The Nowhere King

Gallus woke refreshed and well-rested. The morning sun washed the valley in the distance with a warm light, and the griffon found his limbs were twined around his pony, who was already awake.

“Good morning,” Sandbar said, his voice quiet. He kissed Gallus’ beak. “Sleep well?”

Gallus stretched, enjoying the way his body shifted and twisted in the pony’s legs. “Really well, actually.” He relaxed, enjoying the gentle warmth of the fluffy bedding and the touch of his stallion. “No bad dreams about creepy shadow ponies, at least.”

Sandbar tilted his head and gave Gallus a concerned look. “Shadow ponies?”

Gallus shifted his shoulders in a small shrug. “The same creepy ponies showed up in two dreams yesterday. Weird, right?”

Sandbar frowned. “Very. What made them creepy, though?”

Gallus thought back. “I don’t know,” he said. “Just the way of dreams, right? They did have these weird, shifting cloaks.”

The green pony considered. “Well,” he replied, “just be careful.”

“In my dreams?” He couldn’t keep the sarcasm from his voice.

Sandbar extricated his hooves from around the griffon slowly. “You know what I mean,” he said. “Dream stuff isn’t something for just any creature to mess around with.”

Gallus smiled widely. “Unless it’s that one dream we shared once. There was plenty of messing around there.”

Sandbar’s eyes went wide and he bit his lip. “Hush, you’ll wake it up.”

Gallus ducked his head under the blanket and directed his voice to Sandbar’s underside. “Hey, good morning! You wanna come out and play?”

A hoof smacked the griffon’s shoulder.

Gallus groaned. “We never get morning sexy time anymore!” he whined.

Sandbar laughed. “We sucked each other off before class last week.”

Gallus nodded solemnly. “And that was days ago.” He felt an erection stirring in his sheath.

“You’re ridiculous,” the green pony said fondly.

Gallus sighed, pushing down the excitement that had been building. “I guess we should actually get up before we’re late again.”

Sandbar nodded and gingerly touched the bandaged part of his shoulder. “I’d like to avoid dragon fire today, if at all possible.”

The lesson was, ostensibly, about friendship’s impact on politics. So far as Sandbar could tell, though, it seemed like it was mostly a chance for their Headmare to fanfilly over the older Princess. After giving the students a cursory explanation of what would happen (which was unusual in and of itself—cursory was not usually in Twilight Sparkle’s repertoire), their Headmare had teleported herself away to stand beside Princess Celestia on the raised dais.

The Solar Court wasn’t really Sandbar’s scene. Too much formality, for one thing. Ponies entered, were announced by the Guard, greeted the Princess, and presented their petitions. Which, it turned out, were nearly always submitted in writing beforehoof. Sandbar quickly found his attention wandering. He glanced over at his friends. Ocellus was taking studious notes, because of course she was, but he was surprised to see Smolder paying close attention to the proceedings, occasionally whispering some commentary to the changeling, who would nod and scribble down a note. Maybe the dragon saw some advantage in learning the processes of pony royalty? Yona was doing her best yak statue impression, eyes slightly glazed over as she sat perfectly still. Silverstream was doodling idly, lazy circles and loops adorned the sides and top of her scroll. Sandbar leaned forward and poked her shoulder with a hoof. The hippogriff turned and beamed at him. “You bored too?” she whispered.

“W-well,” Sandbar hedged, “I don’t know if I’m ‘bored’ so much as ‘not enthralled.’” A quill stabbed him in the side. Sandbar jumped and rubbed his ribs. He turned to the guilty party. The griffon never even looked his way.

“Honesty,” Gallus muttered.

Sandbar glared at his boyfriend. “Fine,” he said quietly. He turned back to Silverstream. “Yes,” he admitted, “It’s all a little over my head. I’m not really following some of the requests.”

The hippogriff blinked. “Really?” She asked. “This is the kind of stuff my aunt deals with all the time. I was taught legal precedent practically before I knew my letters and numbers.”

