The Garedion Conflict

They arrived in town just short of midday, the sun nearing its zenith as the caravan drew to a halt. Cygil reached into his pocket and pulled out a few gold coins, holding them up to a very confused Scruff. “What's this for?” he said, eyeing the money.

Cygil chuckled as he glanced at the pony. “For showing me the way?”

Scruff smirked, lightly shoving Cygil's hand away with his hoof. “Keep it. You let us put you through Tartarus and that's remuneration enough.”

For a moment Cygil hesitated, mouth hanging open slightly. He then proffered a smile and placed the coins back in his pocket. “I seem to have misjudged you,” he said tersely.

“Most do,” Scruff replied with a wink. He then turned his attention to the two unicorns. “All right, these goods aren't going to sell themselves. Let's head on over to the market.”

“One second,” came Spark's reply as she unfastened her harness. Her eyes fell upon Cygil, and with a nod of her head she motioned for him to come over. After a moment he complied, ignoring the smirks on the others' faces. Together they walked over to the nearby umbrage of a tall oak tree. Spark smiled, though she averted her eyes. “Hey, I just...” She scuffed the ground, meeting his gaze. “Thank you for confiding in me. I know that must have been hard to do, and I can't possibly understand what it's like to go through what you did, but I just want you to know that if you ever need somepony to speak to, I'm willing to listen.”

Cygil couldn't help but smile at that. “Well, er...thanks?”

“Don't mention it,” she said with a laugh and a glint to her eyes. “I'll be in Ponyville for a few weeks.”

“I'll stay in touch.”

She grinned up at him. “Please do.” With that, she turned and went back to the wagon, fastening herself in. Scruff said something that Cygil couldn't quite make out, but from the way she rolled her eyes, he knew she was being teased. With a word from Scruff the wagon began trundling its way down the dirt path, Spark glancing over at Cygil one more time before they disappeared behind a thicket of trees and bushes.

The gargoyle sighed, realising that he had the goofiest grin plastered onto his face – and as he started making his way towards the town, that grin stayed there right up until a pony caught sight of him, shrieked, and scurried off in the opposite direction. The smile fell from his face and he raised an eyebrow, only then noticing the odd stares everypony was giving him. “What?” he said to the crowd of onlookers. “Hasn't anyone seen a gargoyle before?”

When he received no response aside from a few nervous mutterings, he grumbled and walked away from the scene – ponies giving him a wide berth as he went.

His stomach growled lightly, and after some questioning and many terrified looks, he learnt that there was a bakery near the centre of town that went by the name of Sugarcube Corner. He had laughed when they told him to look for the building that looked like a giant pastry, only to find his mouth ajar when he saw they weren't joking. The door was a tad diminutive for his size, though he was able to duck his way inside without much effort.

Within the shop the sickly sweet aroma of cake and cookies pervaded, and there were many of the aforementioned treats lined up for display behind a glass counter and on the shelves. Despite the conspicuous theme of pastry-everything, Cygil concluded that it was rather quaint and nice in the shop, and seeing no one else around, he took a seat by one of the many round wooden tables and waited patiently – though he had to admit the chairs were a little small.

The door behind the counter creaked open, and out ambled a bright yellow pony with an orange mane, three slices of cakes depicted on his flank.Cygil cleared his throat to get the pony's attention, and with a startled glance he looked over at Cygil.

The gargoyle's size must have been intimidating, because the pony blanched, attempted to stammer a greeting, and fell to the floor with a resounding thud. Another pony rushed out from the back, cyan-coloured with a pink mane that looked oddly like whipped cream. She saw Cygil and managed a smile, nudging the collapsed pony on the shoulder. Addled, he woke and glanced about his surroundings. He nearly fainted when he saw the gargoyle again, though the cyan pony caught him in time.

“I apologise for my husband's demeanor,” she said by way of introduction. “I'm Mrs. Cake, and this here is Mr. Cake.” The latter managed a weak wave of the hoof, attempting a grin as he readjusted his hat.

“And I am Cygil,” he replied. “I'm sorry about frightening you, Mr. Cake.”

“That's quite all right...” He rubbed the back of his neck with a hoof.

“So, is there anything we can do for you?” Mrs. Cake enquired.

“Well I was just stopping in town, figured I could use something to eat. I haven't had sweets in a while, admittedly.”

“You've come to the right place, then!” Mr. Cake said with an awkward grin. “Is there anything in particular you'd like?”

