a reason to. But now, because of his thrice-cursed honor, he was forced to keep this mare from dying because she had risked her life more than once to save him. No mundane pony had ever done anything for him, much less something like that. He owed her a terrible debt.
May all the gods beyond the stars curse her.
Enbhárr looked around the Spartan room. There was a stone fireplace, above which hung a small painting of his sister, one of only two luxuries in the place. His eyes took in the table with two chairs, and several cabinets and trunks which held clothing, weapons, medical supplies, and non-perishable food items. The bed, with a thin mattress and one pillow, stood near one of those trunks. The blanket, a quilt from his old bedroom at the summer palace of Baile Neigh hInch, was his second luxury. When a wave of melancholy threatened to drown him at the thought of the quilt and his foalhood palace suite, he ruthlessly dismissed it. There were two doors on either side of the fireplace, one that led to a bathing room, and one to a privy. The floor of the main chamber was of cold, clean-swept stone. So he could have access to water, there was a tiny well in a corner, out of the way but within comfortable reach. A young foampony—the aquatic cousin to the breezie—with very little power but a unique and quirky talent, kept the water clean, cold, and sweet.
In the center of the room was a woven mat. It was this that was his aim. He fought another wave of dizziness as he dragged the Pegasus mare towards the mat. With every movement, blood flowed thick and heavy from his wounds. His heart labored to pump in his chest. Sheer determination fueled by rage and self-loathing (A mundane! A mundane saved his life! Pah! ) gave him the strength to do this. Panting with exertion and pain, he thought frantically about how he could tend her wounds when his own were so severe. After all, if he passed out from loss of blood, they would both die. On the other hand, he could not treat his own wounds by himself.
The mare solved his problem for him by waking up as he set her down upon the mat. She slowly opened bleary aquamarine eyes, then blinked as shock and fear spread across her bleeding face. A thin, weak cry of terror ripped out of her mouth as she scrambled away from him in a crab-scuttle until she had half-crawled atop his bed. Wonderful. Now the stench of mortality and iron-laced blood would saturate all of his bedding. Fantastic.
"For Daneigh's sake, mortal, I mean you no harm. Be still."
Under more normal circumstances, Fluttershy might've made some retort at the unfair and biting censure in his voice, but even if she'd felt up to it, just then her forelegs – which had been holding her up - buckled beneath her, and she slid to the floor. She immediately curled in on herself like a snail, holding tight to herself. Enbhárr looked her over with keen scrutiny, and the timid mare shuddered. Her bruised, bloody, and battered face was positively bloodless. Frightened eyes were set within deep, dark circles in her pale-golden face. Enbhárr could tell by the bruising that her left cheekbone was cracked. The pegasus didn't seem to notice that, nor the blood seeping from the dozens upon dozens of cuts and slashes across her nose and muzzle.
Fluttershy's gaze found him. Panic stole through her eyes. He could hear the thunder of her heart in her breast.
Trust those that you have helped to help you in their turn... The words came unbidden to her mind. She remembered the story, had read it so many times she had it memorized. And what better time to use those guidelines than now? Fluttershy felt like she'd walked into a breezie tale. Preternatural warriors, magical sanctuaries, war axes like shooting stars... yeah. A bedtime story. Complete with blood and slaughter. Closing her eyes against the sight of that white-coated warrior with the bleeding wounds, she remembered, Favors will be returned, debts be repaid.
On the trail of that thought came another, different, one of her own instead of something read once in a book: he won't hurt me unless I provoke him. With that realization, the paralyzing fear seemed to ease.
A little.
"Where are we? Are we dead?" She asked softly. It never occurred to her to ask who he was. Once she'd made it away from the overpowering male presence of him and put some distance between them, the memories had surfaced fairly quickly. He was an alicorn of Antequus, one of the Kindly Ones. One of them .
One trembling hoof wiped at a trickle of blood from a cut right beneath her eye. Remarkably, Fluttershy felt better. She had complete feeling back in her forelegs, and the throbbing, red-hot pain from her withers was gone, replaced by a dull ache. The ragged slashes across her face no longer screamed at her. Her vision wasn't sparkling like white stars against grayness, and the ability to focus at least a little had returned. The floaty sensations from blood-loss felt more like she'd had a few bad cuts that required stitches rather than being tortured by a pack of diamond dogs. Remarkably, the battered mare had enough attention span left after the pain to really want a hot bath.
"Are we dead?" Fluttershy repeated, then added, "Um, Your Highness."
The air was icy against her skin, which looked almost gray, even to her own eyes. She was trying not to give anything away to the stallion in front of her, but her mind raced, and she couldn't hide the panic in her eyes. Body trembling visibly with the urge to get up and run, somehow she knew a mere mortal in her condition couldn't move fast enough to outrun the unearthly alicorn in front of her, even in the bloody state he was in.
But she had to run. She had to get up and run, but her legs shook uncontrollably. Where were they? The scent of roses and lilies clung to the stones around her, but the stench of blood burned her nostrils and tried to swamp the perfume of flowers. Heart pounding, she bit her tongue to hold herself still. If she bolted, she knew instinctively he would be on her in seconds, and then... and then he... he would... just like the others, just like the dogs, and just like in the changeling tower, he would...
Run, her brain screamed. Run, run, runrunrun!
Can't, the other part of her moaned. Can't, hurts too much, can't...
"No," he grunted. He didn't add, "Not yet," but she heard the implied threat under his words.
Fluttershy swallowed hard. Her brain was working overtime, now that they were no longer being chased, her mind considering some rather sinister possibilities. What if... what if this pony had only tried to help her so that he could hurt her himself? It was a viable concern. How many of the Bright Ones had told her that mundane ponies gave especially good sport? Even as she thought it, she stuck her tongue between her teeth and bit down again, trying to calm her suddenly racing heart. Salt-blood flooded her mouth and pain flooded her face like a riptide, dragging at her fear. Pain had always been an anchor for her, ever since she’d suffered that first nightmare after that initial battle against Discord the Chaos Lord, and she used it now, even though she knew eventually that would come back to bite her. She'd worry about that later.
