Vindictam et Amor

This story is a fan-fiction of MLP:FiM. I don't own any of it. It belongs to Hasbro, etc, etc.

Don't sue. Seriously. That would be so uncouth.

The Road Less Traveled

Irish's determination and anger smoldered in him as he slowly walked the path to Trottingham. With his father's shield and ax in tow, he walked through the night, slowly watching the moon and the ever present Mare in the Moon travel across the sky until it reached the horizon. The chill of the pre-dawn hours did nothing to cool his anger. Even sitting outside of Trottingham as the sun rose and the drawbridge lowered did little to calm him, even if it did leave him time to be alone with his thoughts. Perhaps what confused him and angered him the most was his grandfather's dying words. Seek his family's revenge, but do not let hate consume him? How was it possible to do both?!? Irish hissed at the thought, but turned and looked at the drawbridge as it finally came to a rest and he walked into Trottingham, not entirely sure what to do. He walked around the city in the early morning and eventually found himself back at the center of the city, where he had sold his wares just a day before and innumerable times before. He laid down on the edge of the fountain in the very center of the town center and looked into the brightening sky.

“What next grandfather? I have collected my father's weapons, but what am I to do next?” he whispered to himself as the morning sun started to warm his coat. He closed his eyes as Celestia's sun got brighter and brighter, hurting his eyes. He slowly realized he was falling asleep when it was too late, and he drifted off into a hard and confused nap.

“Oy you. Wake up. Yeh can't sleep there.” said a stern voice as Irish was prodded and poked by something. Irish woke up groggily, looking up into the evening sky at the silhouette that had woken him.

“I'll push yeh into the fountain if yeh don't move, colt.” said the voice as Irish was poked harder by the metallic pole. Irish opened his eyes gingerly, raising a leg to block the evening sun from his eyes. Luckily, there was a large pony-shaped silhouette to help shade his sight.

“I told yeh to get up.” said the silhouette again while poking him with the same pole a little more forcefully. Irish rubbed his eyes as he was helped to his hooves and found himself face to face with Constable Corcoran, one of the Constables that often patrolled Trottingham square.

“Don’ I know yeh?” he said as he gave Irish a befuddled look. However, his face changed suspicious to appreciative when he saw the round shield on Irish’s back. He whistled happily in acknowledgement.

“Now why is a member of the Hunters sleeping in the streets?” He asked as he eyed the shield. “Don’ yeh know where the guild house is?”

Irish was completely confused. “What now?”

“Yeh must be overly tired from yeh last job. Follow me, I’ll escort yeh to the house.” The constable said as he walked ahead of Irish.

“Sir, I think you have mistaken…” Irish stuttered out as he was led through the city.

“Don’ yeh be tryin’ tah get outta me sight! Last time I let one o’ yer comrades alone in the city, all ‘e did was raise hell! I’m gonna escort yeh to yer guild house and yer gonna stay there all night!”

“But…”

“None of yer silver-tongued talk! Be quiet or I’ll arrest ya!”the constable finished with absoluteness in his voice. Irish realized that arguing with the officer would just get him into even more trouble, so he followed after the constable past the rows of stone and brick apartments of Trottingham. The evening sun slowly kissed the horizon as the pair walked through the city, the constable focused on leading the “Hunter” back to his guild house, while Irish was enamored by the city. It was true that he had seen the apartments and other opulent buildings of polished marble and sturdy brick from his short travels to the city square, but he had never walked among the city and he found he had much to see. As they walked, Irish became aware that the apartments were getting higher towards the center of Trottingham and they absorbed the light from the setting sun, making the streets unnaturally dark before the sun had set. Irish felt a shiver go down his spine and he found a new respect for the constable that was leading him.

“’Ere we are. Now get inside and no ruckus causing tonight!” the constable said as they approached a tall building stuck between two apartment buildings. It was the same height as its neighbor buildings, but instead of being made out of brick and marble, it was made out of an alluring black stone that was the same color as Irish’s shield and axe. Even stranger, it was sunk in, leaving space in the front for a gate and spiked fence.

“Sir, I really…” Irish started.

“GET IN THERE! I DON’ WANT NO TROUBLE FROM YOU TONIGHT, YEH HEAR?!?” the constable roared as he shoved him through the gate and up to the large door of shiny metal. Irish’s face was inches away from the large ornate door knocker, which he was surprised to find had the same insignia of four timber wolves on it, before the door swung open, surprising both he and the constable.

“What’s all this then?” asked a refined pony. His mane was stark white, but his coat was a deep gold, including his wings that were tucked sharply to his sides. His electric blue eyes darted over the constable and Irish, before coming to rest on Irish’s shield with a shocking intensity.

“Now Constable Corcoran, why would you be treating one of my Hunters like this? Aren’t we all friends?” the pegasus asked in a silky voice.

“I know yeh game Empty Quiver, and I’m not playin’ it. I remember what happened last time yeh Hunters were out past dark.” The constable replied with a growl.

“Alright, alright constable,” Empty Quiver replied in an acquiescing tone. “I just hope you remember who has kept your job much easier.” He said with a quick bite to his words before throwing a hoof over Irish’s shoulders and pulling him into the guild house very brotherly-like. That is until the door closed.