“And certainly before she was told about stairs,” Gallus whispered, a hint of laughter in his voice.

Sandbar smiled and nudged the griffon.

“What was that?” Silverstream asked.

Sandbar shook his head. “He’s just being silly. I think it’s pretty neat you know all that stuff about law.”

The hippogriff considered. “I mean, I don’t know that much about Equestrian law, but I am pretty familiar with seapony and hippogriff rights and due process, and a lot of that seems to translate here.” She went back to doodling on her scroll.

Sandbar felt an elbow nudge him. “Hadn’t you noticed?” Gallus asked, his voice quiet. “The rest of our friends are all either related to rulers or likely to take on administrative positions in their governments. Even Smolder will probably use what she’s learned here to make a name for herself with the Dragon Lord.” He paused, his voice turning sour. “Makes you wonder why they associate with an orphan griff.”

Sandbar felt his heart ache. Or a listless pony, he thought. He leaned over and hugged his griffon with one hoof. “Don’t be like that,” he said, “you know by now they all genuinely care for you.”

Gallus nodded. “Yeah, I know. Just feeling mopey, I guess. It’s just times like these that make me feel like every other creature seems to have life all figured out – this grand road map for where they’re going – and I’m just floating along.” He set his quill down on the ground beside him. “Like, what am I going to do when we graduate?”

Sandbar finally got a good look at the scroll Gallus had been holding. It contained a detailed sketch of the princesses and one of the earlier petitioners. “Wow!” Sandbar said as he marveled over the image. He pulled it closer with a hoof. “I never knew you could draw like this!”

Gallus smiled slightly. “I actually haven’t drawn in a while, but a few weeks ago Professor Rarity was talking about rediscovering old talents.” He shrugged. “Things you did when you were young that you enjoyed that you don’t make time for anymore.” His eyes took on a faraway look. “I used to love drawing. I’d use up every scrap of paper in the house, until my mom…”

The griffon fell silent, and Sandbar reached out and put a comforting hoof on his griffon’s shoulder. Sandbar still didn’t know the story of how, exactly, Gallus had ended up an orphan, and he wasn’t a pony to pry, but the few times it had come up, Gallus had ended up teary-eyed. The griffon shook his head and looked at Sandbar with sad eyes. “Anyway,” he said, “I’ve been trying to take more time to draw. You think it’s good?”

Sandbar nodded enthusiastically. “It’s really good. What else have you been drawing?”

The griffon blushed. “Oh, you know, just stuff.”

That was odd. “Yeah?” Sandbar asked, “What kind of stuff?”

The griffon squirmed. The earth pony blinked. Very odd.

Sandbar lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “You wouldn’t be drawing… lewd things, would you?” The way the griffon’s crest feathers peaked confirmed it. Sandbar laughed quietly. It was so delightfully absurd—he was so rarely the one to do the teasing. He decided to push it. “If you want,” he whispered, “I could be your model later.”

Gallus looked at him with hungry and slightly-panicked eyes.

“Where are we going again?” Sandbar asked his boyfriend. The griffon had led them out of the castle proper and into the sea of wagons and stalls that operated as Canterlot’s main food market. “I thought you were going to show me more of your drawings,” he teased.

Gallus blushed. “I just need a few things first before the stalls close for the night.”

Sandbar shrugged. “Headmare Twilight said we could get whatever we want from the Royal kitchens.”

“Yeah, but sometimes it’s fun to wander the market.” The griffon sidestepped a pony dragging a large wagon and sidled up to a small apple cart. “Besides,” he said, “I’m looking for something the kitchen probably doesn’t just give out.”

Gallus grabbed two apples from the nearby cart and tossed a gold bit to the yellow earth pony behind the cart. Gallus passed one apple to Sandbar. Veins of gold and orange streaked through the mostly red surface of the fruit.

