Author's Note

I've had this chapter on the assembly line as far back as November of 2018. I was going to upload this chapter after finishing chapter 3, but with the hiatus and all, eh. Currently unedited.

CH 4: Silvercrest

Gobrend Grasstalon

Gobrend crashed into the ground with a groan. His muscles ached, the wind ripped from his lungs. The manor’s courtyard served well as an arena: it was reasonably sized, with an excellent view of the dense, expansive Yaju Forest below and the Guto River cutting through the valley. It also provided the cover necessary to prevent errant passers-by from witnessing Eve beating Gobrend-shaped imprints into the stone.

Eve pressed the tip of a blunted sword to Gobrend’s throat, smirking. “I thought nobles were supposed to be good with swords, high-born.”

Gobrend scowled as he pushed himself up from the ground as much as the blade would allow. “Give me my crossbow and we’ll see how boastful you are, Knight.” He flicked the sword away from his neck. “What is the use of this anyhow? All I get are bumps and bruises at the end of every session, while you get to relish in every victory.”

Snorting, Eve offered Gobrend a hand, which he took after a second’s contemplation. Pulling him from the ground, she said, “It takes years of dedication and practice to become even partially competent in one-on-one combat, Gobrend. Swordplay takes even longer than that, so it’s no surprise your aristocratic flank is hitting the cobblestone more often than usual.” She brushed a speck of snow from his shoulder. “So lighten up, tough guy. Can’t expect perfection when you’ve only properly been at it for just over two months.”

“Yeah, yeah…” Gobrend shivered when a gust of wind bit at him, tightly wrapping his cloak around himself.

“That’s enough training for now,” Eve said. “Let’s get inside before I freeze my tail off. Gotta get ready for that―blech―noble’s party.”

Rolling his eyes, Gobrend took the stairs up to the manor proper, Eve at his side. Silkpyre View was modest as far as estates went. Most of its acres were hugged by the wilderness, and it had no great hall, serving as more of a small, fortified mansion than a true manor. Where Brocarius secured the funds to purchase and furnish the thing, Gobrend didn’t know, but he had a sneaking suspicion the pony was well-connected enough to comfortably purchase and maintain a petty kingdom if he so wished.

“Perhaps you’ll learn something about being a proper hen tonight, Eve. I understand your definition of ‘etiquette’ extends no further than your blade, but you must learn to at best tolerate civilized events.”

“Oh, and you’re civilized, high-born?” responded Eve, adjusting the fur cap atop her head. “The eccentric recluse who spends all his time isolating himself in the woods when he’s not burning down orphanages or whatever else it is you do?”

Gobrend set his jaw. “I adapt, Yvette.”

They approached the back door. When they stepped inside, Gobrend shook himself dry, causing Eve to flinch. “Hey, do you mind!”

Gobrend took off his green cloak, kneading the stiffness out of his lame wing. “Apologies, Eve. Archons above, this thing has been driving me mad…”

“Whatever. Watch where you do that next time.” Eve climbed the stairs. “I’m heading to my room to prep for the party. Stop by Brocarius’ office before you do anything; he wants to talk with you.”

Sighing, Gobrend picked up his cloak and achingly dragged himself up the stairs. He was greeted with an open lounge. Light of the falling sun streamed through the thin windows and breathed a spice of color and life into the otherwise ascetic, hushed entombment. Past the furniture, staunch Gryphonic craftsmanship born of the Yaju’s timber, which sat as silent sentinels, the crackle of wood in the fireplace and the unrelenting scent of pine permeating the room grounded the gryphon: It reminded him of home.

Gobrend smiled softly for a moment before adopting his usual expression of arrogant disinterest. Ignoring the stairs which led to the second floor, he climbed a post with the deftness of a jaguar, pulling himself over the railing and walking to his destination. Eve must have been in a hurry, as she was nowhere in sight.

The candles lighting the hallway walls chased away the stretching shadows, but allowed a comfortable gloom to settle over the various muted grays and browns. Gobrend’s steps were softened by the carpet which stretched down the hall, and soon enough he stood before Brocarius’ study.

Gobrend rapped upon the door. One, two, three. He waited a moment, and just as he raised his hand to knock once more, a muffled, “Enter,” sounded from within.

Gobrend took a deep breath, releasing it slowly before grasping the handle and pushing open the door. On the other side was Brocarius, seated at his desk with his nose buried in a news article. His study was a cramped space: an escritoire sat before the window; a shelf stacked with books rested along the back wall. Anything with a flat plane and four legs to separate it from the floor was crowded with parchments, candles, chests, and other inconsequential miscellany. A fire hazard, in Gobrend’s mind, but one that was not his problem.

The curtains were drawn, revealing the light snowfall, and the walls were decorated with paintings and furs and lanterns which attracted buzzing gnats. There was a fireplace tucked cozily away right next to the entrance, with two soft-padded chairs separated by a stand. Gobrend inhaled, finding himself slightly relaxed by the damp musk, not unlike that of an old library, that clung to the air. He never tired of this room.

“Don’t just stand there. Come in, come in!” Brocarius urged from behind his desk. As Gobrend stepped inside, Brocarius pointed at one of the chairs before the fireplace. “Take a seat, Gobrend. I’ll be right with you,” he said, turning to a new page with a small frown.

“What troubles you, Brocarius?” Gobrend asked as he headed for the fireplace to warm his bones. “Judging by your expression, the headlines must be horrifying.”

“More like captivating,” muttered Brocarius, running a hoof through his mane.

“And what would the cause for your captivation be, then?” Gobrend ruffled his feathers as he settled. “Has Saddle Arabia finally lowered their ridiculous prices on their Fire Lime spices? Or are you simply perusing some seditionist’s piece about this month’s blood-soaked revolution in some nameless distant land?”

“Have you been paying attention to the goings-on in Canterlot?”

“Only as much as I’ve been paying attention to the goings-on anywhere else for the past year or so. I’m unsure if you’re aware, Brocarius, but slavery is busy work.” Brocarius gave Gobrend a blank stare. Rolling his eyes, Gobrend said, “The last big thing to echo from Canterlot to my ears was of the failed foalnapping attempt on Celestia’s protégé a few years ago.”

“How much do you know about that?”