Focus on the pain, she told herself, struggling for calm. Taste the blood. Feel the sting. Focus on that. Relax. Just a little-
RUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUN-
Relax! She screamed at herself. I can't even hear myself. Drawing a shuddering breath, her side flared with pain. That helped her to focus as well. Carefully, Fluttershy examined the idea that this tall, muscular, golden-maned, arrow- and bullet-riddled stallion had intervened on her behalf just so he, too, could have his turn with her. Would he do that? Could he do it? Or would he do something else to her? Something worse?
He's too badly hurt, the logical part of her mind murmured, while the screaming, terrified part of her mind kept reminding her of all the creatures she knew who'd been suckered by a monster feigning injury. Memory told her she was being stupid, being too trusting.
But she was a healer and caretaker of all creatures, including magical creatures. It was her duty to ease pain, heal hurts. She knew enough about equine anatomy that she could make a passable attempt at healing it here. The Hippocratic Oath and all that.
Buck the Oath, she shrieked at herself as the stallion in front of her shifted position. She pulled her body back as far as she could. Pain smashed down on her like a tidal wave. Forget about the Oath! He's going to kill me!
Trust those that you have helped to help you in their turn… Her brain seemed to trip over the words as they resurged into her mind. Favors will be returned, debts be repaid.
Maelstrom and Mistralia, what do I do? I'm scared, help me. I need help, I need a hospital, and so does he, and I don't know if it's safe to be around him. Tell me what to do, please...
In the Cloud Temple, she'd often been told to wait ten or fifteen minutes for an answer to prayers. Generally, that was the minimum time between the end of a prayer and the receipt of an answer. But this time, the answer was practically immediate, and so strong that she felt it in her teeth:
Help him, or you will both die.
Her heart skipped a beat. Slammed against her sternum. Hammered in her chest. Fluttershy swallowed several times, trying not to gasp for air, feeling as if she'd just been sucker-punched. She had to help him. She could feel it in her bones, but... but going near him made her want to cry. To scream. To break down and never get back up again. What if he hurt her?
Now, the feeling insisted, pushing at her. Already, he fades. You must begin now.
Fades?
She noticed the alicorn was sitting on the floor, his chin on his chest, his face hidden behind the curtain of his mane. His pale skin and coat were tinged with a sickly blue undertone, slicked with sweat, and he shuddered continually. At the sight of him, Fluttershy started in surprise. The alicorn stallion looked half-dead already. Shoving her long, rose-pink mane out of her face, she leaned in and peered at him, ignoring the way her skin prickled and her panic screamed. Her eyes found the wounds that bled sluggishly. Adrenaline surged through her veins at the sight. He was still hurt, way worse than she was! How could she not have remembered?
"Oh, my goodness! Lie down!" She ordered. He looked questioningly at her, and opened his mouth to speak. "Now!" Fluttershy yelped, voice laced with panic. Don't argue , she begged silently, motioning for him to make himself horizontal. Please, just do what I say before I have hysterics . "We have to see to those wounds out right away! Or the mortal metals will infect your blood." What was the old saying about fighting the Other Kin with metals? Holy silver, burning iron, cold lead, blessed electrum. Iron and lead could kill many creature of Antequus if they managed to infect the blood. And didn't gunpowder have salt in it?
"I suppose you know how," he replied sarcastically. "Because as you can see, there are no others here."
Fluttershy panted shallowly as panic threatened to overwhelm her, trying to fight it back. She couldn't afford to be intimidated or frightened by her rescuer and his harsh words. Even as she was thinking this, she made the abrupt mental switch she'd learned while in the changeling dungeon, going from panic-stricken fear and hurt to that deep, deep anger that had twice turned her into a cruel, monstrous pony. She’d learned to control that anger since, make it work for her. She’d do that now.
Glaring at her rescuer with something akin to venom, despite the fear coiling like worms in her belly, she crawled to her purse lying several feet away and dragged it back. She glanced at him. Blue lines were bright against his pursed lips, running up over his nose. Her rescuer was in pain. Both irritated and admiring of his stalwart stoicism, she unzipped her saddlebag and dumped its contents on the floor.
The mare was muttering something under her breath. It sounded to Enbhárr like, "If it cries to you that it hurts, if you can, ease its pain."
Rifling through the contents of her bag, the aqua-eyed pegasus pulled out a lighter, scissors, a pair of long tweezers, hoof sanitizer, and a plastic spool of white sewing thread with an old-fashioned, four-inch tapestry needle stuck through the top. She found these items amongst so many other things that Enbhárr was surprised they all fit inside the bag. The sheer number of items made his head spin.
"Interesting collection." His sarcasm could've cut through bone. Something dark pulsed through Fluttershy as she shivered and thought desperately, Don't be scared. I can’t be scared.
"Well, Your Highness, you never know what might come in handy," she wheezed. Her head suddenly began to throb, but she ignored it, focusing on the metal tweezers as she flicked open the lighter and called forth the flame after sanitizing her hooves and forelegs. Holding the tips over the dancing tongue of fire, her eyes watched the metal begin to glow as it heat up. "This will hurt."
"You are actually going to attempt this," he gasped. His vision was starting to phase in and out. He gritted his teeth against the poison-induced nausea. "Are you a... healer?"