Gallus took a bite. The pony watched a look of surprise creep over the griffon’s face. “That’s…” he paused to lick a small bit of juice that had escaped down the side of his beak. “That’s really good.” Sandbar took a bite, not sure of what to expect. It was sweet and tart, firm yet juicy: in short, delicious.

The yellow earth pony behind the stand smiled. “Aw shucks, thanks fella. It’s my own cultivar. Some of us Apples—that’s the family, not the fruit—develop our own flavors. That, my fine griff, is a Braeburn apple.”

Gallus took another bite, the flesh of the apple crunching in his beak. He dug around quickly in his bag for another coin, flipped it to the vendor, and pocketed another pair of apples into his bag.

Sandbar swallowed his mouthful of delicious fruit. “Did you say you’re an Apple?”

The yellow pony nodded and tipped his hat toward the younger pony. “Reckon I did, fella. You know some of my clan?”

Sandbar nodded. “Professor Applejack is one our teachers.”

“Ain’t that somethin’? Small world.”

Sandbar nodded. “So you’re part of the Canterlot Apples? Though, I thought they were mostly Oranges?”

The yellow stallion laughed. “Nah. No disrespect to that part of the family or nothin’, but that ain’t me, living all fancy. This here’s the closest I get to city life—draggin’ my cart along on tour with the Wonderbolts.”

Gallus, who had been only half listening to the conversation, perked up. “Wait, Wonderbolts? They’re performing here?”

“Sure ‘nuff,” the yellow stallion said.

The griffon turned to Sandbar, excitement evident in his features. “I love watching them fly! Do you think we’ll have time to catch a show?”

Braeburn shook his head. “Pity these shows are already sold out.”

Sandbar frowned and watched Gallus’ excitement deflate like a leaky balloon.

The vendor scratched his chin with a hoof. “O’ course, I’m actually doin’ good business tonight, and I’d hate to close up early.” He smiled at the griffon and sea-green pony. “Don’t suppose y’all’d like to take my tickets? My husband always has free passes to his shows, and there’s only so many times this earth pony can watch him twirlin’ and loopin’ up there in the sky before gettin’ nervous.”

Gallus jumped with excitement. Sandbar’s mouth dropped. “Wait, you’re Soarin’s husband?” Sandbar had read the big expose, not quite a year back, when news had leaked that not only was Soarin bisexual, but that he was secretly engaged to a stallion. Sandbar still remembered the alliterative title: “A Million Mares Mourn.”

Braeburn nodded happily. “Now, y’all want these tickets or should I find another cute couple who’ll take them?”

Sandbar blushed fiercely and Gallus laughed. The griffon nodded. “Yeah, we’re totally in.” Gallus gestured with a claw at Sandbar. “For the record, though, he’s the cute one. I’m the awesome one.”

Sandbar made a rude sound in his throat.

Braeburn laughed. “You sound like Soarin. He’s wrong a lot, too.” The vendor leaned over the cart, a grin on his face at the griffon’s mildly offended look. He pressed a small token into Gallus’ claw. “This’ll get ya the tickets. Y’all go to on-call and tell ‘em you’re pickin’ up Braeburn’s tickets. They’re all yours.”

Gallus nudged Sandbar with his wing and passed him the token. “Why don’t you go grab the tickets, I’ll finish up shopping?”

Sandbar nodded and trotted away towards the arena that lay on the far side of the castle. He thought he heard his boyfriend ask the yellow pony about cooking supplies, which made no sense. They didn’t even have facilities to do any cooking in their room, nice as it was.

Smolder looked around the dark cave. Or tried to. The shadows seemed to shift as she turned, never giving her a clear view of any surface. Grumbling, she heaved and ignited the air with her breath. Orange flame licked the walls. In the flickering light, she finally recognized where she was—her mother’s hoard. Smolder swallowed roughly. Her mom was not one to look kindly on intruders in her hoard, even if they happened to be family. Especially if they were family. Smolder started slinking towards the exit.