Gobrend shrugged. “There are rumors that Celestia sicced a monster summoned from the bowels of Tartarus itself to sniff the offenders out. Grisly story, really: the foalnappers were reportedly ripped apart by the beast, not one spared.” Gobrend looked at Brocarius with suspicion. “Why, is there another monster out there tearing through your kin like amateurly-weaved kerchiefs as of late?”

Brocarius raised his brow, placing the newspaper on his desk. “We rarely operate within Equestrian borders, Gobrend, and we certainly wouldn’t risk compromising ourselves in the seat of Celestia’s authority of all places. There is only one Knight in Canterlot at the moment. No, whoever carried out that foolhardy attempt had no ties to us. How did you come to learn of it?”

Gobrend flicked his talon. “I’m sure that story made rounds in every realm when it occurred. It was far too surreal to ignore.”

“Surreal is a word for it.”

“Ah, yes, you described it as ‘captivating.' ”

“Princess Celestia’s ‘monster’... he truly is shaking up Canterlot’s status quo,” Brocarius said, his eyes scanning the news once more. “He has been since he popped up. How much control she has over him is questionable, but from the reports and what I’ve heard, he acts as a guardian of sorts.”

“A guardian? Why on earth would Celestia appoint a dangerous beast with the temperament of a wyvern as a guardian to her?”

Brocarius shook his head. “No, not her guardian, but her student’s.”

Gobrend’s eye twitched for a moment before he barked out a laugh. “Madness! Absolute madness! I’m expected to believe Equestria’s beacon of justice would allow a rabid animal anywhere near her subjects, let alone her own pupil?”

“It makes sense in a twisted way. Would you be willing to face such a creature to get to a filly?” Brocarius said. Gobrend’s laughter stopped. “He has the Solar Guard in uproar with his antics and, most curiously, since he’s appeared there have been numerous groundbreaking advances in Equestrian medicine and technology that are absent of magic entirely.

“Whatever this thing is, I can’t place my hoof on his objective. He’s so… so fascinating! So chaotic!” He gathered a kettle and two tea cups, rounding his desk with an uncharacteristic bounce in his step. “He’s just what the sleeping nation of Equestria needs.”

At Gobrend’s stunned silence, Brocarius hemmed into his hoof, composing himself once more as he placed the tea cups on the stand between their chairs and poured a sweet-smelling herbal tea into the two of them. Plopping himself down onto his seat, Brocarius grabbed his cup, motioning for Gobrend to do the same. As Gobrend picked up his cup, Brocarius drained his, ignoring the scalding heat before refilling it immediately. “But I digress. We’re not here for me to gush over Princess Celestia’s servant; we’re here to talk about you.”

Gobrend blew his tea, taking a small sip. “This is about the upcoming party, I presume?”

Brocarius nodded. “You presume correctly, Gobrend.”

“Well, what of it? Are you afraid a dress would fit that bladed whirlwind Eve about as well as a bonnet fits a timberwolf? Because I’m not dressing up in her place. One time was enough for me in that regard.”

“You’d be quite convincing if you were to try, but no, this is no talk of apparel. This is about Clan Ironrath.”

Gobrend’s talons tightened around his tea cup. Leaning in, Gobrend said in a carefully level tone, “Is this what that talk about Celestia’s pet was building to?”

Smiling, Brocarius said, “Perceptive, Grasstalon. Like the princess’ newfound servant, we are going to shake things up in Silvercrest, see what comes loose.”

“And how are we meant to do that?” Gobrend asked. “We hold no recognizable influence.”

“Oh, ye of little faith. I’ve not been wasting my time since we’ve arrived, Gobrend. The Ironraths know our name, and that’s something. We’re still unknowns, though; that will be our greatest advantage.”

“And our greatest detriment.”

“There is far more to be gained, my friend, from the veil of facelessness.”

Gobrend raised his brow. “Meaning…?”

“Meaning we have an opportunity to swiftly cement ourselves into the highest ranks of Silvercrest’s elite. And that opportunity is tonight.”

“Beating around the bush is all well and good, but where do I fit into this, Brocarius?”

“Good question. You will be acting as a travelling healer, one who is tagging along with Eve, Query and I under contract. The granddaughter-in-law of the Ironraths mothers an ailing son, I’ve learned, and so your job will be to get into their good graces and nurse him to health while I work to build rapport with the lords.”

Gobrend’s eyes widened. “She has a cub…?” Brocarius nodded, eyeing him curiously. Shaking his head, Gobrend continued, his throat tight. “And what am I to do about that, Brocarius? I’m better suited for other tasks.”

“You’re selling yourself short, Gobrend. You may not be a healer, but the fact that you and the filly under your watch managed so well for so long in ashflake-sodden mines tells me you know more than you let on.”

Gobrend cracked a small smile. “Look what good my help did.”

“Have a little faith, Gobrend. Another dead foal will do nopony any good.” Brocarius stared into Gobrend’s narrowed eyes as he said that, taking another sip from the cup in his hoof. His expression was neutral. “At this stage, that foal’s well-being is of utmost importance. I’ve had my assistant concoct a general all-around potion that will target and strengthen his immune system.”

“The witch? You had the witch create the potion?”

“Don’t let your prejudice jeopardize our mission. You may not like it, but she is a Knight, same as Eve and I. And she is one of the most talented apothecaries alive.”

“I’d sooner have him fed poison than allow him to consume anything she’s brewed!”

“Then why don’t you?” Gobrend clicked his beak shut at that. “If you cannot nurse the young lord to health yourself, then you’ll use the potion. Is that understood?” After a moment of thought, Gobrend gave one hesitant nod. “Excellent! That will be all for now, Gobrend. Go and get cleaned up; you smell like sweat and cobblestone.”

Gobrend groaned, thinking back to his painful sparring session with Eve as he turned to leave.

“It’s unlike you to hold back...” Brocarius muttered. Gobrend’s eyes snapped back to the pony, Brocarius staring into his tea cup as though he would find his answers at the bottom.

Since it appeared their business had concluded, Gobrend, no less perplexed by the odd statement, took his leave.

Later that night, the ascending city of Silvercrest quaked with life. It had been an hour-long flight from Lavenderblade Hill, but the quartet of Knights had at long last arrived to the gates of Castle Black Crescent. The lights of the looming Great Keep, indeed the lights of every house of the district within, defiantly pierced the darkness of the looming Mare in the Moon. Black Crescent appeared to be carved out of the very chain of the Splinter Mountains itself. It was a compact, regal thing, formed of stone and Heartland-imported bloodwood oak, leading down through taiga to the Guto River.