"Sort of," she whispered, and bade him lie down. Too exhausted to argue, Enbhárr tried to obey, and ended up collapsing upon his side, seemingly unconscious. She'd been right in thinking he was worse off than she. Right in guessing what the metal would do to him. The iron from the blade and the lead from the bullets, gestalted by the iron-sickness and the last traces of dipsa venom in his system, were already beginning to poison him. The pale stallion was as weak as a kitten now. Luckily, he was also out cold.
Fluttershy's fear began to recede just a little more, and she leaned over him. Shivered, knowing she was on the edges of control. Only the numbness of shock and the ember of warmth in her chest, the remnant left behind by her Element, kept her from shattering completely. She tried to ignore the burning that began in her knee and raged through her body all the way to her bruised, lacerated, and probably cracked cheek. Feeling nearly done in, the pegasus forced her hooves to remain as steady as possible while she carefully pushed the now sterile tweezers into the wound at his belly.
The mortal mare had been wrong about one thing – Enbhárr was not unconscious. He was barely conscious. He did not even have the strength to open his eyes. He could only lay there, trying to conserve his strength. Then the mortal pony moved, began working on his injuries. Fire ripped through him, and the alicorn found himself paralyzed by iron. The metal in the instrument scorched his skin, but she unerringly found the bullet lodged in his body and plucked it out. Fresh blood flowed, and Enbhárr sank into blissful oblivion.
"Gotcha," she cried. "Now to sew it up."
She grabbed needle and thread and hastily stitched up the wound.
"All those years of healing training really paid off," she muttered to herself as she repeated the performance on his legs. She'd even removed the fragments of concrete and ceramic that had ricocheted off the walls.
She was grateful that he was unconscious. What pain would he probably be suffering if he'd been awake? His eyes had gleamed as if with a fever. Maybe he was sick. Maybe the metal was poisoning him worse than she knew. She only knew stories, nothing solid. What did she really know about doctoring an alicorn of Antequus? That was one magical creature she'd never encountered in this sort of situation before. And Fluttershy wholeheartedly believed that that was exactly what this stallion was. His grace, his power, the ivory of his coat and the oddly familiar, deep gold of his eyes – all of it was so blatantly Antequun, blatantly the markings of an alicorn from the Realm of Antequus, probably the kingdom of Eimane Ablach.
Fluttershy could tell up-close that her patient wore no makeup, no contact lenses. This creature was something right out of a storybook, something right out of her greatest and oldest dreams. She'd seen his kind before. Was known to his kind. And there was something so oddly familiar about him.
Fluttershy had suffered cruelly as a foal and young filly, and a great deal of that cruelty had come because she believed in people like him. Claimed to have seen them. Had dedicated her life to helping them survive in a world of concrete, steel, and poisons. And now she had the chance to help one of the Shining Ones again.
Any whisper of excitement, however, was dull and tasteless when compared to the overwhelming fear of the large stallion on the ground in front of her. Every time he so much as twitched, her heart jumped into her throat, and she had to bite her lip to keep from screaming. Unfortunately, she couldn’t do anything to ease her own fear. Fluttershy had quickly realized that in order for the Alicorn to survive this surgery, she had to pay total attention to him.
How am I going to turn him over? She thought suddenly. How am I supposed to roll him over? I have to get him on his stomach so I can deal with those other wounds. I don't think I can turn him, not as weak as I am.
He solved her problem easily – he woke up.
Bronze eyes rimmed with crimson snapped open. She would've screamed, but the only sound that managed to escape her was a breathless squeak of fear. She jerked away from him.
Black lips pulled back in a snarl. Her eyes went wide. A pale hoof shot out. A golden halo of magic wrapped around her throat, and began to squeeze.
.
The phone rang, making the pegasus known as Zephyr Breeze jump a mile high. He glanced at it and saw it was one of his sister’s friends calling. He flipped the cell open and said, "Hey, Twi—I mean, Princess Twilight."
"This is not Twilight Sparkle, Zephyr Breeze.” The voice that spoke was cool and rich, velvety as a midnight sky. He knew who it was instantly. “I fear your sister Fluttershy is in danger."
Well, that would explain the nervous tension. For the last few hours, he'd been pacing back and forth in the salon, ice cold and unable to get warm, with a strange, restless tension building in his joints and a wicked headache brewing at the base of his skull. And now Princess Luna herself had called to tell him that his sister was in some kind of trouble.
"What kind of danger?"
"I am not certain. The former Guardians of the Elements are searching for her, but I sought the true sight found in dreams. In my dream, a pack of glass wolves chased a bleeding pink butterfly, and a huge white alicorn shattered the wolves. Zephyr Breeze, you're in Neigh York, are you not? In Manehatten, where I was told Fluttershy was seen last. You are her brother. Can you find her?"
"I’ll try," he said, and hoped he could manage it.
For the Gossamer Rose of Antequus
Torn Between Honor and Heart's Desire
Red-washed molten bronze eyes snapped open. Fluttershy would've screamed, but the only sound that managed to escape her mouth was a breathless squeak of fear. She jerked away from him. Black lips pulled back in a snarl. Her eyes went wide. A pale hoof shot out, and a cloud of amber magic wrapped around her throat and began to squeeze.
The air exploded from her in a wheezing choking sort of gurgle. Desperately trying to suck in air, she gasped, but nothing would come. Her heart slammed against her ribs. Breathlessly, she managed to choke out, "Wait... wait. I'm trying to help you. Remember?"
"You are mortal," he snarled. His voice wavered. She could see exhaustion and fever clouding his eyes. See the pain in him. "Why would... would... you help me?"
She could only make a gurgling sound in her throat as his magic bit into her neck. Enbhárr watched the pegasus through somewhat blurry eyes as her mouth gawped like a fish, as her hooves scrabbled weakly at the magic wrapped around the slender mortal throat. Her lips slowly began to turn bluish-green through her cream-yellow coat.