Cygil hummed thoughtfully, eyeing the various goods on display. “Do you have cookies?”

“Of course! What kind do you want?”

“How about chocolate chip?”

Mr. Cake smiled. “Absolutely. Just a few minutes and I'll have some ready.” He turned to leave, but then Cygil spoke up.

“Actually, how about oatmeal?”

The yellow pony thought about this for a moment. “Why not both?”

Cygil chuckled, nodding slightly. “All right, fair enough.”

Mr. Cake disappeared into the kitchen, the doors swinging behind him.

The cyan pony offered a simper. “I'll go help.”

They returned minutes later with a tray full of hot, steaming cookies. Cygil grinned, eyeing the cookies hungrily. He offered his thanks, then reached into his pocket to pay them. Mrs. Cake shook her head, however. “Newcomers eat free,” she said, laying the tray down on the table. Cygil raised an eyebrow at this, but he simply shrugged and thanked them again.

He popped one into his mouth and his eyes went wide. “These are the best cookies I've ever had!” he said, wharfing down another, then another. Within a few moments there was nothing left but a few crumbs, Cygil licking his fingers clean.

“Well, we're certainly glad you enjoyed them,” Mr. Cake said, moving to take the platter. “Would you like any more?”

Cygil shook his head. “No, that's all right.”

“Okay, well if you want anything else you let us know.” Mr. Cake picked up the tray and headed back into the kitchen, disappearing behind the doors. Mrs. Cake turned to the gargoyle and smiled. “So what brings you into Ponyville?”

“I'm a genealogist, actually. Have you ever heard of Garedion?”

She shook her head.

“Well it's a place across the sea, to the west,” he replied, motioning in the general direction. “Anyhow, we're looking into pony society,” To put it lightly, “and I'm here to document family histories. I could start with you and Mr. Cake, if you don't mind – though if you don't have time that's fine.”

“It's no problem,” she assured him. “We haven't been getting many customers today, and Pinkie is away at the moment, so there's some time to spare!”

“Pinkie?” he asked, fumbling in his satchel for his paper and quill. Soon he found them, setting them neatly on the table in front of him along with a small jar of ink.

“Oh yes, she helps us out around here. In return we rent a room to her since she doesn't have a proper place of her own.” A trace of sadness came to her eyes then, but it quickly dissipated. “Anyhow she's quite the boon, as she does a lot of work and is tons of fun in general. But enough blathering; you were asking about family history?”

The gargoyle grinned slightly, dipping his quill in the ink. “Go ahead.”

Several pages later and Cygil had assembled most of the Cake family history with the help of Mr. and Mrs. Cake. He set his quill down and wiped his brow with the back of his hand. “That's fairly extensive.”

“We're an extensive family,” Mrs. Cake proclaimed. “We have relatives all across Equestria; some even in Canterlot!”

“And you're all bakers?”

“Every last one,” Mr. Cake replied with a nod.

Well that doesn't help me one bit. Cygil rubbed his chin, sighing softly. “There's one thing I don't entirely understand.”

“What's that?”

“You're both earth ponies,” he said. “How is one of your foals a pegasus and the other a unicorn?”

“His great great great great grandfather was a unicorn,” Mrs. Cake said matter of factly.

“And her second cousin twice removed was a pegasus.” Mr. Cake added, seeming a bit dubious of the words he spoke.

Cygil looked at them both with his brows raised. “I understand.” He feigned a smile and tried not to give Mrs. Cake a sidelong glance. He dried off his quill on his sleeve and folded his notes, stuffing them into his bag. “Well, I should be going. I've got a lot of family histories to document.”

“Good luck,” said Mr. and Mrs. Cake in tandem.

“Thanks.”

Twilight's castle loomed above him, its coruscant exterior reflecting the sun. He raised his fist and knocked thrice on the cold crystal door. Within seconds the door swung open to a commodious interior, and Cygil held out his hand only to become obfuscated when he saw no one was there.

"Bah!" came the small dragon's cry of alarm. Spike immediately slammed the door in Cygil's face, scurrying to push a chair up against the door.

The gargoyle sighed, knocking again. When there was no answer, he shrugged and pushed the door open, the chair sliding out of the way with a high-pitched squeal. The dragon had his back to the far wall, tremulous with fear. Cygil stepped inside, eyeing the chair as he stepped under the threshold. "It goes under the knob, not against the door."

"W-what do you want?"

He smiled, bowing lightly. “Who, me?”