Street lanterns shattered the shadows to reveal brilliant flags bearing King Fulryn Greygleam’s heraldry: a base of tangerine and gold, split horizontally through the middle, with one blazing bull of the opposing color on each division of the flag; the sigils of houses Ironrath, Ashtide and Lovequarrel proudly adorned poles and homes alongside the king’s colors.

Several carriages, all holding notable passengers, landed on the cobblestone streets. Gobrend fought the bitterness he’d grown accustomed to down, his good wing fluttering as they were brought down to earth and away from the soaring skies all too soon.

Resting his chin on a fist with an inaudible sigh, Gobrend turned his attention to the streets in search of a distraction, his blood chilling in his veins as he saw Fulryn’s own at every corner and on every rooftop, scanning the gathered crowd. Their presence only grew as the carriage approached its destination.

He tensed, talons twitching when a black set of claws pressed against his shoulder. “Gobrend?” Eve said. “Hellooo? Earth to high-born!”

“Yes, yes! I heard you the first time!” Gobrend said, shrugging off Eve’s hand and turning to glare at the pale gryphon. She wore a recently-buffered steel breastplate, absent of decoration and with the ginger pelt of a fox draped over it, over a black woolen coat, with her trusty sword in its scabbard by her side. She appeared undisturbed by Gobrend’s outburst. “What,” he hissed.

Eve pointed to the other pony in the cart sitting next to Brocarius. Saccharine Query jumped in her seat, the red-eyed mare timidly waving a cloven, peach-colored hoof. “U-Uh… Just checking if your attire is to your liking, Mr Grasstalon…” Gobrend stared at her for a moment.

Just as Query began to shift uncomfortably under Gobrend’s gaze, Brocarius sighed. “Please be nice to Ms Query, Gobrend.”

Looking down to his green tunic, fastened with a sash of lilac dye, Gobrend said, “It’s rather plain, but serviceable nonetheless, I suppose.”

“Gobrend…” Brocarius said warningly.

Huffing, Gobrend pulled his cloak over him to fight off the chill of the air. In a perfectly polite tone, he said, “It is to my satisfaction, madam,” before turning back to stare outside. Query nodded, her blonde bun bouncing as she hastily added a few notes to a lengthy piece of parchment.

Brocarius frowned at Gobrend, adjusting his cravat as they approached the gate to the estate. “Alright, everypony, put on your game faces,” he said as the carriage rolled to a stop.

A Ironrath guard knocked on the door, Gobrend unlocking it and allowing the guard to pull it open. Everyone in the carriage except for Eve shivered as a cold gust of wind blew in to nip at their flesh.

The Ironrath slowly scanned everyone in the carriage, two others checking beneath it. “Who the bloody hell are you lot?”

“I am Brocarius, Lord of Silkpyre Hall.” Brocarius gestured at the rest of his entourage. “And this is my family.”

The Ironrath snorted, spitting on the floor of the carriage. Eve had her talons on her sword in an instant, and Gobrend had surreptitiously drawn a dagger from beneath his cloak, both glowering at the grunt’s blatant display of disrespect. Brocarius gestured for them both to calm themselves, and they both took their seats, still glaring at the guard, who smirked at them before turning to Brocarius. “I’ve ‘alf a mind to send you lot packing.”

“We are Lord Ironrath’s guests. Considering he’s expecting us, I believe he would be very disappointed if he found we were turned away at the front gate.”

“What makes you think he’ll care about losing the company of a couple o’ ponies? He’s more like to give me a goat’s leg and a tankard!”

Before Brocarius could speak, Gobrend said, “What is your name, guard?”

“What’s it to you, prawn?”

Brocarius gave Gobrend a warning glance, but it went ignored. “Your despicable behavior reflects very poorly on your lord, and while he may allow such disrespect, I will not tolerate your filth!”

“You can turn around and get your arses out, then!” the Ironrath said, chortling.

Gobrend narrowed his eyes. “You will learn how to speak to your betters, you insufferable―”

Eve placed a hand on Gobrend’s shoulder, silencing his rant.

“Woah, woah, what is the issue here?” a voice called out. The guard went rigid a moment, saluting as a red-plumed Greygleam flew down next to the carriage, followed by two other guards.

“S-Sir Waxfury!” he cried, turning a cunning eye to the passengers in the carriage. “These fellows have been causin’ trouble. They even insulted Lord Ironrath!”

Sir Waxfury’s expression turned to that of iron. “Is that so?” He looked inside the carriage. The moment his eyes connected with those of Brocarius, he gasped. “Count Silkpyre!” he said in a friendly tone, bowing. “I was not expecting to run into you so early.”

Brocarius chuckled. “It’s a joy to see your face again, Sir Waxfury.”

“No, no, please. Just Victor is fine, Excellency.”

“Of course, Victor.”

Sir Waxfury, still smiling, rose from his bow. “You must forgive my rashness, my lord. Might I ask what this incident was about?” he asked, his warm gaze turning cold for an instant when it met Yvette’s own before sweeping over everyone else. “Ulric mentioned an insult against Lord Ironrath.”

“Your ‘guard’ disrespected my lord, Sir Waxfury,” said Gobrend. “He was highly unprofessional.”

“You have my own apologies for this, good sir,” the knight said dismissively, not even sparing Gobrend a glance. “Please, forgive us for taking up so much of your time, Count Silkpyre. You will be right on your way,” he said to Brocarius, who nodded.

“B-But, Sir―”, Ulric said.

“These are honored guests, Shadesong! I will not hear of another incident such as this tonight or it will be your hide. Am I understood?”

“O’ course, Sir,” said Ulric, lowering his head between his soldiers.

“Good. Now, I have one more round to make for the perimeter. Lord Inheritor Zasphir’s ceremony begins soon.” And with that, he took off.

“Would you still like to see our papers?” asked Brocarius after a moment.

“No need, milord. Go on in and make yourself home.” With one final glare cast at Gobrend, one that was returned in kind, Ulric shut the door and waved them off, going to check the carriages lined up behind them.

“Ulric…” Gobrend murmured, storing the name away in his memory.

A moment after the carriage began moving once again, a pair of hands grabbed Gobrend by the collar and pressed him against the wall. “Okay, what the hell was that, Gobrend!” Eve demanded.

Gobrend winced when his head collided with the wood. “What do you mean!?” he said, wrapping his hands around her wrists.