"Answer me," he demanded. She made a choked noise, and the alicorn relaxed his enchanted grip by a fraction, to allow her to speak.
"I helped... you escape... remember? I'm not the enemy," the mare wheezed.
"Why help me?" Enbhárr growled, and tried to shake her. It did not work, but she closed her eyes as tears rolled down her cheeks. Sharp ears heard the pounding of her empty black heart. The immortal could practically taste her nauseating fear. "Tell me!" He growled, and she flinched. Filthy mortal coward.
"You saved me from the diamond dogs," Fluttershy gasped. Opened her mouth to say more, snapped it shut.
"And?"
"It's... it's the right... thing to do... please... please let go..."
The alicorn prince suddenly released her as dizziness washed over him and the strength left his limbs. A strange burning was spreading across the back of his thigh and through his right side. Nausea rose up sharp and swift in his belly—a reminder of the poison and iron-sickness in his body.
The terrified mare scuttled backwards like lightning, gasping for breath as she huddled as far away from him as possible. Her eyes were glassy with terror. Even with his vision blurred and her hooves cradling her throat, he could see the brilliant vermillion marks his magic had left against her skin. He had not meant to do quite so much damage. Illness and pain had stolen a measure of his control.
"Very well," he muttered, looking away from the marks at her throat. "See to my wounds, then."
A soft keening whimper came to him from the corner in which she cowered, but that was all. She did not move, or speak, but only stared at him, eyes wide, unblinking, panting with fear. He loathed the stench of mare's fear. Had loathed it ever since... The alicorn tried to gentle his tone.
"I thought you were my enemy," he said by way of explanation. It galled him to have to explain to a disgusting mortal pony, but it was the only way. He could feel the blood seeping from his body with every beat of his heart. Ignoring the vile taste the words left in his mouth, he added, "I mean you no harm, mortal, if you mean none to me." Not quite a lie. Not quite the truth. "Now continue with what you were doing."
Trembling, Fluttershy shook her head, still whimpering.
"You were... quite... keen on aiding me a few moments ago," he replied to her silent negation. He tried to keep his voice calm. Frightening the wretched mare further would not aid him in any way.
If it cries to you that it hurts, if you can, ease its pain , a voice in Fluttershy's mind whispered, a breath of memory. She could only blink once, the lone reaction to her brain's promptings, and continue to struggle to breathe. She shuddered, feeling like a wild animal caught in a trap. Her body refused to stop shaking, and her teeth chattered as if she were cold. Doubtless, if she'd attempted to speak, she'd have bitten her tongue.
"Can you not speak, mortal?" Enbhárr was losing patience now. His voice, usually cold as arctic winds, took on a searing bite that lashed his unwilling companion to her bones. Body aching, wounds burning, feverish, muscles cramping mercilessly, head pounding, and limbs weak, he snarled at her, "Speak! "
Ease its pain... oh, my goodness. Someone, help me... someone. Anyone. Maelstrom and Mistralia, help...
Warmth from the magical remnant of her Element spread through her, easing some of the mindless animal panic, pushing back memories of other magic wrapped around her throat. Only when she was a fraction calmer did she reply. "You just tried to strangle me," Fluttershy reminded him in a quivering voice. At least she hadn't stuttered.
"Ah. It speaks." The ice-cold voice was laced with venomous sarcasm.
One trembling hoof swiped at the tears on Fluttershy's face, while the other gently explored the flesh of her throat, which was already beginning to swell. She had to get control, had to pull herself together. Biting her lip, she acknowledged that she couldn't afford to lose it here. Not right now. Not ever , gosh darn it. She would never break again. Not after last time. There was too much at stake in her life. Struggling for calm, aquamarine eyes fought to meet a glacial gaze like dark topaz as she drew in a ragged breath and said, "You can't move anymore."
"What? " That one word was suffused with such hatred.
"Not like that," she whispered, voice trying to fail. Swallowing, she went on, "One more move like that, and I'm out of here, okay?"
"Cowardly mortal wretch."
"Look, Your Highness, you scare me to death, okay? That doesn't make me a coward, that just proves I know you could kill me with one hoof tied behind your back if you wanted to." She was babbling, but somehow, she couldn't force herself to stop. It was either babble or start shrieking hysterically. "And I don't want to die trying to help someone who's just going to kill me for no reason other than I don't have pointy ears, snake eyes, or butterfly wings. I'm trying to help you. But you can't go choking the life out of me just because I poke you where it hurts. Now, promise me you won't do stuff like that anymore, okay?"
"I will make no promise."
Fluttershy almost screamed in frustration, but clamped it back behind her teeth. She couldn't force herself to go near him while he looked at her with such glittering menace. What if he did something awful to her? That was how the alicorn was looking at her now. Even as she realized this, a minute trembling began in her body, and she shivered again.
"Please?" She whispered desperately, staring at him with fearful eyes. "I... I can't... Your Highness, please? "
"Very well!" Enbhárr tried to shout, but it came out as more of a hoarse croak. The mortal cringed and whimpered. Enbhárr's head felt thick and throbbed mercilessly. "I vow that I shall not attack you so long as you are attempting to heal the damage done to my body. I will offer no harm to your person while you do this. Satisfied?"
"Swear it on Primordia," she commanded. The oath of an alicorn was enough for her... under normal circumstances. Most of the creatures of Antequus couldn't lie, unless they were royal. But these were not normal circumstances.
"I swear on Primordia, goddess of darkness, She Who Devours the Forsworn, that I shall not attack you so long as you are attempting to heal the damage done to my body. I will offer no harm while you do this. Now are you satisfied, mortal?"