“Yeah...y-you!” Spike pointed nervously at the gargoyle. “I've got fire and I'm not afraid to use it,” Spike exclaimed, puffing a small green flame as a demonstration.

“Take it easy, I'm just looking for someone,” he said, holding up his hands.

The young dragon sighed in mild relief, stepping away from the wall though still keeping a close eye on Cygil. He raised a brow in question.

“Do you know Twilight Sparkle?”

“Do I know her?” Spike paused, considering his words carefully. Applejack always said honesty was the best policy, though apprising this gargoyle of that information could potentially put Twilight in danger. He hadn't actually seen a gargoyle before, except in the various comics that he read. There were tales of their existence, though he didn't think they were true. Now with one standing before him, he found them every bit as frightening as the illustrations portrayed. Spike had no doubt that those claws could tear him to pieces, and it was putting him on edge. “I...”

Over on the eastern side of the room was a long shelf, several baubles arranged on top of it. In the center of these was a single picture encased in a black wooden frame with gold inlay. It was of a lavender pony sitting atop a kopje, surrounded by what was presumably her friends as they enjoyed a picnic. Cygil walked over to it and picked it up gently, scrutinising it further.

He noticed that the lavender one had both wings and a horn, whereas the others only had one or the other, or neither. During his boat ride to Equestria, Jas had spoken at great length of the various types of ponies and how to identify them. Alicorns, he explained, were the only kind to have wings and horns both, and there were only four: Princess Celestia and Princess Luna, the royal sisters who ruled Equestria from Canterlot; Princess Mi Amore Cadenza, co-ruler of the Crystal Empire along with her husband Shining Armor, and Princess Twilight Sparkle, who resided in Ponyville. Seeing as to his current location, he had no doubt as to which one was pictured.

“So she lives here?” he enquired, setting the picture back down on the shelf.

“I, uh...”

“Hey,” Cygil said. “I'm not going to hurt her; I just wanted to speak to her. Do you know where she is?”

Spike hesitated, eyeing the gargoyle. If dragons could sweat, he would have been drenched. After a moment he managed to speak up with a nervous inflection. “I...I'm not really sure I can trust you.”

The gargoyle pursed his lips. “What's your name?” he said in as friendly a tone as possible.

“Spike?”

“Okay, Spike.” He knelt down, smiling at Spike as he held out his hand. “I'm Cygil.”

Spike took an inadvertent step backwards, glancing at the clawed hand, then Cygil's toothy grin. “W-what are you doing?”

“Hand-shake?”

The young dragon gulped. “Uhm...maybe later?”

Cygil's grin faltered for a moment, but he brushed it off and returned to his feet. “Sure.”

Spike sighed, looking away from the gargoyle. “Sorry, that probably wasn't very nice of me. It's just that your appearance is a little off-putting. No offense!”

He smirked. “None taken.”

“So,” he said, “what do you want with Twilight?” He was terrified of what the answer might be, but when Cygil took out a stack of papers his fear was replaced with mild curiosity.

“I'm here to document family histories and I figured Twilight could help,” he said, motioning to the papers.

“Oh.” He paused. “So you're like a scholar?”

Cygil offered a lethargic shrug. “You could say that.”

“Huh, I guess you and Twilight would get along, then.”

“Truly?” he said, raising a brow.

“Yeah, Twilight loves learning and sharing information. You'd learn a ton from her, and I'm sure someone like you would have plenty to teach, too.”

“I'm not sure about that.”

“Come on, you're saying that a gargoyle has nothing to tell? I thought they only existed in fantasy books!” he said, motioning to the gargoyle in front of him.

“I suppose I am rather fantastic,” he said, brushing back his mane in an exaggerated manner.

Despite his misgivings, Spike couldn't help but let out a small laugh. A grin crept across Cygil's face as he folded his arms, chuckling inwardly at his jest.

“That was really bad, you know,” Spike said.

“Oh, I know. I'm just full of bad jokes.”

“Then Pinkie would like you as well!”

Cygil rubbed his chin. “I heard that name earlier. Isn't she the one that works at Sugarcube Corner?”

Spike gave a nod of affirmation. “The one and only!”

“Well I look forward to meeting her.”

“You know, you seem all right.” Spike said, stepping a little closer.

“Thanks.”

“Would you like some tea?” he said, motioning towards the kitchen.

Cygil grinned. “I'm parched, so yeah, I'd love some tea.”

“Right this way, please.”