The dragon tripped over some piece of treasure, and she landed hard on her claws. Smolder kept herself from crying out in surprise—it would do her no good to broadcast her presence in this forbidden place.

She stood quickly, and banged her head into the ceiling. She rubbed her scales and frowned. That was wrong. The ceilings in her mother’s hoard were mountainous, big enough for a very old and very large dragon to lumber around.

Smolder breathed fire again. Flames jetted from her mouth. They rebounded off a dark surface only a few talons from her face. At first, it looked like a new obsidian wall, unexpected in its placement, but as Smolder’s fiery breath subsided, she noticed tiny, swirling shapes in phosphorescent white and midnight black dancing across the surface. They drifted and twirled in the fading light, collided and shattered, or sometimes melted together.

Smolder screamed. Had it been anywhere else, for any other reason, she would have been embarrassed at the frightened tenor of the shriek. She tried to turn and run, her claws scrabbling on the rough floor of her mother’s hoard.

An immense crushing grip seized her around her midsection. Smolder slashed her claws, trying to tear herself loose.

“LITTLE DRAGON,” a booming, horrid voice filled the air. It sounded like the blood in her ears, rushing and desperate and loud, too loud. It scraped the very air around her, making everything feel sharp.

Smolder screamed wordlessly and retched in fear.

“YOUR DREAMS ARE MINE,” the voice boomed. The darkness fell away and the entirety of Smolder’s vision was filled with the shifting shapes on the dark planes of an enormous creature.

The monstrous grip on her midsection turned icy cold, and Smolder shivered pitifully as she thrashed and twisted. She needed to get away, at any cost. “YOU ARE MINE.”

“Mom!” She yelled. “Mom! I’m in your stash!”

The Nightmare quivered and writhed, and Smolder realized with gut-wrenching horror that it was laughing.

“Please, Mom! Help!” The dragon shivered as the chill spread through her core.

“Dad! Ember!” Smolder retched and nearly vomited.

“MINE!” the voice boomed.

“Ocellus, please! Princess! Yona! Silver!”

Something warm, blessedly warm, touched the dragon’s face.

“NO ONE WILL HELP YOU,” the horror announced calmly. Smolder knew it was true, knew nothing and no one could save her.

The warmth in her face pulsed.

“Please,” Smolder whispered, still desperately hacking with her claws and the frozen grip holding her in place.

“Smolder!”

The dragon focused all her desperate hope on that small answering voice as the cold began to choke her.

Smolder awoke screaming, her voice raw. “NO! NO!” her claws raked in front of her.

“AH! Ow! Smolder, what?!”

The sound snapped something in the dragon’s brain, causing her eyes to finally focus on the multi-hued changeling in front of her. “Oh GOLD, Ocellus?” Smolder leaned forward in a panic. “Oh Precious Platinum, are you okay?”

Green blood oozed from three long scratch marks in the changeling’s face.

Smolder felt tears form in her eyes. “Oh no. No no no no no no, sweetie, no.” She sat up and put an arm around the the changeling. Ocellus flinched. Only slightly, only for a fraction of a moment, not enough to pull away. Smolder felt like dying.

“I’m okay,” the smaller creature said. Smolder fussed at the scratch marks for a few moments before a wave of green magic flashed around the changeling, removing the wound, changing the gouges to normal flesh. Ocellus winced, and then shook her head. “Just a little hungry.”

The dragon leaned her head down, putting her crown on the changeling’s forehead. Smolder heard Ocellus sigh. “I can’t feed on you right now, love. You’re still… scared.” The changeling raised a slender hoof and lifted the dragon’s chin. Smolder stared into beautiful, jewel-like compound eyes. “What in Equestria can scare you like that?”

Smolder shuddered, hating herself for feeling so weak, for showing that weakness to another, even someone she valued and trusted as much as Ocellus. She took a slow breath to make sure she would have a steady voice.

“The Nowhere King.”