While the building looked narrow on the outside, the corridor was just a few steps into a vast dining room with stairs on either side leading up into different corridors filled with doors. As the door shut behind the two, the pegasi shoved Irish down the corridor and into the dining room full of chattering and eating ponies, all Hunters.

“Look at what we have here.” Empty Quiver shouted to all the ponies, making all of them turn their heads to the sound and sight of Irish. “Somepony has found themselves a set of our weapons and thinks they can just come into our guild!” he continued with an angry tone. Irish sunk low to the ground as he felt dozens of eyes fall onto him. Even though he was fairly big for his age and was armed, he saw plenty of older ponies who were covered in scars, and more importantly, old and young, the Hunters looked angry.

“I…I was brought here by mistake.” Irish stuttered out, instinctively letting the shield slide down towards his left hoof.

“That’s right!” shouted a grizzled and grayed earth pony that stood up from one of the tables. He was one of the ponies covered in scars and one of his ears was gone. His eyes narrowed at the sight of the shield. “Who did you steal that from?”

“These are mine!” Irish shouted, his voice quivering.

The old pony walked towards the end of the table he was sitting at and grabbed a bottle of mead in his teeth. “If they are yours, then you should be able to defend yourself at least!” he said as he smashed the bottle on the table and rushed at Irish with the jagged shards.

Irish was able to strap the shield on just as the pony jabbed the bottle at him and he quickly blocked the attack, hearing the rest of the bottle shatter against the hard metal shield. Irish let go of a baited breath and was quickly swept off of his hooves. The elder pony had used the attack to the shield to block Irish’s sight, and quickly swept his hooves out from under him, pinning him to the ground.

“Get me a chair and some rope!” the pony shouted to his fellow Hunters as he and Irish struggled. Irish was eventually over whelmed by the other Hunters who joined the squabble and his shield and ax within it were taken from him as he was restrained to a chair. Irish struggled against the ropes as the elder pony paced in front of him.

“Empty Quiver.” He said aloud to the pegasi behind Irish. “Go get your brother.”

“Got it One-Ear.” The pegasi replied as he flew up one of the stairs and disappeared down a corridor.

One-Ear walked up to Irish and tilted the chair he was restrained in backwards. “If it was up to me,” he said sinisterly, “I would tear the answers out of you…but our leader might want to be here to watch first.”

Irish gulped as he felt hot tears of panic brim at the corners of his eyes. He wanted to go home. But then it hit him: he didn’t have a home anymore. He let the tears fall down his face as he looked back at the grizzled pony with a look colder than one thousand winters.

“Do what you must.” Irish said with such fury that it surprised One-Ear and himself.

“What do you want One-Ear! Waking me up from my nap like this is just plain rude…” said a sleepy voice from above the two. Both One-Ear and Irish looked towards the proprietor of the voice and One-Ear quickly backed away from Irish and saluted to the unseen leader.

“Your brother caught this intruder. He had armaments of a Master Hunter. Stolen probably.” One-Ear deftly explained.

“Really?” said the voice, which now had a tone of intrigue in it. “Well, might as well find out the truth…”

Irish gulped and readied himself for extreme torture, but fell with the chair to the ground as a large orange eye appeared in front of him, from above his head.

“Jumpy, isn’t he?” the voice said.

“I don’t think anypony is ever calm around you, brother.” said Empty Quiver.

“Pish-posh, tartar sauce!” replied the manic voice as it came closer to Irish. That was when he saw the crazy leader of the Hunters.

He looked almost exactly like Empty Quiver except for a few major differences. The first thing that struck Irish was his relaxed wings that flittered as he walked towards the fallen Irish. Next, were his coat and mane colors. His coat was a deep, sleek purple and his mane of white was nothing like Empty Quiver’s. While Empty Quiver’s fell around his face like a lion’s mane, his brother’s stuck up in different directions and seemed to pulse with electricity. Last of all, were the pegaus’s eyes. One was orange and one was green, yet both revealed the inner fire of pony.

The pegasus stood over Irish and looked at him in confusion from different angles and places around him before a smile spread across his face and his eyes brightened. He quickly pulled Irish and the chair up back to their original positions.

“That’s better!” he said as he took to the air and floated upside down, inches from Irish’s face. “I’m called Anord Alainn! Now what are you called?”

“I’m Irish Cream.” Irish replied, eliciting some snickers from the crowd of Hunters.

“Ooo, I like that!” Anord Alainn replied energetically. “Hey One-Ear, cut him loose.”

“But sir, we don’t even…” One-Ear protested.

“One-Ear…” Anord admonished.

“Sorry sir.” One-Ear replied with a frown. He quickly pulled a knife off of one of the tables and walked up to Irish and cut him free from the chair, but not without a fierce scowl towards Irish. Irish returned the scowl with one of his own. However, their petty fighting was cut short as Anord found Irish’s shield and pulled the axe out of it, knowing exactly where it was hidden. He swung it around deftly with only one strap on his hoof and had the shield on his other hoof. He twirled the axe around for a little bit longer before his eyes grew wide and he shouted, bringing the axe down upon one of the dining tables. The axe whistled through the air and cut through the sturdy wooden table like butter.