Yeah. Yeah, she could be satisfied with that. She hadn't been sure that the oath to Primordia was actually a real thing, since so many things were distorted in myth, but Fluttershy knew what it was supposed to be, and no creature of Antequus would swear by it and lie. Never, ever, in a million years, for to swear such an oath and be lying about it was to condemn yourself to death. A really bloody, horrible death being consumed by the eternal and everlasting, living darkness of Primordia’s realm.
The thought terrified her. She closed her eyes, and prayed silently, Maelstrom and Mistralia, I don't think I can do this. I'm so scared. Help me. Just... anything. Anything you can give me would be good. Help me be calm. Help me be strong. Please. I can't do this on my own.
Fluttershy swallowed a half-sob as a soft breeze brushed against her neck and a strange, sweet pain hit her chest. For a moment, she allowed herself to feel comforted, almost safe. Then, turning back to the supernatural stallion that had saved her life, the doctor's professionalism settled over her like a well-worn, favorite coat or foal's security blanket.
"Um... excuse me," she murmured, scrubbing at her eyes with the back of one hoof, attempting to avoid getting blood in her eyes. It sort of worked. Instead, it smeared across her eyebrows and down one cheek. Darn it, she was tired, but she had to do this. He needed help. If he died... she couldn't let him die. So many of them had already died...
If it cries to you that it hurts, if you can, ease its pain...
He was ignoring her now. Slowly, she crawled back to his side. "Excuse me." Fluttershy touched his shoulder lightly to bring his attention to her. His copper eyes slashed to her face, and she jumped, trembling anew. "Your Highness, I-I need you to roll over, really slow. I have to get the bullet in your thi-"
"It went through," he mumbled, and grabbed her foreleg, brought her hoof to the bloody, ragged hole a few inches above his knee. He hissed when the edge of her hoof made contact. She gasped and jerked her hoof away, shaking. "It will heal," he added, and sat up slowly. She swallowed hard when his eyes fell on her again. "You are injured."
"Just... let me stitch you up." Please, she added silently. You're freaking me out. "I'm worried about you."
"You... are worried for me?" He repeated woodenly. He blinked, confused. Growled, "Why?"
"You have a bunch of gaping holes and some bullets in you, not to mention a stab wound and a slashed ankle—possibly a nicked Achilles tendon—that are both still bleeding, and you want to know why I'm worried? Look, Highness, I can't wait for you to pass out from blood-loss before I treat you because I don't know how long I can stay conscious, and you might forget your promise and try to kill me again, so please just let me do this and I'm babbling again. Ignore the babbling and do what I say, okay? Please? Please?"
He stared at her for a long moment, puzzled by the earnestness in her mutilated face, which conflicted with the fear in her eyes. Then the alicorn prince had to take a moment to process her long, rapid stream of words and make sure he actually understood what she wanted before he carefully rolled over onto his stomach, legs splayed, stifling the groan of pain that wanted to escape from behind his clenched teeth. She heated the tweezers over her lighter again, wishing she had the means or even the strength to do this properly. When the metal was starting to singe her hoof, she sucked in a breath between clenched teeth and plunged the instrument into the wound, where she saw the gleam of the bullet. He grunted in pain, and she felt tears pricking her eyes.
She hated this. She hated it.
Fluttershy got the bullet out of his leg, as well as the one in his side. She had to fight not to be ill. This only worked because she didn't have enough energy to vomit. It didn't help that she also pulled a sliver of bone out of the wound, too. Apparently the bullet had chipped a rib.
"Okay... um... got it!" She cried, and dropped that bullet beside the others and the slivers of arrowhead and bone lying in a small splash of residual blood on the floor. "Okay, lemme just stitch you up. Hang on." Reheating the needle, she bit her tongue as the silvery needle bit into his flesh and went through. When the sight of the open wound and the threaded needle grew blurry, she would pause for a moment, blinking to clear her vision. Her head was nearly nodding over her work, and everything burned and ached, but luckily she never jabbed him, only herself, jolting herself back to full wakefulness every time.
"How are we doing, Your Highness?" Fluttershy murmured softly as she wiped some of the blood from his skin.
Enbhárr turned his head to regard the mortal mare over his shoulder. He had been sliced, stabbed, and shot with arrows and bullets. Iron and lead oozed added toxicity into his blood with every beat of his heart. Instead of being taken to an alicorn healer in Eimane Ablach like his sister undoubtedly had been, he had to make do with this stupid, inane pegasus who babbled like a half-wit and resorted to primitive surgery to heal wounds inflicted on her behalf. And she wanted to know how he was doing? While she stabbed, poked, and prodded him with metal implements and burned his wounds with fire?
"Are you mad?" He demanded. And what was this "we" business?
"I need to get your ankle," the mortal whispered, voice gentle, ignoring his question of her sanity. Her hooves were trembling. She didn't know how she was going to do this when she was on the edge of exhaustion, when only dreamy shock kept her from mad hysterics, but it needed to be done, and it was going to hurt him more than anything else had so far. The idea made her shake. She didn't want to hurt him. Fluttershy hated hurting any creature.
What if he hurt her?
"I would rather reserve my strength at the present moment, so if you would be so obliging as to move towards my hind hooves..." She could have seen his sarcasm if she'd been blind. Her hooves began to shake even worse.
Fluttershy obligingly crawled to his hoof and lifted it carefully, ignoring the muttering noises her patient was making under his breath, though she heard the words "mad" and "lunatic" a couple times. His hoof jerked out of her hold when she touched near the wound. The alicorn clenched his teeth, forcing his limb to stillness. Fluttershy bit her lip as she lifted his hoof and positioned it between her knees as she carefully pulled back the skin on either side of the slash wound to reveal the tendon. His leg tensed tightly, and she knew she was hurting him. When her searching gaze saw that the tendon was not severed, or even scratched, she gave a shuddering sigh of relief. For a moment, she forgot her mind-numbing terror as the full implications of the wound set in her brain. Their situation could have been so much worse, but his ankle was fine, which meant nothing here wasn't fixable by primitive field medicine.