Spike led Cygil through a tall, open doorway and into the spacious kitchen. He leapt up onto a stool and opened a cabinet, pulling out a couple of cups. By the stove there was a kettle, which he carried over to the sink and filled up with water. He grunted, struggling with the weight as he brought it back to the stove.

“You want a hand with that?” Cygil offered.

“Nah, I'm good.” Spike set the kettle down and turned the knob. “Well, could you pass me the tea? It's up top and I really don't want to get a ladder right now.”

The gargoyle walked over to the cabinet, pulling it open. There was a few boxed foods, noodles and vegetables mostly, and on the top shelf were different types of tea. He pulled out a box labelled 'Chamomile' and set it on the counter next to Spike.

“Thanks a bunch,” he said, pulling out a couple of bags and dropping them in the kettle.

“It's not a problem.”

“So how are you liking Ponyville?” Spike turned away from the kettle, meeting Cygil's gaze.

“It's nice so far, though I admit you have some strange ideas for buildings. A giant pastry? A large crystal tree? I was under the impression that such designs would result in structural infirmity.”

Spike raised a brow, a quizzical look on his features. “Structural what-now?”

“Infirmity, it's like a weakness. If a building is structurally infirm then it's not built well and bound to collapse.”

“Oh, I see.” Spike smiled at him. “Don't worry, the Cakes' shop has been standing for longer than I've been alive and it's fine! As for this castle, well...it's a long story. I'll tell you over tea, okay?”

Cygil smirked. “Okay.”

Soon they found themselves seated by a large window that looked out across Ponyville, their cups resting atop small glass platters on a prosaic table. Cygil picked up his tea and sipped it, and the steam that danced off its surface permeated Cygil's senses and eased the pain from his journey. Next time, he concluded, he would certainly hire a carriage if possible. He inhaled the flowery aroma, taking another sip as he glanced obliquely over to Spike. The young dragon wasn't touching his tea.

Noticing his gaze, Spike grinned awkwardly. “I actually prefer it cold.”

Cygil made some noise of affirmation, setting the tea down on his platter. “Hey, after you tell me about the castle...is it okay if I rest here for the night?” He rubbed the back of his neck.

“Sure, there's a few guest rooms, but they don't really have beds.”

“A bed would be preferable,” Cygil replied with a wave of the hand.

Spike bit his lip nervously. “Well Twilight won't be back until tomorrow, so you could sleep in her bed I guess? I don't think she'd like it if she found out, though.”

“Does she have to know?” Cygil raised an eyebrow, his expression slightly bemused.

“No, but she would find out sooner or later. She's very in – uh, what's the word? In-something.”

“Inquisitive?”

“That's the one!” Spike said, pointing a finger at the gargoyle.

He smiled slightly, resting his hands on his knees. “Okay, so how about this castle?”

“Oh, yeah...” Something akin to deep sadness plastered itself across Spike's features just then, and Cygil found himself wondering if perhaps he should divert the conversation. After several moments of silence, he was about to do so when Spike begun the dolorous tale, starting with the very beginning before they had ever come to Ponyville.

Cygil listened intently as the young dragon told of the Golden Oak Library and how it was their home, of the many memories they had made there, and the quiet days when they would return to it after a day's adventure, sipping tea while Twilight lost herself in her latest book, and sometimes speaking to each-other for long hours until the sun fell from the sky and Luna's moon began to shine in the east.

Then they would go upstairs, where Twilight had a small but comfortable bed against a curtained window, whither she would sometimes keep herself awake gazing at the stars as they scintillated in the ebony sky. Spike's bed was at the bottom of Twilight's, he explained, and sometimes on the nights when she stayed awake stargazing or reading, he too would turn the knob of his small oil lamp and read comics by its faint orange glow until Twilight told him to go to sleep. And once in a while, mostly upon gelid winter nights, they would cuddle up to each-other and watch the stars together, and sometimes Twilight would sing him to sleep if she wasn't in her usual demure mood.

Then he told of Tirek.

Cygil found himself poised on the edge of his seat, listening as Spike told of the centaur and his insatiable quest for power which all culminated in the battle between Tirek and Twilight, resulting in the fiery destruction of their home. “The rainbow power sent him back to Tartarus,” Spike explained, “and it also gave us the castle. It's nice and all, but it's really not the same...”