“Now where did you find these, Irish Cream?” the leader of the Hunters asked.

“They were my father’s.” Irish replied, his eyes wide at the now halved table.

“What? That’s preposterous!” Empty Quiver shouted.

“No…it’s not.” One-Ear said sullenly, surprising Irish. “Your father was Iron Wolf…Only now do I see the resemblance.” He said with amazement.

“Are you sure One-Ear?” Anord asked.

“Those weapons should speak for me. Look at the shield. It glows with a black light. And the axe feels light in your hoof, but heavy when it hit something. I know because I was there when they were made for him by Quicksilver’s grandmother.” He said looking at Irish with a new-found respect.

“But my father’s name was Night Star; he was a common farmer, not some…adventurer!” Irish cried in disbelief.

“I always knew he retired because he was getting married, but never would I think to say he changed his name.” One-Ear shook his head in bewilderment. “Your mother was Milk Cream, right?”

“Y…Yes.” Irish stuttered.

One-Ear nodded. “That was Iron’s wife.”

“No, this can’t be true.” Irish said as he started to feel faint. How had his father hid all of this from him and his brother? But then again, his father and mother never had really spoken of their past, nor were they able to, thanks to their premature deaths.

“Well, it seems there is only one way to test this truth.” Anord said as he loosened the armaments from his legs and carried them over to Irish. “QUICKSILVER!” he shouted as he held the shield and axe before Irish.

“WHAT?” shouted a filly’s voice from the crowd before there was a loud pop and she appeared in front of Irish with an apple in her mouth. It hovered in the air as she took a large bite out of it and looked Irish up and down. Her mane was braided silver and her coat and horn were all a dusky gray, like that of a thunderhead. However, her ruby eyes showed that she was more than capable of fighting.

“Could you see if these really were Iron Wolf’s?” Anord asked while hoofing them armaments over to Quicksilver. She picked them up in her telekinetic grasp and looked them over while finishing her apple with one large bite.

“I’ll be in the smithy.” She said before disappearing in a shimmer of red magic.

“Now that we know who you are,” Anord said turning to Irish Cream. “Why were you in the city brandishing your father’s arms?”

Irish’s gaze turned black for a moment and he noticed that both Anord and One-Ear saw the change in him. “Coltchester is no more.” Irish said with tempered fury. “It was ravaged by dragons. My family was killed, but before my grandfather died he told me where to find my father’s weapons and where the dragons came from.” He said, making the crowd of Hunters go quiet from the dire news.

“I was mistakenly taken here by that constable when he saw the shield. I was just resting in the city before I headed out to the Misty Mountains to settle this.” Irish said solemnly.

Many Hunters broke out into laughter, until they saw Irish’s face.

“Boy, a pony alone cannot even defeat one dragon! It would be suicide to fight even one alone!” One-Ear said to him in a bewildered voice.

“I will not let the memories of my loved ones, of my friends and family, die in vain. They will receive the vengeance their souls clamor for.” Irish replied, sending chills down many a Hunter’s spine.

“Ok, enough of this.” Anord said, holding himself and shivering slightly. “We will talk of this in the morning, but for now you will stay with us! Hey Fender! Play us some tunes!” Anord called out to some Hunter. Soon smiles broke out among the Hunters as one of them, presumably Fender, grabbed an acoustic guitar and started playing it. Next, some other pony joined in on the song with a fiddle. Next, some drums, then a flute, then a harmonica, and then a lyre. Soon there were so many different instruments playing that it at first sounded like a cacophony, until one mare stood up on a table and started leading the song with her singing. The Hunters smiled at the music, some singing along, others dancing, and a few others starting a few play-fights. And yet, there was one pony who sat amongst the fun with mixed feelings. Half of him smiled at the music and wanted to join in, but there was another half, a pain ridden half that wanted to go to the smithy, take his weapons, and march out of there.

“You know,” said an elderly voice from beside him. “When we were young, your father and I, we would get into all sorts of trouble and scuffles. He was a great stallion your father was. But the thing I remember most about him was that he could sometimes be brash.” said One-Ear as he put a gentle hoof on Irish’s shoulder. “So, I know what you are thinking about right now. But believe me; your choices will look different in the light of day. For now, just stay here with us. Argue with me all you want, but it is the right decision.”

Irish stared blankly at the Hunters, the guild of adventure ponies that were renowned across Equestria as the toughest and bravest of all explorers and adventurers, and wondered what was becoming of his life, or even if he had a life left. His home was gone, as were everypony he had ever cared about, but these ponies of the guild shed light on a side of his family he never knew. Was he staying here because of that? Or was it because of One-Ear’s words? Whichever it was, he felt gnawing apprehension and tension in the pit of his stomach.

“Could you show me to a room?” Irish asked quietly, his voice about to giveaway to all his conflicting emotions. One-Ear nodded knowingly and led the torn pony up the stairs and into an unused room. As One-Ear left, Irish quickly fell onto the bed and fell into a fleeting sleep conquered by dragons and images of loved ones lost.