Oh, thank goodness, she breathed silently, head bowed, before she hastily checked the muscles for any serious damage and then began to stitch the wound closed. As she worked, she told him, more to keep herself calm than to inform him of anything, "I was scared that they'd damaged your Achilles tendon. I wouldn't have known how to repair that kind of damage," she added. "Not with what I have on me. But they didn't. It's just the position of the wound that's making it hard to walk."
"That is well, then," her patient said faintly. He sounded exhausted. The fear began to melt away again, just a little.
Finally, she was finished stitching. She cut the thread, shoved her tools aside, and flopped down on the floor as far away from him as her tired body could manage, sighing. Her entire body ached. Fluttershy only wanted to lie down and sleep for a year, or maybe forever. But more than that, she wanted a shower. How she was going to manage that in a mystical hideaway beneath the Manehattan subway, she had no idea. How she was even going to get up to move, she didn't know either.
Fluttershy noticed the alicorn looking at her scrutinizingly. She would've flushed, but didn't think she could, what with the blood-loss she'd suffered. Her head and face hurt, and her heart began to pound. "What?"
"You are injured," he reminded her as he slowly sat up. Did the mare not feel her own pain? Did she not feel her body crying out to her for peace, for numbness? "The wounds on your face need to be tended and-"
"I'm fine, Sire," she muttered, looking away. Don't remind him of weakness , she moaned to herself. Fake being fine. Lie. Do something! Don't give him a reason to attack! "You needed more help than I do."
"You are still bleeding."
"So are you," she whispered, aching to her bones. Her flesh itched, desperate for soap and hot water to wash the blood from her coat and feathers. Her eyes itched, desperate for sleep. But he promised, she reminded herself tiredly. He swore... on Primordia...
He glanced at the infuriating mortal as he got to all four hooves. His body throbbed, but already the wounds were healing. This place, saturated with healing magic, accelerated his already sped-up healing abilities. Far off and away amidst the hills of Eimane Ablach, in the hidden city of Tir neigh nOg, he could feel the palace healers working on his sister's wounds. Now that the bullets and arrowhead fragments had been removed, they would both heal quickly. He could limp. The flesh of his shoulder wound was slowly knitting back together, though he knew the stitching had been necessary. His ankle... well, he was not one-hundred-percent certain about how much damage there would be.
Fluttershy couldn't take it anymore. "I need to wash. You probably don't have running water in this place, but I..." She trailed off and looked at her hooves. They were caked with drying blood the color of antique gold. "I have to get this off -"
"Very well," he said only.
His muscles burned with fatigue and his wounds throbbed. The magic in the room, passive rather than active, did not numb the pain, though it slowly healed the injuries over time. But he knew that the creatures of Antequus who'd been tortured or ravished were always desperate to cleanse themselves of their attackers, of any reminder of the agony they'd endured. In this, it seemed, mortals were no different than alicorn-kind (though the idea of mortals and immortals sharing any similarities beyond the need to breathe and consume sustenance disgusted him).
So he found a pitcher, filled it with water from the bucket by the well, and found a basin and a wash cloth. "I have no mare's soap," he said coldly. "Nothing perfumed or soft."
The alicorn despised the fact that he felt he ought to make excuses for the Spartan way in which he lived. He was a warrior, a soldier, and had no need for luxuries. The two he allowed himself were for homesickness's sake. The portrait of his sister, his other half, and the quilt from his dead mother's own hooves, were the only pieces of home he had brought with him into exile besides his weapons. He need not apologize to her! She was nothing but a filthy mortal!
Enbhárr brought the basin down with an audible thunk , and the mare jumped with a startled gasp. Her reaction made him feel like a monster terrorizing a young filly, but he shoved the feeling down and away, ignoring it with all his strength. He poured the water into the pewter basin and tossed in a wash cloth. For a moment, he just looked at the water. Then muttering something under his breath, he glanced at the well, and steam began wafting upwards from the surface of the water in the basin.
Fluttershy blinked in surprise. How did he do that?
"I will turn my back. Wash yourself. I promise," he added, every word coated with killing frost, "that I will not look." His words dripped with scorn. Ignoring her, Enbhárr wrung his own cloth out and began scrubbing almost viciously at his thigh, which was crusted with dark golden blood.
The doctor in her surged into the foreground. "Stop! You'll reopen your wounds!"
"Do not dare even think to command me, mortal," the alicorn growled.
Fluttershy could feel the blood draining rapidly from her face, leaving her dizzy. She protested softly, "But...Highness, your wounds—"
"See to your own needs." His voice was like ice, and her heartbeat thundered like the drums of war. She heard the blood suddenly come rushing back through her head, and struggled to stand up. Fear or no, he was going to undo everything she'd just done if she didn't stop him.
"Sit down," she snapped, and grabbed the cloth. "Let me." He growled at her and moved to grab the wash cloth, but she snatched it back from him and snarled, "Let me! You could undo everything I spent the last several hours trying to repair. So hold still!" Her eyes were fear-bright, but she held onto her rage with all her strength, using it as a shield to hold back the hysterics.
In that moment, this mortal reminded him so strongly of his sister Epona as a foal, when they had both suffered injury and his twin had been insistent on seeing to him before herself. She reminded him also of Artaxa and Yukiuma. He surprised himself by barking a hoarse laugh and sinking into a chair, muttering, "Very well. As you wish, little mortal healer."