Eve bashed him against the wall once more. “Which one was it, high-born? Which blow to the head turned you into such an utter idiot!”

Saccharine Query hopped out of her seat, trembling. “P-Please stop, Eve! Hurting him won’t accomplish anything!”

“He nearly sabotaged everything before we even passed the gate, Carrie! For pride, this moron almost brought us right back to square one!”

“I was only defending Brocarius!” Gobrend protested.

“By what? Dragging his reputation through the muck?”

“Damn it all, Eve, that filth at the gate was already doing that!”

“And you couldn’t keep a level enough head to realize he was goading us. You fell right for the trap of a damn nobody!” Eve said, slamming Gobrend against the wall.

“I… No, I― I just…” Gobrend’s eyes widened for a moment before he began squirming in earnest. “L-Let me go, you crazy hen!”

“Are you two done?” Brocarius asked, rubbing his temple.

Eve stared at Gobrend, the smaller gryphon unable to meet her gaze. “Brocarius, he’s a loose cannon. We should leave him at the manor or cut him off entirely if he’s going to pick fights with everyone he runs into.”

“No!” Gobrend shouted. “I-I have to be here… I need this.”

“If you think you can win this battle on your own, Gobrend, I will cut you loose from this operation. Just say the word,” said Brocarius, adjusting his glasses. “You call me your lord? Then you will do my bidding and you will not step out of line as you just have. Just as you stated to that guard, everything an underling does reflects on his lord, and I will not have you risk everything at the smallest provocation. Do you hear me?”

Gobrend deflated in Eve’s grasp. “...Yes, my lord...”

Brocarius nodded, his face neutral. “Eve, let him go.”

Eve roughly pressed Gobrend against the wall before releasing him.

Saccharine Query lifted her hoof, opening her mouth as though to say something, but thought better of it when she looked at Eve, who was scowling at the floor, and Brocarius, who watched Gobrend for a moment before taking off his glasses and rubbing the space between his eyes.

After rubbing the sore spot on the back of his head, Gobrend silently went back to staring out the window at the approaching castle.

“In Fulryn’s name! Blood and Vigor!”

“Blood and Vigor!” chanted the assembled crowd.

“And for our lords and ladies, united in common cause under our king: Pierce the Heavens!”

“And Skewer the Stars!”

Gobrend raised his glass, emptying the wine surreptitiously into a nearby plant before pretending to down its contents. Pinkies up, of course; he wasn’t some Northborn savage. “Nationalistic fervor and mindless idol worship: lobotomization without the scalpel and spoon.”

“Simply marvelous, isn’t it?” a pompous voice said from his right, the noble clearly misinterpreting Gobrend’s muttering as he clapped and wiped a tear from his eye. “Long may Fulryn reign!”

“For the glory of the West! Long live the True Gryphonia, ha ha!”

“May his enemies tremble before him!” Gobrend said, a practiced smile carving its way onto his beak. He then muttered, “And may his ‘comrades’ remain fat, free and complacent.”

Eve elbowed him in the ribs for his crass remarks, but she couldn’t fight down a growing smirk. “I’m going to go find Brocarius and Carrie. Try not to do anything stupid while I’m gone, high-born,” she said, walking off and leaving him to sulk in the corner they had procured alone.

“Try not to do anything stupid, high born,” Gobrend mocked, miming her beak with exaggerated yapping motions of the hand. “Pfeh. I need no babysitter, you maddening nag. I am in my element…”

He looked around, finding himself alone and surrounded by countless strangers, any of whom could be conspiring against him, ready to kiss his throat with pointed steel. There were too many faces, producing too much noise.

He immediately felt exposed, as though he were being watched by both everyone and no one. He stilled his breath, eyes snapping from one face to the next as his talon wrapped around the dagger at his belt. The innocuous became threatening: a laughing, jolly face stretched to become sneering and derisive; the pouring of wine stung his ears as his senses sharpened, the steady flow like the trickle of water down damp tunnel walls. Gobrend felt the world gradually compress, and the walls warped, ready to constrict him.

“Greetings, stranger,” a soft, sultry voice said. Gobrend’s mounting panic dissolved in an instant, his tail no longer whipping around in agitation, but a cold sweat still caressed his brow. His attention was captured by an approaching, stunningly beautiful gryphon, sleek in form and modest in dress.

She was a proud creature, one with grace befitting her stature. Gobrend was captivated by her eyes, her emerald, distressingly familiar, eyes. It was as though he was placed under a spell. He fought the urge to flee, to flee and get as far away from her as possible. “I pray you do not mind my disturbance, sir. I am Taliana Ironrath.”

Brocarius mingled with the Silvercrestian elite, wearing a practiced smile. This was the most boring part of any assignment, but it was the most important as well. Even gryphons dallied in diplomacy where it suited them instead of going straight for the jugular of adversaries. Disappointing. They’d always given him the impression of being more candid than the other races, and they certainly were in most respects, but he was still a bit underwhelmed. This was just like every other noble’s party. Some things were universal, he supposed.

His daydreaming was interrupted when a claw tapped on his shoulder. He noticed the visiting minotaur artisan who was loudly posturing at him and everyone within speaking distance as he half-listened while smiling and nodding had also gone quiet for the first time since the festivities had begun, his eyes wide and staring over Brocarius’ head. Turning to find Eve, a bread roll stuffed in her beak as she chewed noisily, Brocarius gave a questioning glance. Eve simply pointed behind him.

Approaching was an elderly gryphon―a short cane in his grasp―and a plump gryphoness, both elaborately dressed and beset by armed guards. These two were none other than Lady Lovequarrel and Lord Ironrath himself. Brocarius exchanged a few whispers with Saccharine Query, who nodded as she scratched something down onto a scrap of parchment, before he walked to meet the two Talons.

Giving a polite bow, Brocarius said, “Lord Ironrath. Lady Lovequarrel.”

“Oh ho ho!” Lady Lovequarrel exclaimed, her tone jolly. Her voice had a musical lilt, motherly in quality. “So this is the one I’ve heard so much about. I must say, Count Silkpyre, I was not expecting a pony.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to expect such a thing, my lady,” said Brocarius.

“You simply must allow me to take you on a tour of our great city, Count. Ooh, I’ve always wanted to show a pony the highlights of my home!” she gleefully said, bouncing up and down. Suddenly, her cheerful disposition fell into one of seriousness, and, leaning forward, she whispered conspiratorially, “Except the more… uncouth rungs of our society, of course.”

“I will keep that in mind, Lady Lovequarrel,” Brocarius promised, reaching out a hoof. “It is good to finally meet you in the flesh.”

Ignoring his hoof, Lady Lovequarrel pulled Brocarius into a warm, feathery hug, “The pleasure is all mine, Silkpyre!” She released him, smiling as she appraised his flustered form with a cunning glint in her eye. “You did not tell me he was quite so fetching, Byric. Why have you been keeping this one a secret?”

Lord Ironrath, who had been watching everything with quiet amusement, chuckled. “Do not mind Lady Lovequarrel, Count. This she-devil adores getting a rise out of others and nothing more.”

Lady Lovequarrel gasped, pressing a hand against her generous bosom. “My lord, I’m aghast! This is how you treat a fellow Talon?”

“The day you behave yourself in accordance with your station is the day age takes me, Penelope. With this in mind, I divine I shall live forever.”

“Oh, hush. What would you do without me, you old grouch?”

“At any rate,” Lord Ironrath said, looking at Brocarius, “it is good that you have arrived with little difficulty, Count. Although, I hear there was an incident at the front gate involving one of your servants…” He swept his gaze over Saccharine Query, who held the parchment in her hooves closer to her chest, and Eve, who continued disinterestedly stuffing bread rolls into her beak.

“It was of little issue, Lord Ironrath,” said Brocarius. “There was a misunderstanding between one of your guards at the gate and my underling.”

“Yes, the ‘Grasstalon’, I presume. Pray tell, where is he?”

“He is…” Brocarius glanced into the crowd to find Gobrend being led up the stairs by Lady Ironrath. His eyes narrowed. “...Around.”

“In spite of his recklessness, you see fit to allow him free reign? You have him on quite the long leash, Count Silkpyre,” Lord Ironrath said, frowning.

“With all due respect, Lord Ironrath, he was only acting in my defense.”

“You would insinuate that my gryphons are unfit for their duties, Count? That is to suggest I lack the competence to select those who represent the Ironrath name.” Lord Ironrath’s frown deepened. “I do not take kindly to insults within my own home.”

Brocarius’ expression became carefully neutral. “Lord Ironrath, I am under the belief that we are allies, if not friends. If you find what I say to be insulting, then consider the civility with which I have weathered your doubts to my judgment and how I treat my own servants. To insinuate that my servants are unfit for their duties is to suggest I lack the competence to select those who represent the Silkpyre name, so I am left to believe you exempt yourself when you insult others within your home.”

It was quiet for a long moment. Eve was tense, eyeing the guards at the sides of the Talons, and Saccharine Query was nervously whispering incantations as she hid behind the pale gryphon. For his part, Brocarius unflinchingly stared into Lord Ironrath’s cold eyes.

The tension surrounding them dissipated when Lady Lovequarrel giggled, fanning herself as an unladylike snort interrupted her growing laughter. “Oh ho ho, he has spunk, Byric. My heart’s just all aflutter. Bravo, dear, bravo!”

Stroking the greyed feathers on his chin, Ironrath squinted at Brocarius. “Agreed. I do ever respect a gryphon with grit, even if he be a nongryphon.” Finally, Lord Ironrath cracked a small smile. “I will leave you to your jollity, Count. And you have my sincerest thanks for acting in Ashtide’s place this eve. Now, excuse me, I must be by my grandson’s side for his promotion.”

As he turned, Brocarius had a thought. “Before you go, where is Master Ashtide? I was hoping to finally meet him.”

Lord Ironrath stopped in his steps, facing away from Brocarius. “He is… around,” he hissed. With that, he and two of his personal guards left Brocarius and Lady Lovequarrel, along with their assembled posses, alone.

“What does he mean by that?” Eve said.

Lady Lovequarrel, who appeared to have fallen into a daze, perked at the question. “Hm? Oh!” Looking between the three Silkpyres, she bit her beak, thinking. “I don’t suppose it’s my place to say, dear,” she said with an apologetic glance. “Now, I would love to continue this conversation, but I am just starving.” She looked to Eve, who was now wiping her butter-slickened talons off on her coat. “Dear, can you point out where they’ve hidden the confections? I swear, I’ll have to quarter someone if my drones keep purposely misplacing them to spite me.”

Eve straightened up, not expecting the noble to speak to her specifically, before pointing off in a corner. “They’ve set up the hors d'oeuvres on that table, the main courses over there, and the cakes and stuff next to the wine. I personally prefer the buttered bread rolls myself.”

“Oh ho ho! Splendid! I think I’ll have some of everything, then!” She bumped against Eve good-naturedly as she passed, giving her a thankful grin, one which Eve awkwardly returned.

“She’s cuckoo in the head, Brocarius,” whispered Eve when the jolly ball of aristocratic fluff and her guards disappeared into the crowd.

Saccharine Query smiled. “I like her. She’s nice.”

Brocarius shook his head, leading the two to the wine. That could have gone better, but it could have also gone much worse. He simply hoped Gobrend wasn’t doing anything stupid that might end up shafting them all.

“Where are we going, Lady Ironrath?” asked Gobrend.

“Please, Mr Grasstalon, just Taliana shall suffice. And in regards to our destination…” Taliana pushed open one of the glass-pane doors, sauntering outside before Gobrend could rush to hold it open for her. Wing fluttering, Gobrend looked both left and right before reluctantly following after her.

Taliana had already made herself comfortable, sitting down and leaning over the railing. If it weren’t for the twitch of her ear at his approaching steps, Gobrend would have guessed she’d already forgotten about him. He followed her gaze, staring up at the stars surrounding the Mare in the Moon. A companionable silence settled over them for a time.

“Beautiful, aren’t they?” Snapped out of his daze, Gobrend looked at Taliana, questioning whether the soft words uttered were simply the whispers of the winter breeze. She was resting her elbows on the railing, supporting her beak with her palms. “The sight never grows old. Simply breathtaking, don’t you think?”

Gobrend’s gaze fell to the courtyard, the gryphon twiddling his thumbs. “They’re lovely, my lady.”

“You think so?”

“...Why are we here, Lady Ironrath?”

“Well, that is a rather difficult question to answer, Mr Grasstalon. Stoics believe the strength of will and virtue to be what drives us on. Meliorists fancy the thought that we’re here to make the world a better place. Nihilists believe the question to be useless, as purpose does not exist.”

Gobrend pushed off the rail, pacing as he eyed the ground. “With all due respect, my lady, I believe you have misconstrued my query.”

Taliana allowed a subtle smirk to grace her face. “Whatever do you mean, Mr Grasstalon? My company does not bore you, does it?”

Gobrend took a deep breath, looking at Taliana, who now watched him closely. Gulping, he said, “My apologies if that is what it seems like, Lady Ironrath. I had no intention of insinuating such. But…”

Taliana waited patiently for a question that did not come. “You appear to be pale, Mr Grasstalon. Are you well?”

Gobrend sighed, leaning against the rail once more. He ignored the chill on the wind, saying, “I… am not much for small talk, my lady. I am sure you are a wonderful gryphon―and I congratulate you and your husband for his outstanding service to the Gryphon Coalition and the prestige it brings to your already distinguished name―but my talents lie not with the sharpness of my tongue. They lie with my talons.”

“Hmm.” A mischievous twinkle sparked in Taliana’s eye. “I don’t believe you.”

“M-My lady?”

“I don’t believe you are being very truthful with me, Mr Grasstalon. You think to fool me with your theatrics, but let me say your execution could use some work. Wonderful performance, otherwise!” she said, clapping.

Gobrend froze. “...I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

“Come, Mr Grasstalon,” Taliana said. “Let us try this again.”

Something clicked in Gobrend’s mind. The lady was pretty much saying to his face, “Get your act together, gryphon! This showing is pitiful!” without outright telling him to shut up. He wouldn’t survive another second in there if he kept this sad display up! It was with this knowledge in mind that Gobrend took a deep breath, loosened his grip on the bars of the railing, and, steeling his resolve, turned to this blessed gift from the heavens.

“Very well, Taliana,” he said, a frown on his beak that told of annoyance from being caught in the act. “We shall try this again. Agren’s bones, must you spoil my fun?”

“You were laying it on rather thick, Mr Grasstalon. Disbelief can only be suspended so far before it is bent out of shape.”

Gobrend snorted. “I suppose my technique requires a touch of refinement, then. Dreadfully sorry, my lady.”

“You had a question, sir?”

“Indeed I did, my lady: What is it that you require? I highly doubt you picked me out of the crowd out of coincidence or kindness. You need something.”

“Mayhaps I wanted simply to meet you, Mr Grasstalon. You are a gryphon of mystery, after all.”

“Taliana, I do believe you implored we leave the acting behind us.”

Taliana giggled, slyly placing a hand over her beak. “Oh, fine! A few of my friends suggested I speak to ‘the handsome rogue with the healing hands’.” Gobrend looked at her with a raised brow. “I will freely admit that wasn’t my only reason for approaching you. You are one of Count Silkpyre’s shadows, are you not?”

“I do not believe you would ask that question if you did not already know the answer.”

“Hm. True.” A cheer rang through the house. Taliana’s small smile fell to a thin line. “It appears my husband has at last been formally awarded his decoration.” Directing a grin towards Gobrend, Taliana looked him up and down appraisingly before saying, “How about a dance?”

Gobrend was hardly granted the chance to widen his eyes before he was dragged by the wrist through the halls and down to the center of merriment yet again.

Gobrend sat on the edge of the crowd of dancing attendees, his eyes flicking to and fro nervously. “I-I’m not quite sure about this, my lady. I’m not much for dancing. Or crowds.”

Pouting, Taliana said, “It is poor form to leave a lady to her lonesome in such an event, Mr Grasstalon. Now, enough of your act; I wish to join the fun!”

“As you wish, my lady...” You deceptive imp...

Taliana giggled, dragging him to the middle of the floor, weaving them through the crowd. Before he knew it, Gobrend was beak-to-beak with Taliana, the hen smiling at him with an expectant look on her face, her eyes sparkling with the brilliance of emeralds. Gobrend’s face exploded with a blush, and he pulled back slightly, only for Taliana to tighten her grasp on his wrist.

“Relax, Gobrend,” she cooed. “Allow me to guide your steps. Imagine it is only us.”

With that, Taliana, pulled away. Slowly, she spun, in tune with the music, dragging the stiff form of Gobrend along as his body caught up to his mind. Eyes to the floor, Gobrend watched how Taliana’s paws moved: each step had a purpose, and she glided across the marble floor with a grace that resembled a willow leaf drifting atop the surface of a pond, never disturbing it. He moved to follow.

Before long, Gobrend’s focus cured his anxiety, the gryphon likening the situation to an elaborate skirmish. He’d been here before. Gobrend tentatively placed a talon on Taliana’s hip, the other tightening in her hand as he fell in step; while he did not have Taliana’s fluidity, he matched her in care. This was instinctual at the end of the day, wasn’t it? It was with this in mind that Gobrend stared into her eyes as they moved.

They were rose petals flowing in the wind as they drifted through the field, playfully twirling and shifting in one another’s embrace, uplifted by the soft, melancholy tune echoing through their veins. The highs and lows accompanied them on their journey, their flight never stagnating. In time, however, the wind which carried them softened, and the song calmed. As the drifting rose petals fell back to the earth they were lost to each other.

Gobrend found himself hovering over Taliana, who had a talon pressed against his beak and a distant gaze as they mournfully stared into one another’s eyes.

Pulling away, Gobrend cursed his heart for its frailty. “T-Tali, I…”

A talon once again pressed against his beak. Taliana smiled sadly at him. “You are a fine dancer, Mr Grasstalon. Thank you for humoring this hen.”

Before Gobrend could say anything else, a commotion arose, the crowd parting as someone stormed their way toward them.

“Out of my way! Move, curse you, or I’ll have your head!” a voice roared. A gryphon couple who wasn’t quick enough to get out of the way were shoved aside by an enraged gryphon donning an immaculate white dulcet adorned with golden froggings and several medals.

The blue feathers of his plume were pulled into what resembled a ponytail, and his pomposity was a mere micrometer from being tangible. His hazel eyes connected with the browns of Gobrend’s. The gryphon stomped to Gobrend, puffing out his chest and grinding his teeth. “You dare to take the first dance with my Taliana? I ought to have you declawed, you wretched stonegobbler!” The gathered crowd, who had been silently murmuring among themselves at the gryphon’s outburst, collectively gasped at the slur.

Gobrend stood his ground, unmoved, returning the gryphon’s glare even though he stood a full head beneath him. Taliana frowned, placing herself in front of Gobrend. “Zasphir! This is a guest, the villein of Count Silkpyre. You are causing a scene over nothing!”

“No gryphon lays their claws on you but me!” he cried, firmly pushing Taliana aside and standing before Gobrend, who positively seethed at the display. “You’re as good as wolf dung to me, softshell, you and the master you serve.” Gobrend remained silent, his gaze never wavering. “Oh? What’s the matter, cat got your tongue, or are you too simple to understand what it is I’m speaking at you?” Zasphir said, poking Gobrend in the forehead.

Gobrend’s talons brushed against a dagger beneath his cloak, the thought of delivering this blustering lord back to the soil sounding quite promising at the moment. “Gobrend,” a voice beseeched. He recognized it as Taliana’s. “Please, just walk away.”

Taking a deep breath, Gobrend reluctantly broke eye contact with Zasphir’s taunting visage, turning around.

The sound of smooth steel singing thundered through the now deathly silent room, and Gobrend felt the weight of a rapier resting upon his shoulder. “Don’t you dare walk away from me, coward.”

Gobrend was perfectly still. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Draw your weapon. I will teach you to respect your betters.”

Gobrend grinned, turning around to face his challenger.

“Enough!” The crowd was snapped from their daze, once again chattering as a gryphon, shrivelled with age, limped forth, a short cane in his grasp. He was shadowed by two guards, who, at his silent bidding, came to a stop at the edge of the gathered onlookers as he made his way to Gobrend and Zasphir. Zasphir tensed. “What is the meaning of this, Zasphir? Why have you roused your blade against a guest beneath our roof?”

“Grandfather, he affronted our name by taking the hand of my Taliana,” Zasphir said, glowering at Gobrend.

“He mingled with your lovely companion? Very well. Now I say again, pray tell why you seek his destruction. For what offense is he guilty of besmirching the title Ironrath?”

“Grandfather, he is― he is a mere commoner, and in his arrogance, he has violated the height of his station. Taking the first dance with a lady during her partner’s party… This one must learn respect!”

A moment passed before Lord Ironrath chuckled. The sound caused Zasphir to break his attention from Gobrend, gawking at his grandfather. “G-Grandfather?”

“Bid your steel rest, Zasphir.”

“But―”

“Bid it rest, I say!”

Casting one last glare to Gobrend, Zasphir sheathed his rapier. Approaching, Lord Ironrath whispered, “We shall speak of your behavior later. Now get thee gone.” Zasphir tugged on his collar before nodding and hurriedly walking away.

Turning, Lord Ironrath levelled a calculating glance at Gobrend before smiling. “Gobrend Grasstalon.”

Despite the elder’s feeble appearance, Gobrend couldn’t help but feel he was in the presence of a giant. “Y-Yes, Lord Ironrath.”

Lord Ironrath’s smile grew before he pulled Gobrend into a surprisingly strong embrace. “I have heard many great things about you, youngling. Allow me to be the first to apologize for the inclination of my grandson.”

“It’s nothing to fret over, my lord.”

“Hah! Hogwash, boy, hogwash!” Lord Ironrath eyed Taliana with a grin. “I can see why you chose to play with this one, my dear: he is a great oak tree!” Returning his attention to Gobrend, Lord Ironrath said, “Come. I’ve a comrade to introduce you to.”

As he dragged Gobrend off, the crowd having returned to their gossiping since Zasphir’s exit, Taliana raised a claw. “Grandfather?”

Lord Ironrath turned to her, his grin smaller. “Without you, Taliana. Perform your duty as a wife and comfort young Zasphir.”

“But―!” Taliana’s plea was cut short by Lord Ironrath’s glance. She lowered her head, quietly saying, “As you wish, my lord.”

He spoke to two guards: “Bring her to her quarters.” The guards nodded, jumping to each side of Taliana and leading her off further into the manor. She cast one last glance at Gobrend before returning her gaze to her destination.

Gobrend frowned. “Does Lord Zasphir truly require tending to at present, my lord? He was fuming but a moment ago.”

“It is a hen’s place to be by her mate’s side no matter the forecast, youngling.”

“And what of your wife, my lord?”

Lord Ironrath smiled sadly. He picked up his glacial, hobbling gait when he caught sight of Brocarius. “Count! This servant of yours is quite the specimen! Where did you find him?”

Brocarius ran a hoof through his hair. Saccharine Query was in a similar boat, chewing on her lip nervously as she looked around, as though searching for an escape route. Eve just looked like she was ready to drive Gobrend through a wall. “Lord Ironrath, I apologize for any inconvenience. I will―”

“Bah!” Lord Ironrath said, wrapping a hand and a wing around Gobrend’s shoulder. “Nonsense, my friend. Why, in my day ‘twas not a proper party till blood was spilt. The fault lies solely on my grandson regardless. It was my wish to introduce this underling of yours to Lady Lovequarrel.”

Brocarius looked relieved, as did Query, but Eve’s expression did not change. “Actually, Lord Ironrath,” said Brocarius, “our lady has retired for the night. She left just before the incident with Gobrend and your grandson.”

Lord Ironrath’s smile became more strained at that, his features darkening. “Is that so? Well, in that case, I shall leave you to your gaiety.”

“We were just about to take our leave as well, Lord Ironrath,” Brocarius said apologetically.

“Ah. Then it was, as always, a pleasure, Count. I cannot thank you enough for your generous contributions to this event in Master Ashtide’s absence. We’ll be seeing one another soon.”

Brocarius gave a slight bow as Lord Ironrath turned around and, personal guards in tow, limped back to the festivities.

Gobrend groaned as three sets of eyes bored into his skull. “Would you all believe me if I were to say that I was simply minding my own business?”

Zasphir sat at a long table, staring wrath into the wall opposite him as he lifted his goblet to his beak. The top three fasts of his uniform were unbuttoned and his hands were unsteady. On the wall was the ancestry of the Ironraths, going as far back as two hundred years.

The Gryphon Coalition―comprised of the vast, frigid North Gryphonia to the northeast, Heartland in all its jingoistic glory at the heart and the fledgling Westlock at the edge of the Ravenwood, but excluding the defunct and honorless kingdom of Griffinstone―always seemed to be teetering on the edge of falling apart due to territorial disputes, ancient grudges twixt high nobility and an inefficient, antiquated taxation system, but somehow it stubbornly survived century after century.

What had Zasphir’s attention, though, was the framed painting of Galshor and Reine Ironrath, a young, bright-eyed cub in their grasp. Zasphir glared at the painting. They all looked so happy... Grimacing, he lifted his goblet to his beak and sent his bitterness careening into a confused maelstrom down his gullet.

The creaking of a door interrupted his reverie. “You’ve been drinking,” a soft, feminine voice said at large as the intruder’s steps tapped toward him.

Zasphir poured more wine into his goblet. Before he could lift it, a grey palm rested over it.

“You’ve had enough, Zasphir.”

Zasphir swayed slightly in his seat. “What do you want, Taliana? Come to reprimand me for what getting between you and your new playmate?”

Taliana pulled the goblet from his grasp, placing her hands on the table as her eyes burned into Zasphir’s head. “You know that’s not what was happening.”

“Oh, really?” Zasphir challenged. “Then tell me why you were demeaning yourself in such a way; or does that come as simply as breathing to you?”

Taliana quivered. “I have been nothing but good and faithful to you, Zasphir. You will not call my devotion into question.”

“I think I will, my dear,” Zasphir growled, clenching his talons. “You don’t even have the sense to be discreet about your interest in that mud-trotter.”

“You almost sound concerned, Zasphir,” Taliana hissed. “The night is still young. Perhaps you’ll go and fetch the attention of another harlot and blame your wretched behavior on your drunkenness come morning.”

A loud clatter pulsed through the room as a goblet crashed into the wall, its contents spilling out onto the floor. Zasphir was out of his seat, staring furiously into his wife’s defiant eyes.

There came a knock on the chamber door, and a moment later a pony cautiously stuck her head in. “L-Lord Zasphir, Lady Taliana? I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

After a moment, Zasphir relented. “What is it, maid?”

Stepping further inside, the maid looked around the room, taking note of the overturned goblet and the palpable tension of the room. “Is everything alright?”

“WHAT DO YOU WANT!” Zasphir bellowed, causing the maid to flinch.

“L-Lord Ironrath seeks your audience, my lord.”

Zasphir set his jaw before leaving the room without another word. The aged mare gave him a wide berth, giving Taliana a questioning glance.

Sighing, Taliana approached the mare, placing a hand on her withers. “Don’t mind him, Treble. It’s been an… eventful day for all of us.”

“Would you like to talk about it, Lady Taliana?” Treble asked, no less worry in her violet eyes. “I can escort you to your chambers, if you wish.”

“I’m fine, Treble,” Taliana wearily said. “Just tired, is all. Have someone clean up this mess. I shall retire to my chambers alone; I must attend to Oliver.”

The maid fidgeted as though she wanted to protest, yet in the end Treble gave a small curtsy. “As you wish, milady.”

Zasphir walked down the hall to his father’s office with a scowl on his face. The nerve on that infuriating hen!

The Ironrath guards lining the halls, adorned in their silver armor and purple capes emblazoned with the family sigil―a golden morningstar with two green feathers tied around the hilt set before a full moon―straightened as he passed, halberds gleaming in the candlelight.

Coming upon the door to his grandfather’s office, Zasphir knocked twice. The sound of shuffling armor came from the other side, and a moment later the door opened to reveal the visage of Sir Waxfury, who bowed his head slightly at Zasphir. Zasphir brushed past the Greygleam without so much as a second glance.

“Is there anything else you require of me, Your Grace?” Sir Waxfury asked.

“Nay, Sir Knight,” answered Lord Ironrath, who was seated at his desk with a quill in hand and a pince-nez resting over his hooked beak. “Simply remain vigilant until further notice. Should anything enlightening manifest henceforward, report to me post haste. You are dismissed.”

Sir Waxfury bowed before removing himself from the room. When the door closed behind the knight, the room was calm, the only sound coming from the scratching of Lord Ironrath’s quill. Zasphir stiffly strode across the study and planted his flank on the seat directly across from his grandfather, who had yet to acknowledge his presence as he continued perusing the documents set before him, pausing only to dip his quill in an ink jar on occasion.

Zasphir waited as the dragging of the quill persisted. It soon enough became clear he would be waiting some time. Gritting his teeth, the lord inheritor turned his eyes to the room around him. A coat with several military decorations lay under a glass pane on a display case near Lord Ironrath’s desk. Aside from that, and the walls lined with taxidermy, the room was spartan; nothing was there that served no purpose.

Zasphir despised this room.

“Grandfather…” Zasphir ventured, his patience finally nearing its end.

Despite his grandson’s urging, Lord Ironrath showed no sign of having heard anything. Just as Zasphir was going to open his beak, his elder said, “Do you know why I summoned you here?”

Zasphir thought a moment, calming his nerves. “To tell me that what I did was unbecoming of a lord?”

Lord Ironrath raised a brow, dipping his quill in the ink jar before setting it to paper once more.

Zasphir clenched his talons over the arms of his chair. Silence hung on the air before he said, “Grandfather, you don’t always have to―”

Lord Ironrath glanced into Zasphir’s eyes.

“L-Lord Ironrath,” Zasphir said, correcting himself, “I did not mean to make a spectacle of myself.”

Setting down his quill, Lord Ironrath placed his hands on the desk separating them, giving Zasphir his full attention. “What did you mean to do, then, Zasphir?”

“I wasn’t thinking, my lord.”

“You’re going to blame the wine for allowing Lorr’s shadow to envelope your senses tonight?”

Gulping, Zasphir lowered his gaze. “No, my lord…”

“So how you behaved tonight was your doing. Your doing alone. And because of that you’ve no excuses to parade my way, correct?”

Zasphir shook his head. “No, my lord.”

Leaning forward, Lord Ironrath, his face that of stone, said, “Ironrath is not a title to be worn lightly, Zasphir. Every action you take reflects upon the generations that built the bedrock of this dynasty today and those who will tread these halls after us. And your showing tonight was rash and despondent.

“You realize the gravity of the lion lowering himself to the level of the field mouse, do you not, my child?” Zasphir trembled in his seat, his throat dry. “Your folly tonight has given the impression that the mighty lion is starved. What happens when the lion shows weakness, Zasphir?”

“The lion becomes the gazelle...”

“Precisely.” Leaning back in his chair, Lord Ironrath looked at his grandson for a long while before saying, “And here is how you are going to right this wrong...”