It remained quiet for several minutes after that, the two of them drinking their tea as they looked out over Ponyville below. Cygil was not entirely certain of what to say to assuage the small dragon's mood, but he knew the depths of Spike's pain were very great. While Cygil had faced loss, both with some of his squad mates and his father, he couldn't quite fathom what it would be like to lose a home. While it was true he was not living there any more, every once in a while he would stop in and visit his mother, and they would sometimes go for walks in the weald, taking the paths they had known for years. He remembered being a boy on those same paths, pretending to be a great and powerful warrior – fighting enemies that only he could see with an imaginary blade. Losing that home would hurt more than he could imagine, he realised – and suddenly Spike seemed much older to him than he initially thought. The dragon was very young, but the depths of pain he must have faced, to not crumble under that weight, Cygil knew that Spike was very strong. There was not much he could say.

“I'm sorry.” A small condolence for an ineffable pain, but it was all he could think of.

Spike smiled weakly, finishing his tea and setting the empty cup down on the platter. “It's all right,” he assured, hopping down off of his chair. “Are you done with your tea?”

Cygil nodded briefly.

“Then I'll get to washing these,” he said, taking Cygil's platter and cup in his other hand. “If you're sleeping in Twilight's bed you should probably wash up, and try not to clog the drain with your fur.”

Twilight's chambers were, like the rest of the castle, commodious. The most salient thing, Cygil noted, was the red canopy draped over Twilight's large bed, which itself was placed against the far wall. The bed was covered with cushions – a motley of colours – and many of the pillows had various types of frills. He wondered then how many pillows it took to support a single pony's head, before realising – with some degree of self-deprecation – that most of them were purely for aesthetics.

Sitting beside the bed was a single nightstand with two drawers, made from what looked like mahogany. He approached it, and then looking over his shoulder to ensure no one was watching, slid open the top drawer. There was nothing within, so Cygil then unclasped his pendant and set it inside, pushing the drawer shut.

In the adjoining bathroom he found a single mirror with a marble sink beneath. He looked at himself in the reflection and noticed just how bedraggled he was. Most of his fur was matted down and pallid with dirt, and in some places it even clumped together. No wonder everyone's been afraid of me.

Chuckling, he turned on the faucet and splashed some cold water on his face, drying himself off using a nearby towel. A black smudge appeared on the towel from the grime he was certain must have accrued over the past several days, and he muttered a curse before setting it down on the edge of the sink; another thing Spike would have to wash.

He turned on the shower and waited for it to heat up, which to Cygil's surprise did not take long. Within half a minute the water was steaming, and so Cygil locked the bathroom door and began to get himself undressed.

It took a moment for him to become acclimated to the scalding heat of the shower, but once he did he sighed in bliss. After the long journey, he had needed this almost as much as a good sleep.

Within minutes he was clean, and he stepped out of the shower. He cast a transitory glance at the drain, which was surprisingly clear.

Drying himself off hastily with a towel, he wrapped it around his waist and stepped out of the bathroom, the steam billowing out behind him and dissipating into the air. Back in the room he was finding himself unusually cold, and so he quickly made his way over to Twilight's bed with the intent of burrowing himself into it.

He pulled open the covers and then hesitated. He reflected then that Twilight would most likely not appreciate him sleeping naked in her bed – if she ever found out – and so he pulled some extra habiliments out of his bag and set to donning them. It was not his preferred method of sleeping, but he supposed he had little choice in the matter.

His eyes wandered to the night-stand, and he felt a swell of curiosity nagging at his mind. He pulled open the second drawer, and within he descried a single book, a tan cover awkwardly bound with loops of string. Taking it out, he set it upon his lap and flipped it open. On the first page was a photograph; the very same one he saw framed upon the shelf earlier. He turned the page, and the next picture was of what appeared to be the inside of a large tree, book shelves girding the walls with a single horse-head sculpture on the centre table. He stared at it for a while, and then it dawned on him that this must have been the place Spike was referring to: their former home. Twilight herself sat next to the table, a red book open in front of her with her horn bathing the scene in a lavender glow. She seemed utterly oblivious to whomever was taking the picture, though on the next page it was the same scene with her looking towards the camera, wearing a mirthful smile.

On the next page, he found a picture of Twilight and all of her friends standing in front of the tree, everyone smiling under the effulgent light of the sun.

As he flipped through the pages, something ineffable stirred within him. He had the oblique feeling that moments like the ones pictured had somehow been lost to time, scattered to the wind like leaves in autumn – broken into innumerable pieces like gelid drops of rain – and that he, looking through the sundry pictures within the book, was seeing the final vestiges of a simpler time, falling immutably into a dim and bitter future – much as embers slowly fade and die once the flames have gone.