"And don't move, please, Highness," Fluttershy added. Huffing in irritation, she allowed her thoughts to sink back into numbness induced by routine. How many times had she sponged and wiped blood off of someone who could not be taken to the hospital for various reasons? Gang foals, young street trotters, runaways—and those were just the mortals. Then there were the arions, the breezies, the kelpies, and all the other magical creatures that came to her for healing. The familiar motions almost made her calm. Never mind that this all-too-male alicorn was eyeing her with a cold gaze like copper shards of ice. Dipping the cloth into the water, she began gently wiping off the blood from his leg wound. Her hooves shook a little, but she was still careful. He hissed when she touched the stitched bullet hole.
"Sorry," Fluttershy murmured. Her mane hung in her face, tacky pink strings greased by sweat and blood and things she didn't want to think about. "I'm trying not to hurt you, I promise. Just hold still. I'm nearly done." She was breathing shallowly when she moved between his blood-streaked thighs to clean the still-oozing wound in his belly, and he could hear every time she swallowed.
"I can do this myself," he informed her caustically. He noticed her face paling, her lips taking on a bluish-green tinge. She seemed to be holding her breath. He wished he could do the same—the stench of her blood and mortality made the iron-induced nausea in the pit of his stomach almost vicious.
"Begging Your Highness's pardon, but I don't trust you not to hurt yourself," she informed him with no little acid. “I can't tell if you're doing what you're doing to piss me off and make me act like the mortals you seem to know, or if you just want to die, or what. I don't care. I'm a healer; my duty here is quite clear. Until you either kill me or I'm able to walk out of here on my own, or until you're healed enough that you can carry me to the nearest hospital, I will not let you do yourself harm. You're already too thin," she added, glancing at the whipcord muscle clinging to his frame. "You're what, zero percent body fat? I don't think you eat right." She was babbling again, she knew it, but she couldn't seem to stop herself. It was like word vomit or something.
"You do not even know me," he said incredulously.
"I'm a healer. Trust me, I know some stuff," Fluttershy replied, focusing intently on the wound in his shoulder and the one on his arm. She saw the powder-whiteness of his skin; the faint amber lines of infection leading from the wounds; the tracery of blue veins beneath the flesh. She wondered how he had managed to avoid bruising, especially around his wounds.
As for Fluttershy, her entire right side, cracked ribs and all, was a mass of black and purple, and so was her face beneath the slashing cuts. "You are not healthy," she informed him in a clear, firm voice. Her doctor voice. It only quavered a little, which was great, because she needed it to hide behind. "I bet you don't sleep enough, either."
"I am a strong warrior—"
"Begging your pardon again, but even an alicorn's body must wear out eventually. You're speeding up the clock. You should rest more, Highness. You're working yourself too hard."
"You know nothing of what you speak," he snapped. How dare she imply that she, a mere mortal, could possibly understand the need for constant vigilance, agonizing preparation? What did she know of the people of Antequus and their struggle to survive in the world of the disgusting, vile mortals? The unofficial war between mortals and immortals made no allowances for personal weaknesses such as sickness or exhaustion, and neither could he.
She looked up at him for a moment, then said, "Back, please." When he was in position, she said softly, "I know a lot more than most ponies give me credit for." She began to clean the wounds on his back and the back of his thigh. "I know that the royal families of Antequus have princesses who are often powerful sorceresses. Their princes and noblecolts are great warriors... like you," she added, intent on her work. Her voice was slurring, but she did not seem to notice. "Valorous, courageous, strong, swift. Great tacticians who’ve fought many battles. And I know that the immortals of Antequus fear a war with the mortal creatures of Equus."
"How do you know this?" He demanded. How could she possibly?
"I hear things."
"But how do you hear them?"
"I know how to listen, Sire. I also know that the greatest warriors of Antequus will prepare for war because they fear it draws all too close. Remind you of anyone? I know about all these things. I also know that even the bravest, strongest, best warriors need time to rest. Constant vigilance, Your Highness," she added softly, "can lay you low more effectively sometimes than all of the enemies' tricks." And she put the cloth back in the bloody water and went back to where she’d been sitting.
She watched the alicorn dress in a black tunic-vest, nothing else on hoof to do. Even sick and wounded, shot full of holes and stitched up, he was still powerful enough, strong enough to move with savage, primal grace. He was also stupid enough that he was probably bleeding again. He wasn't acting hurt, when he should have been favoring his injured bits. He was acting as if he were in the peak of health.
He makes no sense, she thought, irritated. Pure tiredness was beginning to drown the icy ball of fear in her chest. Alicorn lord or not, he's being stupid.
The alicorn sank heavily into the chair by the table. He sighed and allowed his head to fall back. For a long time, there was silence. Fluttershy could hear the rushing of midnight subway trains, the velvet buzz of the big fluorescent lights flickering beyond the sanctuary, the thumping drum of her own heart against her ribs. She also heard the musical softness of the alicorn’s breathing, steady and even for the most part, but hitching every few moments, as if pain was sneaking up on him and attacking him from behind. The mortal mare watched him, drinking in the sight of him.
Proof, here was proof. She'd known, she'd always known, but ever since she'd come back from the changelings, the stronger magical creatures had mostly avoided her. Only the lesser of the faeries—little things like the breezies—had sought her out.
"We seem to find ourselves at an impasse," he said suddenly. She jumped, startled from her reverie. The act hurt. "You, a mortal, have saved my life more than once. I owe you a debt of honor. And at the same time, mortals are my sworn enemies and I loathe them and their depraved ways. Add to that that you have discovered one of my sanctuaries. Any other mortal, I would dispatch without a qualm. But you...I cannot."
Cannot? She thought, surprised. Why not?
It wasn't as if she could stop him. With the way he had wielded those brilliantly silver war axes, she knew he could kill her in seconds, even in his current condition. Even as she watched, the wound at his ankle was slowly scabbing over, as if hours of healing were only taking moments. She wondered if it was him, or something else. Since she felt better with every second—though nowhere close to a stone's throw away from halfway to semi-okay—she had to figure it was the room, or maybe the air. Something that affected them both.
"It pains me to say these things," he continued, almost as if talking to himself. "Mortals are prideful, greedy, hollow creatures and yet I owe my life to one, a terrible thought. And yet you are no ordinary mortal, are you? I know of no other who would risk life and limb for someone you do not even know, much less one of my kind; someone who looks as I do is obviously magical. You knew me for a prince of Antequus, yet you still sought to aid me. I cannot kill you. The mystery of it would drive me mad. What kind of mortal saves one of us?"
"I do," she mumbled bitterly. He didn't hear her words, only her voice's soft whisper.
"Silence. I'm not finished. Yes, it's certain that I cannot kill you. Yet you are a mortal. It is what you call a conundrum. I ought to kill you. My duty as a prince of Eimane Ablach requires it." He saw her eyes becoming bigger and bigger in her face. She looked like a frightened cat. If she'd had fur, it would have been standing on end. The damp feathers of her wings bristled. The terror in her eyes should have gratified him. Instead, it sent a shaft of discomfort through the prince. The mortal had saved him. More than once. "Yet my own honor requires I do not. What would you do in my situation?" He asked too-casually.
Her eyes nearly popped out of her head. Her? He was asking her?
"Me?" She squeaked, then added belatedly, "Sire." Her head hurt. Her brain was squealing like a frightened pig that this was a trap, that she was going to die, that he was setting her up. She remembered suddenly that his promise not to harm her had only extended until she was done tending his injuries.
"Yes," the alicorn said too softly. "I wish to hear your thoughts."
Enbhárr had to admit, he was baiting her. But...he hurt. His body ached, his wounds burned, his head throbbed, and he stank of mortal blood, both diamond dog and the pegasus’ "innocent" blood. It sickened him, angered him. And, even though it was indirectly, it was still her fault. He was taking it out on her unfairly, but in that moment he did not care. And another part of him wanted to see how tricky she could be. What kind of viper had he invited into his little nest, he wondered? How cleverly could she twist her words, and his? He did not trust her. He could not. Pegasus or not, she was mortal.
"Um..." Fluttershy sucked in her cheek, biting it in thought, trying to quell her panic. Pain lanced through her face at the action, and her face betrayed her. "Ow. Um..." She suddenly felt like the storyteller from 1001 Nights in Saddle Arabia , walking on eggshells with her words. "Well...a king—or a prince or a lord," she amended hastily, "without personal honor...cannot hope to be an honorable...um...ruler to his ponies...and a dishonorable one..." Blue eyes watched him warily, looking for a reaction. He only watched her, chin on his hoof. Where was I? She wondered, and remembered, Oh, yeah! A dishonorable ruler "brings shame to his kingdom."
His mouth twitched with somewhat wry amusement. It was a very diplomatic answer. Where had she learned such... skill?
Enbhárr suddenly narrowed his eyes in suspicion. When she shrank away from him, he felt like a monster again. Cursing silently, he tried to put a gentler expression on his face—or at least a more neutral one. He was treating her like a prisoner, when she had done nothing to deserve his enmity and everything to earn his gratitude. She made him feel as if he were torturing a fae foal, instead of manipulating an adult mortal.
The alicorn shook his head to clear it and wished he had not when his skull began to pound. He put a hoof to his forehead, trying to make sure all the pieces of his skull were still in their proper places. The nausea worsened until he was almost sure he'd be violently sick. Fortunately he managed to suppress the urge to retch. Showing weakness to a mortal would have been insupportable.
Fluttershy felt the tension drain out of her. The situation still had her scared, no doubt about that. But blood loss, trauma, and the late hour were finally taking a toll. She looked at him, and saw his intense scrutiny was no longer fixed on her.
"Begging Your Highness's pardon, but...now what?" She whispered, letting her head fall backward. Her voice was a worn thread of sound, on the verge of emotional and physical exhaustion. He glanced at her sharply. She was tired. So was he—so very tired.
Gently, though he did not know where such gentility came from, he said, "We will discuss it in the morning. You should sleep."
"I'd rather not, if it's all the same, Sire," she said simply. Enbhárr might have snarled at her—how dare she argue with him?—but he heard something behind her voice that made him nod once to her. She was like no other mortal he had ever met. What mortal would not relish the chance to sleep, to indulge in sloth?
Apparently, this one. Perhaps she feared dreams.
Or perhaps she feared him .
Author's Note
References Made in This Chapter:
Gawped is so a word. I promise. I know that's not a reference, but I just wanted to make sure everyone knew that.
The whole bit about Fluttershy helping Enbhárr being the decent thing to do was inspired by X-Men Origins: Wolverine . There's this whole thing with these really nice old people that help Wolverine and it's really cool and cute and it's the best part of the movie, really.
"If it cries to you that it hurts, if you can, ease its pain" was cited last chapter. It's going to be Fluttershy's mantra while dealing with Prince Prissy-Pants (yes, I'm talking about Enbhárr)
People might recognize the line "Just hold still" from Disney's Beauty and the Beast .
Word vomit is a concept from Mean Girls .
The line "hear the rushing of midnight subway trains" is a rehash of the line "I can hear that lullaby of the midnight train" from the country song "Boondocks" by Little Big Town. It's a beautiful song, actually, though a bit twangy.
The description of Fluttershy as a viper really was inspired by something. I was looking for a descriptor and couldn't think of one. Then I watched Sense and Sensibility and laughed my butt off at the part when Mrs. Ferrars screams, "Viper in my bosom!" at Lucy Steele.
I first heard that thing about "pieces of his skull" from Guilty Pleasures by Laurell K. Hamilton. I was never sure if she meant it as a feeling or literally, the person's skull was in pieces. %s��
