Fallout Equestria: A Touch of Spiceby thecyanidefairyChaptersThe RoadThe PromiseInnocence DevouredThe Wine CeremonyThe Road“Papa?” Fafnir closed his eyes, a sigh of irritation escaping his parched and cracked lips. Another question. Even in this damnable wasteland, where there was nothing but dust and ash as far as the eye could see, she still had questions. Ignoring her, he kept walking, scanning the empty road for anything they could use to survive. They were surrounded by a rocky hillside, with a small grove of burnt and dead trees a distance from the road. It was the perfect place for an ambush, he had to keep alert. He had been feeling watched this past hour, as if the hills themselves had eyes. “Papa? I'm thirsty.” The bubbling irritation turned to anger, and he rounded on the small filly intending on telling her to be quiet lest she attract attention to them from whatever lurked in the craggy hills, but found the sharp retort intended dying upon his tongue. She was so small, her dirty pale blue mane hanging limp around her thin face. Her ribs stood out starkly against her body, the fur barely thick enough to cover the pale, milky skin. His heart began to hurt, knowing that this tiny little daughter of his deserved so much more. She deserved the life of happiness that he himself had known for many years, safe behind the stable doors. Her hooves stumbled a little in the dust upon the empty road, her wings hanging limply by her emancipated sides. He should be grateful instead of angry that even amongst this desolation, her bubbly self shined through. “I know honey. We'll have some water soon, I promise.” Fafnir reached out and stroked her mane, mentally calculating how much of the canteen of water he had scavenged from the skeletal remains of a burnt out caravan a few days ago would last them. Two days. Four if he didn't drink much. He swallowed, feeling his itchy parched throat rebelling at the thought of sacrificing his share. No, he had to believe that they would find something. Anything. Princess Luna may have forsaken Equestria but she would not forsake her children. “Once we get to that bend up there we’ll stop and you can have a drink.” Brynhildr nodded, tiredly plodding past him, determined to get to the bend in the road for her prize. Fafnir turned to follow, before his ears pricked up at a noise behind him that wasn’t the wail of the wind or the seemingly random screeching of the ancient flying robots. He turned, and his eyes widened at the sight of a puff of dust coming towards them. A caravan? They had to hide! He scooped up Bryn, ignoring her squawk of protest, and began to run. There was only the sheer hillside or the patch of spindly burnt trees, they could hide there, hopefully. Maybe. He could fly but his dark coat would be like a beacon against the pale clouds in the sky. His heart hammered in his bony chest as he fled the road with Brynhildr gripped by the scruff of her neck in his teeth. He crouched behind the slender trees in the thicket, praying to Princess Luna that his dark coat would blend in with the deep shadows and that the ponies travelling would pass them by. “Papa? Why are we hiding? Are there bad ponies coming?” “Shh!” They waited, tense and barely breathing. The dust cloud inched past their hiding place, ponies covered in spikes and clothing, laughing and smoking as they walked. They were heavily armed with guns and spears, in one case a particularly gruesome club was slung over the back of a pony, swaying sickeningly with rotting gore as he strolled along. Some decrepit and sad looking ponies were pulling the heavily laden cart, watched over by another of the ponies on high. Fafnir could see the heavy collars around the hauling ponies necks, the chafing bright against their fur. Bomb collars, most likely. His heart ached, but he couldn't save them. There had to be a dozen or more of the armed ponies, filthy and stinking even from this distance. Fafnir curled himself around Brynhildr, shielding her eyes from the sight of the travellers with his hoof, his slitted eyes never moving from the slow moving convoy. A whistle sounded, and the ponies stopped. They appeared to be looking at something on the road, and Fafnir almost let out a groan when he spotted their canteen lying in the ashy dust, hoofprints clearly surrounding it and leading off towards the grove. He was not a smart pony. In his panic, he had left them a trail straight to where he was hiding. The ponies looked up and began to make their way down towards them, screeching profanities at each other. Fafnir turned and began to run again, exhaustion and thirst giving away to the fear of being captured or worse. He had to protect Bryn. he could hear shouts and whistles behind him, and a dog had begun to bark. Oh Princess Luna, they had dogs! Brynhildr began to cry at being carried so roughly, curled into a tiny ball as she was swung about wildly from his jaws. He must be hurting the back of her neck something fierce, but he couldn’t stop to comfort her. If they were caught they would not live to see another day. Cracks and howls rang through the grove, followed by an explosion. The band of ponies had turned back from chasing the pair to face a new threat with savage battle cries. Bright light arced through the thicket, flashes of gunfire and an energy weapon. Fafnir whipped his head around, hurling Brynhildr into the highest fork of a tree. “Stay there!” he roared, turning back to see what had caused the noise. His could see his pursuers were fighting something, but what, he didn’t know. Either way it would not be beneficial for him to keep running, he had to go and make sure that whatever was attacking those ponies won. The enemy of my enemy is my friend. Hopefully. Maybe. He had to take this risk. He was too weak to run very far with Brynhildr, let alone fly away, and they needed that water canteen if they were going to make it another day. “Papa!” Bryn was reaching for him, fear etched upon her face at being left behind. He leaned up the tree, bumping her hoof with his own. “I’ll be back, sugar plum. Stay here and guard my back for me okay?” He waited for her tiny nod, then fled back towards the hateful road. If whatever they were fighting won, he could try to get at their supplies as well. This was too good of an opportunity to pass up. He may not be a smart pony, but he wasn’t stupid enough to ignore a chance when he saw it. Fafnir galloped towards the noise of the brawl, the weakness in his hooves leaving him as adrenaline rushed through his body. Flapping his wings, he launched himself through the air, discretion now forgotten, assessing the mess below him. A second caravan had launched an ambush from up high, which meant that there were indeed ponies lying in wait within the crags of the hill, just as he had suspected. How long had they watched him and his daughter? At least that meant they weren’t after solitary travellers. He watched a deep green pony barking orders and directing the fighters. This was no ragtag group of bandits, this was a pony who knew strategy. Fafnir could see more ponies lying in wait, ready to offer covering fire as support. He could fly away now, grab Bryn and run, but if he assisted this green pony he might be able to barter for some of the spoils and get some supplies for his filly. He had to take a chance. Tearing up his indecision, he thrust himself into the battle, sinking his fangs into the neck of the nearest raider and tearing out his throat. Spitting out the remains of a windpipe, he flapped his leathery wings and launched himself at his next victim. The skirmish felt like hours, but in reality had raged for only minutes before the band of raiders had been wiped out. The green pony himself never entered the battle, instead directing his soldiers wherever they were needed while covering fire was showered from the ponies held in reserve. It wasn’t until the dust had settled that Fafnir noticed the green pony had positioned himself over the ponies strapped to the caravan, and realised that he had been protecting them all along while simultaneously directing the soldiers who fought for him. “You there! Who are you?” the green pony pointed a crackling blue weapon at him. “My name is Fafnir, sir. I saw the melee and came to assist. Who are you?” “Well met, Fafnir. I am Marble Strikes.” Marble seemed to appraise Fafnir, who stared back with a cool expression. This pony seemed more civilized than the others he had the misfortune of meeting, but he wasn’t willing to risk more than that yet. He took a deep breath, his next words were a gamble. He had to trust that Princess Luna had created this opportunity for a reason. “Mister Strikes, since I assisted you, a share of the spoils is rightfully mine under the Battalion Clause 56, signed by her majesty Princess Luna.” Fafnir waited, his body tense and prepared to flee should the demand be met with violence. Marble looked surprised, stepping closer from where he had freed the poor ponies from their heavy collars. “You know of the old laws? You are an educated stallion. Are those...wings? Are you a Thestral? A guard of Her Majesty’s Army?” “Yes, Mister Strikes. My ancestors once stood proudly at her side.” “I see. And are there more of you?” “Perhaps. My spoils, sir?” “Indeed you're entitled to a portion of the bounty. I have been hunting that band of raiders for many nights, and I'm glad they are no longer on my land. In part that is thanks to you. However, I have a better offer than these meager supplies.” Fafnir frowned. Offers did not feed his filly. “Work for me. You will be paid in food and lodging, provided you work hard and dedicate yourself to my protection. I'm a wealthy stallion, many seek to usurp my power. Agree to see that it does not happen, and I will provide for you.” Marble stepped closer, closing the gap between them enough that Fafnir could hear his lowered voice. “You’re as thin as a rail and shaking from exertion, lad. I can see you are halfway to being with Her Majesty and joining your ancestors. Let me help you, it is what I do.” he nodded a chin to where the decrepit ponies were being given food and water, wrapped in warm blankets. Fafnir paused. He had nowhere to go after his stable had been infected with radiation. Brynhildr needed safety. This stallion was an obviously honourable one, a rarity in the barren wasteland. He even knew of the old laws. What would Princess Luna want for her children? To die in the wasteland like anonymous motes of dust, or to risk protecting this pony and change his daughter’s life? They had been running for weeks, fleeing the poisoned stable that had once offered shelter and a home. He was tired. So very tired. Dropping to a weary knee, Fafnir bowed his head to Marble Strikes. “I accept your offer.” Marble smiled, reaching a hoof towards him. “On a condition.” The hoof paused. “I have a daughter.” He whistled long and loud, and in an instant Brynhildr was at his side, her frail body nuzzling under his wing. Marble seemed to pause, considering the small bat pony that had appeared and was now staring at him with suspicious pink eyes. His eyes caught the leathery wings folded at her side and the ghost of a smile graced his mouth. “And a lovely daughter at that, such pretty wings. There is a filly who is the foal of a mare who has worked for me since I was a young lad. This filly is…. special. I will hire your daughter to be her guardian.” Marble reached down, hauling Fafnir to his hooves. “Is that an acceptable agreement?” Relief spread through Fafnir and he almost collapsed again. Bryn would have a place, and a purpose. Truly, Princess Luna had smiled upon them this day. “Agreed. From this day til my last, I will serve you.” Fafnir bit at his hoof enough to draw blood, scraping it across his chest. An oath was an oath, for better or worse. “Wonderful, let’s get you both some food and drink. You look like you need it.” They turned and walked back towards the caravan, Fafnir already taking up a position at the side of Marble Strikes. Brynhildr scampered after them, squeaking excitedly to her father about the battle she had just seen and peppering the new green pony with dozens of questions. Marble just chuckled, ruffling the mane of the little bat pony. He was pleased with himself. He had secured not one, but two of Her Majesty's Thestrals into his service, an ancient and rare race known for their loyalty. An unexpected surprise, but a welcome one. They would prove to be very useful. The PromiseBrynhildr ran around her Papa’s legs, eager to see their new home. She had eaten properly for the first time in weeks, and after a nap was feeling very energetic. Her wings buzzed and her mouth streamed a seemingly endless amount of questions at anyone who was within ear shot, barely pausing for them to answer a single one of them. Arriving at the gates of the place that Papa said her destiny awaited was the most exciting feeling she had ever felt! They walked up a long driveway, and Bryn saw loads of different rocks and twigs, there were even some leaves on some of the trees. She flew up and tasted one, but it was ashy and gross. Papa made her spit it out. Before long they reached a courtyard, and Brynhildr’s eyes widened as she tried to take everything in. There were several smaller houses, and a few buildings that looked almost brand new, but the biggest house was an absolutely enormous one right in the middle. It was really high and had lots of windows, some of which were even intact! There weren’t many holes either, and there was a very high fence that ran around the entire land, complete with ponies guarding the top of it. She turned to her Papa, tugging at his leg. “Is this a city?” “No, little one. This is my home.” Marble Strikes smiled at the filly, who turned to stare at him in wonder. “And it is now your home too.” “My home too.” Bryn echoed, once more gaping at the sight around her. Ponies were everywhere, and there were so many smells and sounds. Big ponies, little ponies, huge ovens with bread inside baking, and cauldrons of bubbling fragrant soup. One pony was ripping the tops off cans of food, pouring them into the pot and then using his magic to crush the cans into tiny little cubes. She watched with curiosity as he floated the small cube over to a pile of them, where another pony was carting them off to a strange building that smelled of hot metal and rang with the banging of hammers. She wandered around the encampment while Papa and Lord Strikes spoke with some other ponies, licking a few things here and there to check them for tastiness. Eventually her ears pricked up, hearing Papa whistle for her. She flew back to him, spotting him speaking with a grey pony with a pink mane, and strangely enough some blue glasses perched upon her nose. Landing beside him, she nuzzled under his wing, his comforting smell an oasis amongst the strange new world. Papa nudged her towards the pony, introducing them. “Bryn, this is Buttermilk. You’ll be the guardian of her daughter. Buttermilk, I’d like to present my daughter, Brynhildr.” Brynhildr gazed in awe at the gorgeous and elegant pony towering above her, glamorous pink mane done up in loops of graceful braids with twinkling violet eyes that gazed down through her glasses, a mysterious look deep within them. She was so clean, and Brynhildr could swear she smelled like candy. Her eyes were drawn to a pair of lovely grey and yellow wings nestled at the sides of the pony. A pegasus! Did that mean she would be protecting a pegasus foal? Maybe they could go flying together? Brynhildr jumped around in circles squeaking with delight, imagining all the adventures she would go on, flying around the skies with a best friend for life. Maybe she was even as pretty as this pretty pegasus! A real, live pegasus! Her father laughed, catching her and holding her still so the grey pegasus could greet her. “It is a pleasure to meet you, little Brynhildr. I’d like to introduce my daughter, Bubble Spice. It would be an honour for one of Princess Luna’s royal guards to become her guardian.” Buttermilk moved, revealing a small filly about Brynhildr’s age standing behind her tail. Brynhildr stared at the foal. And kept staring. This wasn’t a pegasus. It was a hairball with legs. This was her special job? To protect a pink and green puffball? Who didn’t even have wings? Ridiculous. She snorted, turning her nose into the air. “I won’t. She doesn’t even look worth protecting.” The purple eyes peering shyly out at her from behind Buttermilk narrowed in rage, but Bryn felt her father gently place a hoof on her head, then not-so-gently turn her face towards his stern golden eyes. “Lord Strikes has opened his hearth and home to us. You will earn your keep protecting this filly, or you will be back out in the wasteland. What would Princess Luna feel at such a shameful display?” Abashed, she kicked a hoof across the dusty ground. Papa didn’t get mad much, but when he did she knew better than to argue. “Sorry Papa. I will protect the puffball, from this day until the end of my days.” Her Papa smiled as she recited the ancient promise, releasing her head and standing up to talk to the pretty pegasus again. “I’m sorry, I think she was just excited that she might have had a flying buddy.” “It’s alright, Bubble may be an earth pony, but she is more than a handful as well. I’m sure with time they will get along just fine.” Buttermilk leaned down, scooping her daughter towards Brynhildr with her tail. Bryn couldn’t resist a small sneer at how useless the puffball was. “You two play nice while I introduce your Papa to the staff, alright?” The two adults walked into the main house, leaving Brynhildr alone with the brightly coloured tangle of hair. “So…..You can’t fly at all?” she asked hopefully. “No wings, dummy.” “I’m not a dummy. I am a guardian of the night!” “Guardian of the toilet, more like.” The filly glared at Brynhildr, who bristled in rage at the insult to her ancestors. “You take that back!” “Will not! Toilet guardian!” “Well I’m supposed to be guarding you so I guess that makes you the toilet!” The filly released a shriek of rage, diving onto Brynhildr in a flurry of kicks and punches, and she fought back, biting into the puffy mane trying to find her neck. She would teach her the wrath of bat ponies! The foals fought, dust from the road kicking up in a ball around them until they were unceremoniously pulled apart by the scruffs of their necks, suspended in an apple red glow of magic. The unicorn that had separated them was very, very tall, and had a very, very big frown upon his face. Brynhildr gulped. “What is the meaning of this behaviour, Bubble Spice?” His sharp gaze turned on Bubble, who seemed to shrivel under the withering gaze. “Nothing, Sir. It was a silly disagreement.” Brynhildr’s mouth opened in shock. How dare she lie?! This was an outrage! An outrage for all bat ponies everywhere! “It was not you big liar!” Brynhildr turned to the scary pony, missing the terror on Bubble’s face and her desperate signaling for Bryn to shut her mouth. “She called me a toilet guardian! It’s not MY fault she is a useless earth pony!” She stuck her tongue out at Bubble, who face-hoofed. “You were disagreeing over who is more useful, wings or not?” The stallion known as Sir glared at the foals, setting them down on the ground. “Such poorly disciplined behaviour has brought shame upon the house of Lord Strikes! Why, when I was a younger stallion, we never answered back to our elders, instead we treated them with the utmost respect! We didn’t quibble over ridiculous notions of who had wings or not for that is irrelevant within the wasteland! Only those who can survive will make it, wings, horn or hoof! It is how well you can fight that determines how useful you are! The most useful fighting style can be argued of the Fallen Caezar Style but...” The stallion continued his rant, now describing the effectiveness of two different oddly named fighting styles, ignoring the two foals sitting before him. His voice was oddly nasal and droning, something like the sound of cicadas. Brynhildr stared at the stallion, then turned her stare on Bubble, who had now sat down in front of the teacher with a bored look on her face, her mouth moving along with his words. Clearly this was not the first time hearing this particular lecture, no wonder she had lied! She had wanted to spare Brynhildr from being bored to death! Bubble caught Brynhildr’s stare, turning her face away in a pout with an audible “Hmph!” Bryn sank to the ground, facing away from Bubble with an equally dark glare on her muzzle. This was supposed to be the start of a new life, and already she was being murdered by Sir with his boring rant and boring voice. Papa was a fool, now she would die of boredom. Here Lies Brynhildr, Greatest and Coolest Bat Pony, Killed By Boring Sir. The teacher continued his rant well into the afternoon, until Brynhildr felt like her ears were going to fall off from the sound. Bubble Spice’s eyes had taken on a thousand yard stare, Bryn wasn’t even sure she was still alive. Finally the voice trailed off, and he seemed to blink down at them as if realising they were still there. “Well then, I see you have calmed down,” He said, jolting Bubble into sitting attentively as if she had been that way all along. “What have you learned?” “All fighting style have their advantages and disadvantages, and relying on wing, horn or hoof alone is the fastest way to meet a swift end, Sir.” Bubble answered mechanically, and Brynhildr felt a touch of awe. She had actually paid attention? “Well done! Now run along, foals should not idle for too long.” Dismissed, the teacher ambled into the broken down schoolhouse, now mumbling to himself about the youth of today being lazy. “Is he always like that?” She asked Bubble, her eyes wide. “Yup,” She sighed gloomily. “Every day we have lessons with him, and every day he is so boring. Lord Strikes says the lessons are an in-ves-ta-ment but I think he just wants us to die of boredom.” “How do you stand it?! I thought my ears would explode! You even answered him correctly!” Bubble drew an angry face in the dirt, adding comically large eyebrows. “You learn what to say to make him go away a bit sooner. Didn’t actually need to listen after a while, he’s always got the same stories on fighting styles.” Together the foals sat in front of the schoolhouse, taking turns drawing increasingly larger and angrier faces in the dust, turning one into a dragon with the face of the teacher. “RAWR!” Bryn growled, giving him fire-breath. “I am Sir-dragon and I want to kill you with long and stupid words!” “Oh no!” Bubble pitched her voice high and helpless, dancing two pebbles in the drawn flames. “We are but two foals who just want to have fun! Whatever shall we do in the face of this boring dragon?” Zooming one of the pebbles high, Bryn crowed. “We fly away!” Bubble instantly looked away, angry tears in her eyes. “You don’t have to tease me, you know. I know Momma has the bestest wings, and I don’t have any. It’s not my fault I was born like this.” Big tears spilled over her cheeks, and she wiped them away with a dirty hoof, leaving smudges across her fur. Bryn felt a bit guilty, she had been a bit mean before. “I’m sorry, no wings isn’t even that bad. You’re an earth pony, and Papa says no pony is stronger than an earth pony. So that’s pretty cool.” “You think so?” Bubble sniffed, her big purple eyes looking hopefully at Brynhildr. Bryn felt a twinge in her heart at the pure trust and cuteness being radiated right at her on full beam. “Of course! Being strong is amazing! Nopony can beat you in a hoof wrestle!” Bubble giggled at the pose Brynhildr had taken, one hoof thrust into the air. “I don’t think you are the Guardian of a Toilet either. I’ve never seen a bat pony before, can I touch your wings?” Bryn grinned, extending out the soft wing membrane, delighting in Bubble’s gasp of awe as it shimmered in the afternoon light. “It’s so pretty! It looks like it’s glowing!” she gushed, a soft hoof gently touching the wing, leaving a smudgy trail. “It’s so smooth. I’ve never seen a wing without feathers before.” “Papa says bat pony wings are built different to show that we belong to Princess Luna.” “What is she like?” “I don’t know, Papa said she lived in the sky and that I mustn’t ever fly above the clouds to see her because there are evil ponies up there who shoot lasers out of their eyes.” Bryn frowned at the sky. “I think that is very selfish of them to keep all that sky on their own. One day, for just a moment, I’d like to fly with nothing in front of me, just open stars.” Brynhildr blushed, realising she had just said something super lame to her new friend, but when she looked at Bubble she was staring at the sky with a contemplative look upon her face. “One day I want to go to Canterlot.” Bubble turned towards Brynhildr, keeping her voice low. “Momma says I can only go where Lord Strikes gives me permission to, so one day I want to get permission to go to Canterlot and see where all the prettiest ponies lived.” Bryn spat on her hoof, extending it out to Bubble who looked faintly repulsed. “Then we will do it! One day we will go to Canterlot together, and we will fly high above the clouds to get there. No pony will stop us! Promise?” A smile broke out on Bubble’s face, and she spat upon her own hoof, bumping it against Brynhildr’s. “Promise!” Innocence DevouredBrynhildr stealthily moved through the ruined playground, ducking and rolling between the rusted play-set and the broken slide, staying out of sight. The wind howled eerily through the delipidated old schoolhouse to her left, but her mind was sharp. Focused. She was a creature of the night, descended from mighty warriors who stood guard at the side of the Goddess Luna. She felt her wing brush against a rock, scraping painfully against the thin membrane and yet she did not cry out. Ten feet. The long dead grass crumbled under her hooves with each step she took. Brynhildr hunched lower to the ground, her slitted eyes fixed squarely upon her innocent target, ignorant to the beast that was stalking her every move. Bryn felt the anticipation of the hunt blooming in her chest, and her mouth watered slightly in anticipation of plunging her fangs into the tender flesh of her victim. Eight feet. The clouds opened and a soft rain began to fall, which only sharpened Brynhildr’s senses. She was a demon who thrived in the worst weather, nothing could hold her back from her kill. Ever closer she inched, pressed firmly against the dirt where green grass had grown a lifetime ago and foals had once gamboled without a care. Her prey began to sing softly, piling sand into a cracked bucket then dumping it into a small pile. Six feet. Curiosity nibbled at Brynhildr, her prey was constructing a strange building out of the now damp sand. The victim had no idea at her impending death, instead now surrounded by a halo of light rain that made her pink mane hang limp. Uncorrupted purity was held within those shoulders and Bryn was going to devour it. Brynhildr felt a bizarre urge to play with the creature blossom in her chest. Steeling herself against the whims of childhood, she pressed forward. Four feet. Brynhildr paused as her meal stopped singing and looked at the sky, slinking low to blend her dark form into the shadows of the monolithic equipment that had once been a playhouse - now little more than a skeletal bundle of sticks. The innocent foal looked back down at her muddy hooves, resuming the beautiful song in her high, sweet voice. Bryn licked her lips and resumed her snail crawl along the dust. Three feet. She tensed her haunches, preparing to leap upon her unsuspecting mark. Spreading her wings, she mentally began to count to three, aiming for the throat. The singing paused and Brynhildr froze. The small foal looked over her mint shoulder at the darker bat-pony, who stared back with wide eyes, her jaw agape with the anticipation of the first blow. “Check it out, Bryn. I made Canterlot castle!” Bubble Spice squeaked, her voice excited to share her sculpture with Brynhildr. She sighed in exasperation, miffed at the loss of her hunt. Bryn scampered over to the sandpit and stared in awe at the huge mound that Bubble had made. She felt briefly impressed before remembering she was supposed to be hunting. “It doesn't look anything like Canterlot castle dummy!” Brynhildr scowled at the sandy mound, streaked grey with ash. She prodded it with her hoof, leaving a dent in the side. “There are no towers or nuthin! Everypony who’s anypony knows that Canterlot has towers.” “Like you'd know!” Bubble flicked sand at her friend. Brushing the sand from her coat, Brynhildr turned her angry scowl on Bubble. ”You ruined my hunt.” “I knew you were there the whole time. You aren't exactly stealthy, you were singing along with me.” “Was not!” “Was too!” “Was not!” “Was too!” “Was not times infinity.” “Was too times infinity plus one!” Bubble stuck her tongue out at Bryn, who glared angrily at her before both the foals dissolved into giggles. Brynhildr leaned back on her hooves, a breathless grin on her face at the sight of her friend rolling on the dirt laughing, and her eyes twinkled mischievously. Climbing to her hooves, she took to the air, her small wings flapping quickly to get high enough to dive bomb Bubble and teach her not to underestimate the might and strength of the legendary batpony race! Guardians of the moon and the night! They did not sing while hunting! Turning in the air, she looked down at Bubble who had assumed a battle position below her, ready for a fight. Their eyes met like pink and purple fire. Their mouths opened in unison with a battle cry. “For Canterlot!” Bubble Spice bellowed, launching herself into an air born leap. “For Luna!” Howled Brynhildr in return, plummeting downwards with broad strokes of her wings. Her heart raced and her wings burned yet she did not falter in the charge. The two fillies met mid air in a flurry of kicks and punches before crashing back down onto the scarred earth. Over and over they rolled, each tearing furiously into the other to gain the upper hoof. Pain sparked where Bubble’s powerful hooves connected with Brynhildr’s face, backed by the strength of the earth pony race. Her head snapped back and Bubble wrapped her legs around Brynhildr’s throat, squeezing down. Brynhildr felt her wing muscles scream in desperation for freedom as she fought to gain the air once again, the sky was her own and she held the advantage above any creature. Sinking her teeth into Bubble’s leg, she felt her fangs pierce the delicate skin and Bubble yelped in surprise, releasing her iron grip on Brynhildr’s throat. Seizing the opportunity, Bryn scrambled back towards the clouds, only to be pulled sharply down by the weight of Bubble gripping her short tail in her teeth, her eyes sparkling with the fire of battle. Bubble was grinning up at her through the mouthful of fur, obviously confident in keeping Bryn to the ground. Brynhildr narrowed her eyes, and Bubble’s widened in shock when she realised what was coming. “I will never surrender!” Brynhildr screamed, aiming her hoof so that it would connect with Bubble’s muzzle, who gasped out a sharp cry of pain. Bubble released her tail, stunned from the blow. She hit the ground and lay still, ashy sand billowing up around her. Bryn took to the sky proper, picking up an imaginary lance and aiming it down to the foal who dared to challenge a fearsome soldier of Luna’s army. Puffing out her chest in triumph at her impending victory, she stared Bubble in the eye as she hurled the crackling electrical lance downwards, letting out her most thunderous Royal Canterlot Voice, passed down to her from her father. “YOU WILL PERISH HERE FOUL HEATHEN. YOU FOUGHT VALIANTLY. NOW DIE!” Bubble shrieked in agony when the lance collided with her. She flailed around, enthusiastically dying in the most dramatic way that she could. Finally her death throes came to an end, and she lay still, her tongue sticking out pitifully and her eyes squeezed shut, a hoof dramatically held to her forehead. Pleased with herself, Brynhildr dove down, and began to feast upon her winnings. “Om nom nom nom.” Her mouth tickled against Bubble’s side, who curled up in a ball hooting with laughter at the attack. “Stooooop!” she begged, but Brynhildr steeled herself and mercilessly nibbled down her friend’s ribs, where she was most ticklish. “OM NOM NOM NOM” Bryn laughed, gently nipping her friend before flopping down on her back, throwing her hooves into the sky and staring at their dark colour against the grey of the clouds. The rain had stopped at some point and they hadn’t even noticed. Mint hooves joined her own, and together they lay there in the dirt, surrounded by the skeletons of a playground that had once bustled with life long ago. The Wine CeremonyBubble Spice felt the heat of the fire warm against her face, the gleaming brass pot was heavy in her hoof. She leaned closer to the flames, sweat beginning to trickle down her nape, soaking into the too-large gown that was draped heavily over her body. The gown was her mother’s, hastily tailored to fit Bubble for the ceremony. She felt self conscious in the deep blue pattern, knowing it looked out of place on her mint fur. Nerves bit at her steady hooves as though threatening to drop the skein cradled in them. Throwing a subtle glance towards the door where Brynhildr stood guard, Bubble caught the eye of the bat pony who tilted her chin slightly towards her. A tiny movement that was barely discernible, but it was comfort enough. She took a deep breath and focused back on her surroundings. She could do this. Hazy figures danced at the edge of her vision, the indistinct babble of chatter around her pulled her into a sense of calm tranquility and she concentrated on the skein of crimson wine, fat and bulging against her leg. She tilted it up, the wine pouring and splashing around the cauldron with small whirlpools forming as the foam rose and fell. Anticipation lingered in the air from the indistinct forms around her, but Bubble dared not to look around lest it break the much needed feeling of serenity in her mind and expose the deafening sound of her hammering heart. The voices around her increased, she realised she had stilled and was holding her breath. Exhaling into the flames, she emptied the skein of wine and began to stoke the kindling. Despite the heat, Bubble found a shiver dancing down her spine. Whether it was from fear or excitement, she couldn’t tell. In this moment, the guest’s eyes were solely fixed upon her. The atmosphere was heavy with expectation and curiosity, for it was not usual for such a young mare to be performing the wine ceremony. Moving her hoof slowly and deliberately, she stirred the foaming wine in the brass pot; first clockwise then counter clockwise. The wine pooled around the silver ladle, rippling and whirling as it thickened in the heat. It resisted the ladle, making stirring difficult. Bubble set down the spoon, minding the angle to be exactly 45 degrees to her right, symbolising the horizon. Lifting a tray, she settled it in front of her, the bags of fragrant herbs and spices heady and stifling in the hot room. The murmurs turned silent, this was the moment that would decide how the evening progressed. Each spice had a meaning, each herb a different effect. The wrong combination could be disastrous, overpowering and vile. Bubble could feel the clients leaning towards her, interested to see her choices. Aromatic cinnamon balanced on a silver spoon, and it was soon joined in the pot by nutmeg, preserved spices from long ago. Bubble set the weighty tray aside and dipped her hoof into the sleeve of her gown to retrieve the secret vial Lord Strikes had slipped her this afternoon. The spoon dipped into the tiny dark vial, lifting out a clear thick fluid. Precariously it balanced, quivering on the spoon on its journey to the pot, the fine muscles in the young mare’s hoof trembling as she kept every drop of this precious liquid safe. It splashed into the mulled wine and an explosion of berry scent, sweet and rich, burst through the tent and filled the noses of the guests. Sighs of admiration, gasps of realisation and the room exploded into talk with the identification of the mysterious substance. Bubble wanted to desperately look around, to see the shock and awe upon their faces as they realised what she had placed in the wine, but knew in doing so that the ceremony would be tainted by her eager inexperience. Instead she contented herself by once again flicking her eyes to Brynhildr’s, delighted to see a tiny smile on the stoic mare’s face. She had also enjoyed the wonder that the guests had experienced, watching such high society ponies marvel like foals at a fair was a rare sight. A brash guffaw cut through the admiration. It was a harsh, gravelly sound that hurt her ears, and it took all of her restraint to not fold them back. Instead she focused on stirring her choice of flavorings into the wine, spreading them so that it would taste even and rich, while listening to the conversation that now grew around her. “Elderberry! Marble Strikes, you never cease to amaze. Where in Celestia’s name did you get elderberry nectar?” There was a slapping sound, and Bubble Spice knew that the toothless donkey whom the voice belonged to had just slapped her Master on the back. He was a new business partner, having travelled here from the irradiated swamp lands with a Talon hire as his guard. Brynhildr said that the need to pay a guard spoke volumes of his ability to inspire loyalty, and from the smell that lingered about the jack and his coarse way of speaking, Bubble could understand why. “I bought it off a travelling herbalist,” Marble Strikes boasted proudly. “She said there is still a tree or two in the Everfree Forest. It cost me a great deal of caps, but as you fine ponies can tell, it was well worth it. This is a momentous night, and I felt it needed a wine befitting the occasion.” “Momentous indeed! This deal will make further all of our territories, and make us all much richer!” More guffawing. Truly, that donkey was little better than a irradiated mule, discussing business before the ceremony was completed like some heathen. The guests were seated in a large circle around the fire, with Bubble placed in the middle. She began to set delicate silver cups in front of each guest, thinking back to this morning when the clients had arrived. Master Strikes was going to make a pact that would change the power dynamic of the surrounding houses of power, and as such was holding a feast and a wine ceremony to ensure its success. The swamp stallion had been her charge of the day to serve, and he had spent the whole time belittling her employer’s camp, boasting of his own and making crass jokes. Bubble would have dearly loved to kill him, but he was an important guest. Instead she had contented herself with pulling faces at him from afar with Brynhildr. “Now now, Velvet Bristle. You know it is customary for the wine ceremony to be completed before we turn to business. We wouldn't want to bring bad luck upon this agreement would we?” A low, raspy feminine voice reached her ears, full of wisdom and age. “Of course, of course. Just some silly banter, Obsidia, no need to get your horseshoes in a twist.” The prune coloured stallion sneered across the room at the older brown mare, who looked upon him with haughty eyes. “After all, we will all profit from this venture.” The sleek coated mare’s eyes narrowed dangerously as she made to begin a retort, but was interrupted by Bubble Spice laying an ornate silver cup before her, completing the large circle. Bubble lifted the heavy pot from the fire, and began to pour the wine into the guest’s cups, bowing deeply before each guest when the cup was filled before moving onto the next. Strong scented steam curled up from the cups, and Bubble noticed several of the guests licking their lips in preparation for the exceptionally rare taste of elderberry nectar wine. The cinnamon and nutmeg added a depth of warmth to the strong berry flavour, and Bubble found herself wishing she could experience the fine taste trickle across her own tongue. Instead she breathed deeply of the steam, the ghost of the flavour satisfying her for now. The handle of the pot was hot through the cloth gripped in her hoof and once again Bubble feared that she would drop it. “You have trained this slave rather well in the art of the wine ceremony, Warlord Strikes, especially for one so young. She doesn't even have her cutie mark yet.” Obsidia gave Bubble an approving nod. Bubble’s cheeks flushed with pleasure, and she almost lost her internal struggle not to beam with the compliment. “My staff value tradition as much as I do, no matter their age.” The pride in Marble Strikes’ voice was apparent. “This one also happens to be the foal of Buttermilk, the last earth born pegasus.” Obsidia now looked at Bubble with fresh appraisement. “Indeed? She does have the mane colour. Tis a pity she did not inherit the wings her mother is famous for as well.” Bubble filled the final cup of wine, placing the ladle back upon the now empty pot, her ears burning from the unintended cruelty in Obsidia’s observation. She was the only foal of the most famous and beautiful mare in the wasteland, and she was an earth pony. It was a point that she knew had disappointed everyone around her with her birth, but she had vowed long ago to become an exemplary slave, one that could be on the same level as a pegasus. She made her way to the silken cushion in the corner of the room as she tried to calm the hurt in her heart. There was a slight shift by the door that caught her attention and without looking, Bubble knew that Brynhildr was sending her a comforting look. She knew how much not being a pegasus hurt. Bubble drew strength from her friend, holding her head high. Scooping up the silver bell that awaited, she silently sat down and waited, the smoky room stinging her eyes slightly. The moment for the ceremonies apex was almost nigh and her timing had to be perfect. There was no time for self pity. The fire had already burned low, the enchanted wood snapped loudly. The orange colour was engulfed in sparks, shifting white hot then settling to a deep blue, filling the room with its brilliant radiant shine. This was the moment. The wine was prepared in an orange fire, representing the flames of the sun. It was drunk by the glow of a blue fire, representing the glow of the moon. When done right, the ceremony was said to give both Luna and Celestia’s blessings upon the deal that was to be struck, ensuring prosperity and protection. It was an ancient ceremony from the land of Mistmane, and her mother had been performing it since she was found by Master Strikes. Three light and gentle chimes rang from the bell Bubble held, symbolizing the rise of the moon and the start of the time for drinking. The room fell quiet, the only noise now the genteel slurping of the mulled wine. The scent of the elderberry was almost overpowering in the room, one could almost get intoxicated from the smell alone, which she was sure was Lord Strikes intention. Bubble held herself still in a delicate sitting position, patient and waiting. After they had drunk the wine, she would gather the cups, replacing the elderberry wine with a more gentle ale, and begin the ceremonial dance, a beautiful dance of an ancient bird called the crane, full of bells and slow movements. Her heart hammered in her chest, nerves betraying her stillness. This was the part that she had no confidence on. She was an earth pony, and hadn't mastered the bird-like movements that the dance needed. A sharp movement caught her eye and her head whipped around only to watch in shock as the foul Velvet Bristle did not sip his wine. Instead he threw his head back and chugged the entirety of the glass at once. Bubble held her face still, but her eyes betrayed the shock at the blatant disrespect for the importance of this ceremony being hosted by Master Strikes. Scandalized gasps escaped from the other guests as they too noticed him draining his cup, and he wiped his muzzle on his suit sleeve. The stains on it indicated that was a regular occurrence and Bubble suppressed a shudder at the display of such filth in front of her master. Bristle may hold the power of the irradiated swamplands, but surely dealing with such a beast was not worth her kind and loving master. Marble Strikes looked up sharply at the disturbance, just in time to see Velvet hurl the delicate silver cup at the fire. Bubble made to move and catch the cup, but a grey blur hurtled in front of her, leaping through the air gracefully. “Be still.” Her mother’s soft and gentle voice reached her, and Bubble sank back onto her pillow in surprise. Buttermilk had left on a secret and important errand this morning, which was why Bubble was here in the first place. The urge to embrace her mother almost overwhelmed her, but she knew this wasn’t the time. Coming to a stop, Buttermilk pirouetted while balancing the cup upon one delicate grey wing. She turned to look at the stallion who had callously hurled the rare and expensive cup at the fire, and in doing so had disrespected the entire evening and Lord Strikes. Hackles rose around the room as Buttermilk turned meet the gaze of Velvet Bristle, his hard eyed guard placing a claw on his scimitar. As soon as his claw made contact, the metallic scrape of the guards beside the door unsheathing their blades rang out through the room. Bubble heard a small growl behind her, a sign that Brynhildr was excitedly anticipating a battle. “Your cup appeared to slip from your hoof, Master Bristle. You really must take more care.” Buttermilk playfully chided the donkey, extending her beautiful wing towards the him with the cup handle turned his way. The room teetered on edge for a heartbeat, ready to break into a battle should Velvet Bristle not take the grace which had been offered. Bubble bit her lip, her own hoof curling around the blade concealed within her sleeve. “Y…yes, of course. How clumsy of me.” Abashed, Velvet Bristle took the cup back from Buttermilk, sitting back against his cushion, his murky eyes furtively glancing around the room at the rest of the nobility. Marble Strikes met his gaze, staring down his nose at the impudent donkey, causing him to sink further into the cushion in shame. The gryphon slipped his claw from his blade, and the guards behind Bubble relaxed but she could hear Brynhildr muttering angrily under her breath at the lack of bloodshed. Suppressing a giggle, she turned her attention back to her mother. Buttermilk smiled warmly at the foul beast, then turned and gracefully curtsied before the other guests. She spread her grey wings out fully; the yellow tips grazed the floor with a faint rustling sound. “I beg your humble pardons, my esteemed guests, my interruption was terribly timed. I do hope that my daughter was of no trouble, and that the ceremony can continue?” Her eyes were fixed on the floor, a slight tremble in her voice. Her pink mane seemed to droop, abashed at herself and begging for forgiveness. It was impossible for any pony, mare or stallion, to fight against her when she was like this, and she knew it. Sure enough, comforting calls came from around the room, and Marble Strikes helped Buttermilk to her hooves, a magnanimous smile upon his face. “No harm done, my dear! We shall continue as planned. Welcome back!” “Join us!” Obsidia tipped her cup towards the pair, her slanted eyes gleaming at the sight of a true pegasus. “It’s so rare that I get to see such exquisite beauty. I fear I am yet to tire of looking at it.” Buttermilk curtsied, this time bouncing up spiritedly, seemingly overjoyed at being forgiven. “Thank you for your kindness, my Lords and Ladies. Before I am fit to finish this ceremony, I must change into more fitting attire! If you will excuse me.” She kissed Marble Strikes upon his cheek, then swept Bubble Spice out of the room. Once in the hall, time was of the essence. Bubble quickly stripped from the dress before helping to slip Buttermilk into it. She pulled the the altered threads out, watching the fabric unfurl and settle back into its proper positioning, draped elegantly over her mother’s body. “Mother-” “I must return, beloved. I will send Brynhildr with word as soon as I am able. Rest now, you did wonderfully.” Buttermilk disappeared behind the heavy oak door, the scent of elderberry woodsmoke escaping briefly before the door slammed shut.
The Road“Papa?” Fafnir closed his eyes, a sigh of irritation escaping his parched and cracked lips. Another question. Even in this damnable wasteland, where there was nothing but dust and ash as far as the eye could see, she still had questions. Ignoring her, he kept walking, scanning the empty road for anything they could use to survive. They were surrounded by a rocky hillside, with a small grove of burnt and dead trees a distance from the road. It was the perfect place for an ambush, he had to keep alert. He had been feeling watched this past hour, as if the hills themselves had eyes. “Papa? I'm thirsty.” The bubbling irritation turned to anger, and he rounded on the small filly intending on telling her to be quiet lest she attract attention to them from whatever lurked in the craggy hills, but found the sharp retort intended dying upon his tongue. She was so small, her dirty pale blue mane hanging limp around her thin face. Her ribs stood out starkly against her body, the fur barely thick enough to cover the pale, milky skin. His heart began to hurt, knowing that this tiny little daughter of his deserved so much more. She deserved the life of happiness that he himself had known for many years, safe behind the stable doors. Her hooves stumbled a little in the dust upon the empty road, her wings hanging limply by her emancipated sides. He should be grateful instead of angry that even amongst this desolation, her bubbly self shined through. “I know honey. We'll have some water soon, I promise.” Fafnir reached out and stroked her mane, mentally calculating how much of the canteen of water he had scavenged from the skeletal remains of a burnt out caravan a few days ago would last them. Two days. Four if he didn't drink much. He swallowed, feeling his itchy parched throat rebelling at the thought of sacrificing his share. No, he had to believe that they would find something. Anything. Princess Luna may have forsaken Equestria but she would not forsake her children. “Once we get to that bend up there we’ll stop and you can have a drink.” Brynhildr nodded, tiredly plodding past him, determined to get to the bend in the road for her prize. Fafnir turned to follow, before his ears pricked up at a noise behind him that wasn’t the wail of the wind or the seemingly random screeching of the ancient flying robots. He turned, and his eyes widened at the sight of a puff of dust coming towards them. A caravan? They had to hide! He scooped up Bryn, ignoring her squawk of protest, and began to run. There was only the sheer hillside or the patch of spindly burnt trees, they could hide there, hopefully. Maybe. He could fly but his dark coat would be like a beacon against the pale clouds in the sky. His heart hammered in his bony chest as he fled the road with Brynhildr gripped by the scruff of her neck in his teeth. He crouched behind the slender trees in the thicket, praying to Princess Luna that his dark coat would blend in with the deep shadows and that the ponies travelling would pass them by. “Papa? Why are we hiding? Are there bad ponies coming?” “Shh!” They waited, tense and barely breathing. The dust cloud inched past their hiding place, ponies covered in spikes and clothing, laughing and smoking as they walked. They were heavily armed with guns and spears, in one case a particularly gruesome club was slung over the back of a pony, swaying sickeningly with rotting gore as he strolled along. Some decrepit and sad looking ponies were pulling the heavily laden cart, watched over by another of the ponies on high. Fafnir could see the heavy collars around the hauling ponies necks, the chafing bright against their fur. Bomb collars, most likely. His heart ached, but he couldn't save them. There had to be a dozen or more of the armed ponies, filthy and stinking even from this distance. Fafnir curled himself around Brynhildr, shielding her eyes from the sight of the travellers with his hoof, his slitted eyes never moving from the slow moving convoy. A whistle sounded, and the ponies stopped. They appeared to be looking at something on the road, and Fafnir almost let out a groan when he spotted their canteen lying in the ashy dust, hoofprints clearly surrounding it and leading off towards the grove. He was not a smart pony. In his panic, he had left them a trail straight to where he was hiding. The ponies looked up and began to make their way down towards them, screeching profanities at each other. Fafnir turned and began to run again, exhaustion and thirst giving away to the fear of being captured or worse. He had to protect Bryn. he could hear shouts and whistles behind him, and a dog had begun to bark. Oh Princess Luna, they had dogs! Brynhildr began to cry at being carried so roughly, curled into a tiny ball as she was swung about wildly from his jaws. He must be hurting the back of her neck something fierce, but he couldn’t stop to comfort her. If they were caught they would not live to see another day. Cracks and howls rang through the grove, followed by an explosion. The band of ponies had turned back from chasing the pair to face a new threat with savage battle cries. Bright light arced through the thicket, flashes of gunfire and an energy weapon. Fafnir whipped his head around, hurling Brynhildr into the highest fork of a tree. “Stay there!” he roared, turning back to see what had caused the noise. His could see his pursuers were fighting something, but what, he didn’t know. Either way it would not be beneficial for him to keep running, he had to go and make sure that whatever was attacking those ponies won. The enemy of my enemy is my friend. Hopefully. Maybe. He had to take this risk. He was too weak to run very far with Brynhildr, let alone fly away, and they needed that water canteen if they were going to make it another day. “Papa!” Bryn was reaching for him, fear etched upon her face at being left behind. He leaned up the tree, bumping her hoof with his own. “I’ll be back, sugar plum. Stay here and guard my back for me okay?” He waited for her tiny nod, then fled back towards the hateful road. If whatever they were fighting won, he could try to get at their supplies as well. This was too good of an opportunity to pass up. He may not be a smart pony, but he wasn’t stupid enough to ignore a chance when he saw it. Fafnir galloped towards the noise of the brawl, the weakness in his hooves leaving him as adrenaline rushed through his body. Flapping his wings, he launched himself through the air, discretion now forgotten, assessing the mess below him. A second caravan had launched an ambush from up high, which meant that there were indeed ponies lying in wait within the crags of the hill, just as he had suspected. How long had they watched him and his daughter? At least that meant they weren’t after solitary travellers. He watched a deep green pony barking orders and directing the fighters. This was no ragtag group of bandits, this was a pony who knew strategy. Fafnir could see more ponies lying in wait, ready to offer covering fire as support. He could fly away now, grab Bryn and run, but if he assisted this green pony he might be able to barter for some of the spoils and get some supplies for his filly. He had to take a chance. Tearing up his indecision, he thrust himself into the battle, sinking his fangs into the neck of the nearest raider and tearing out his throat. Spitting out the remains of a windpipe, he flapped his leathery wings and launched himself at his next victim. The skirmish felt like hours, but in reality had raged for only minutes before the band of raiders had been wiped out. The green pony himself never entered the battle, instead directing his soldiers wherever they were needed while covering fire was showered from the ponies held in reserve. It wasn’t until the dust had settled that Fafnir noticed the green pony had positioned himself over the ponies strapped to the caravan, and realised that he had been protecting them all along while simultaneously directing the soldiers who fought for him. “You there! Who are you?” the green pony pointed a crackling blue weapon at him. “My name is Fafnir, sir. I saw the melee and came to assist. Who are you?” “Well met, Fafnir. I am Marble Strikes.” Marble seemed to appraise Fafnir, who stared back with a cool expression. This pony seemed more civilized than the others he had the misfortune of meeting, but he wasn’t willing to risk more than that yet. He took a deep breath, his next words were a gamble. He had to trust that Princess Luna had created this opportunity for a reason. “Mister Strikes, since I assisted you, a share of the spoils is rightfully mine under the Battalion Clause 56, signed by her majesty Princess Luna.” Fafnir waited, his body tense and prepared to flee should the demand be met with violence. Marble looked surprised, stepping closer from where he had freed the poor ponies from their heavy collars. “You know of the old laws? You are an educated stallion. Are those...wings? Are you a Thestral? A guard of Her Majesty’s Army?” “Yes, Mister Strikes. My ancestors once stood proudly at her side.” “I see. And are there more of you?” “Perhaps. My spoils, sir?” “Indeed you're entitled to a portion of the bounty. I have been hunting that band of raiders for many nights, and I'm glad they are no longer on my land. In part that is thanks to you. However, I have a better offer than these meager supplies.” Fafnir frowned. Offers did not feed his filly. “Work for me. You will be paid in food and lodging, provided you work hard and dedicate yourself to my protection. I'm a wealthy stallion, many seek to usurp my power. Agree to see that it does not happen, and I will provide for you.” Marble stepped closer, closing the gap between them enough that Fafnir could hear his lowered voice. “You’re as thin as a rail and shaking from exertion, lad. I can see you are halfway to being with Her Majesty and joining your ancestors. Let me help you, it is what I do.” he nodded a chin to where the decrepit ponies were being given food and water, wrapped in warm blankets. Fafnir paused. He had nowhere to go after his stable had been infected with radiation. Brynhildr needed safety. This stallion was an obviously honourable one, a rarity in the barren wasteland. He even knew of the old laws. What would Princess Luna want for her children? To die in the wasteland like anonymous motes of dust, or to risk protecting this pony and change his daughter’s life? They had been running for weeks, fleeing the poisoned stable that had once offered shelter and a home. He was tired. So very tired. Dropping to a weary knee, Fafnir bowed his head to Marble Strikes. “I accept your offer.” Marble smiled, reaching a hoof towards him. “On a condition.” The hoof paused. “I have a daughter.” He whistled long and loud, and in an instant Brynhildr was at his side, her frail body nuzzling under his wing. Marble seemed to pause, considering the small bat pony that had appeared and was now staring at him with suspicious pink eyes. His eyes caught the leathery wings folded at her side and the ghost of a smile graced his mouth. “And a lovely daughter at that, such pretty wings. There is a filly who is the foal of a mare who has worked for me since I was a young lad. This filly is…. special. I will hire your daughter to be her guardian.” Marble reached down, hauling Fafnir to his hooves. “Is that an acceptable agreement?” Relief spread through Fafnir and he almost collapsed again. Bryn would have a place, and a purpose. Truly, Princess Luna had smiled upon them this day. “Agreed. From this day til my last, I will serve you.” Fafnir bit at his hoof enough to draw blood, scraping it across his chest. An oath was an oath, for better or worse. “Wonderful, let’s get you both some food and drink. You look like you need it.” They turned and walked back towards the caravan, Fafnir already taking up a position at the side of Marble Strikes. Brynhildr scampered after them, squeaking excitedly to her father about the battle she had just seen and peppering the new green pony with dozens of questions. Marble just chuckled, ruffling the mane of the little bat pony. He was pleased with himself. He had secured not one, but two of Her Majesty's Thestrals into his service, an ancient and rare race known for their loyalty. An unexpected surprise, but a welcome one. They would prove to be very useful.
The PromiseBrynhildr ran around her Papa’s legs, eager to see their new home. She had eaten properly for the first time in weeks, and after a nap was feeling very energetic. Her wings buzzed and her mouth streamed a seemingly endless amount of questions at anyone who was within ear shot, barely pausing for them to answer a single one of them. Arriving at the gates of the place that Papa said her destiny awaited was the most exciting feeling she had ever felt! They walked up a long driveway, and Bryn saw loads of different rocks and twigs, there were even some leaves on some of the trees. She flew up and tasted one, but it was ashy and gross. Papa made her spit it out. Before long they reached a courtyard, and Brynhildr’s eyes widened as she tried to take everything in. There were several smaller houses, and a few buildings that looked almost brand new, but the biggest house was an absolutely enormous one right in the middle. It was really high and had lots of windows, some of which were even intact! There weren’t many holes either, and there was a very high fence that ran around the entire land, complete with ponies guarding the top of it. She turned to her Papa, tugging at his leg. “Is this a city?” “No, little one. This is my home.” Marble Strikes smiled at the filly, who turned to stare at him in wonder. “And it is now your home too.” “My home too.” Bryn echoed, once more gaping at the sight around her. Ponies were everywhere, and there were so many smells and sounds. Big ponies, little ponies, huge ovens with bread inside baking, and cauldrons of bubbling fragrant soup. One pony was ripping the tops off cans of food, pouring them into the pot and then using his magic to crush the cans into tiny little cubes. She watched with curiosity as he floated the small cube over to a pile of them, where another pony was carting them off to a strange building that smelled of hot metal and rang with the banging of hammers. She wandered around the encampment while Papa and Lord Strikes spoke with some other ponies, licking a few things here and there to check them for tastiness. Eventually her ears pricked up, hearing Papa whistle for her. She flew back to him, spotting him speaking with a grey pony with a pink mane, and strangely enough some blue glasses perched upon her nose. Landing beside him, she nuzzled under his wing, his comforting smell an oasis amongst the strange new world. Papa nudged her towards the pony, introducing them. “Bryn, this is Buttermilk. You’ll be the guardian of her daughter. Buttermilk, I’d like to present my daughter, Brynhildr.” Brynhildr gazed in awe at the gorgeous and elegant pony towering above her, glamorous pink mane done up in loops of graceful braids with twinkling violet eyes that gazed down through her glasses, a mysterious look deep within them. She was so clean, and Brynhildr could swear she smelled like candy. Her eyes were drawn to a pair of lovely grey and yellow wings nestled at the sides of the pony. A pegasus! Did that mean she would be protecting a pegasus foal? Maybe they could go flying together? Brynhildr jumped around in circles squeaking with delight, imagining all the adventures she would go on, flying around the skies with a best friend for life. Maybe she was even as pretty as this pretty pegasus! A real, live pegasus! Her father laughed, catching her and holding her still so the grey pegasus could greet her. “It is a pleasure to meet you, little Brynhildr. I’d like to introduce my daughter, Bubble Spice. It would be an honour for one of Princess Luna’s royal guards to become her guardian.” Buttermilk moved, revealing a small filly about Brynhildr’s age standing behind her tail. Brynhildr stared at the foal. And kept staring. This wasn’t a pegasus. It was a hairball with legs. This was her special job? To protect a pink and green puffball? Who didn’t even have wings? Ridiculous. She snorted, turning her nose into the air. “I won’t. She doesn’t even look worth protecting.” The purple eyes peering shyly out at her from behind Buttermilk narrowed in rage, but Bryn felt her father gently place a hoof on her head, then not-so-gently turn her face towards his stern golden eyes. “Lord Strikes has opened his hearth and home to us. You will earn your keep protecting this filly, or you will be back out in the wasteland. What would Princess Luna feel at such a shameful display?” Abashed, she kicked a hoof across the dusty ground. Papa didn’t get mad much, but when he did she knew better than to argue. “Sorry Papa. I will protect the puffball, from this day until the end of my days.” Her Papa smiled as she recited the ancient promise, releasing her head and standing up to talk to the pretty pegasus again. “I’m sorry, I think she was just excited that she might have had a flying buddy.” “It’s alright, Bubble may be an earth pony, but she is more than a handful as well. I’m sure with time they will get along just fine.” Buttermilk leaned down, scooping her daughter towards Brynhildr with her tail. Bryn couldn’t resist a small sneer at how useless the puffball was. “You two play nice while I introduce your Papa to the staff, alright?” The two adults walked into the main house, leaving Brynhildr alone with the brightly coloured tangle of hair. “So…..You can’t fly at all?” she asked hopefully. “No wings, dummy.” “I’m not a dummy. I am a guardian of the night!” “Guardian of the toilet, more like.” The filly glared at Brynhildr, who bristled in rage at the insult to her ancestors. “You take that back!” “Will not! Toilet guardian!” “Well I’m supposed to be guarding you so I guess that makes you the toilet!” The filly released a shriek of rage, diving onto Brynhildr in a flurry of kicks and punches, and she fought back, biting into the puffy mane trying to find her neck. She would teach her the wrath of bat ponies! The foals fought, dust from the road kicking up in a ball around them until they were unceremoniously pulled apart by the scruffs of their necks, suspended in an apple red glow of magic. The unicorn that had separated them was very, very tall, and had a very, very big frown upon his face. Brynhildr gulped. “What is the meaning of this behaviour, Bubble Spice?” His sharp gaze turned on Bubble, who seemed to shrivel under the withering gaze. “Nothing, Sir. It was a silly disagreement.” Brynhildr’s mouth opened in shock. How dare she lie?! This was an outrage! An outrage for all bat ponies everywhere! “It was not you big liar!” Brynhildr turned to the scary pony, missing the terror on Bubble’s face and her desperate signaling for Bryn to shut her mouth. “She called me a toilet guardian! It’s not MY fault she is a useless earth pony!” She stuck her tongue out at Bubble, who face-hoofed. “You were disagreeing over who is more useful, wings or not?” The stallion known as Sir glared at the foals, setting them down on the ground. “Such poorly disciplined behaviour has brought shame upon the house of Lord Strikes! Why, when I was a younger stallion, we never answered back to our elders, instead we treated them with the utmost respect! We didn’t quibble over ridiculous notions of who had wings or not for that is irrelevant within the wasteland! Only those who can survive will make it, wings, horn or hoof! It is how well you can fight that determines how useful you are! The most useful fighting style can be argued of the Fallen Caezar Style but...” The stallion continued his rant, now describing the effectiveness of two different oddly named fighting styles, ignoring the two foals sitting before him. His voice was oddly nasal and droning, something like the sound of cicadas. Brynhildr stared at the stallion, then turned her stare on Bubble, who had now sat down in front of the teacher with a bored look on her face, her mouth moving along with his words. Clearly this was not the first time hearing this particular lecture, no wonder she had lied! She had wanted to spare Brynhildr from being bored to death! Bubble caught Brynhildr’s stare, turning her face away in a pout with an audible “Hmph!” Bryn sank to the ground, facing away from Bubble with an equally dark glare on her muzzle. This was supposed to be the start of a new life, and already she was being murdered by Sir with his boring rant and boring voice. Papa was a fool, now she would die of boredom. Here Lies Brynhildr, Greatest and Coolest Bat Pony, Killed By Boring Sir. The teacher continued his rant well into the afternoon, until Brynhildr felt like her ears were going to fall off from the sound. Bubble Spice’s eyes had taken on a thousand yard stare, Bryn wasn’t even sure she was still alive. Finally the voice trailed off, and he seemed to blink down at them as if realising they were still there. “Well then, I see you have calmed down,” He said, jolting Bubble into sitting attentively as if she had been that way all along. “What have you learned?” “All fighting style have their advantages and disadvantages, and relying on wing, horn or hoof alone is the fastest way to meet a swift end, Sir.” Bubble answered mechanically, and Brynhildr felt a touch of awe. She had actually paid attention? “Well done! Now run along, foals should not idle for too long.” Dismissed, the teacher ambled into the broken down schoolhouse, now mumbling to himself about the youth of today being lazy. “Is he always like that?” She asked Bubble, her eyes wide. “Yup,” She sighed gloomily. “Every day we have lessons with him, and every day he is so boring. Lord Strikes says the lessons are an in-ves-ta-ment but I think he just wants us to die of boredom.” “How do you stand it?! I thought my ears would explode! You even answered him correctly!” Bubble drew an angry face in the dirt, adding comically large eyebrows. “You learn what to say to make him go away a bit sooner. Didn’t actually need to listen after a while, he’s always got the same stories on fighting styles.” Together the foals sat in front of the schoolhouse, taking turns drawing increasingly larger and angrier faces in the dust, turning one into a dragon with the face of the teacher. “RAWR!” Bryn growled, giving him fire-breath. “I am Sir-dragon and I want to kill you with long and stupid words!” “Oh no!” Bubble pitched her voice high and helpless, dancing two pebbles in the drawn flames. “We are but two foals who just want to have fun! Whatever shall we do in the face of this boring dragon?” Zooming one of the pebbles high, Bryn crowed. “We fly away!” Bubble instantly looked away, angry tears in her eyes. “You don’t have to tease me, you know. I know Momma has the bestest wings, and I don’t have any. It’s not my fault I was born like this.” Big tears spilled over her cheeks, and she wiped them away with a dirty hoof, leaving smudges across her fur. Bryn felt a bit guilty, she had been a bit mean before. “I’m sorry, no wings isn’t even that bad. You’re an earth pony, and Papa says no pony is stronger than an earth pony. So that’s pretty cool.” “You think so?” Bubble sniffed, her big purple eyes looking hopefully at Brynhildr. Bryn felt a twinge in her heart at the pure trust and cuteness being radiated right at her on full beam. “Of course! Being strong is amazing! Nopony can beat you in a hoof wrestle!” Bubble giggled at the pose Brynhildr had taken, one hoof thrust into the air. “I don’t think you are the Guardian of a Toilet either. I’ve never seen a bat pony before, can I touch your wings?” Bryn grinned, extending out the soft wing membrane, delighting in Bubble’s gasp of awe as it shimmered in the afternoon light. “It’s so pretty! It looks like it’s glowing!” she gushed, a soft hoof gently touching the wing, leaving a smudgy trail. “It’s so smooth. I’ve never seen a wing without feathers before.” “Papa says bat pony wings are built different to show that we belong to Princess Luna.” “What is she like?” “I don’t know, Papa said she lived in the sky and that I mustn’t ever fly above the clouds to see her because there are evil ponies up there who shoot lasers out of their eyes.” Bryn frowned at the sky. “I think that is very selfish of them to keep all that sky on their own. One day, for just a moment, I’d like to fly with nothing in front of me, just open stars.” Brynhildr blushed, realising she had just said something super lame to her new friend, but when she looked at Bubble she was staring at the sky with a contemplative look upon her face. “One day I want to go to Canterlot.” Bubble turned towards Brynhildr, keeping her voice low. “Momma says I can only go where Lord Strikes gives me permission to, so one day I want to get permission to go to Canterlot and see where all the prettiest ponies lived.” Bryn spat on her hoof, extending it out to Bubble who looked faintly repulsed. “Then we will do it! One day we will go to Canterlot together, and we will fly high above the clouds to get there. No pony will stop us! Promise?” A smile broke out on Bubble’s face, and she spat upon her own hoof, bumping it against Brynhildr’s. “Promise!”
Innocence DevouredBrynhildr stealthily moved through the ruined playground, ducking and rolling between the rusted play-set and the broken slide, staying out of sight. The wind howled eerily through the delipidated old schoolhouse to her left, but her mind was sharp. Focused. She was a creature of the night, descended from mighty warriors who stood guard at the side of the Goddess Luna. She felt her wing brush against a rock, scraping painfully against the thin membrane and yet she did not cry out. Ten feet. The long dead grass crumbled under her hooves with each step she took. Brynhildr hunched lower to the ground, her slitted eyes fixed squarely upon her innocent target, ignorant to the beast that was stalking her every move. Bryn felt the anticipation of the hunt blooming in her chest, and her mouth watered slightly in anticipation of plunging her fangs into the tender flesh of her victim. Eight feet. The clouds opened and a soft rain began to fall, which only sharpened Brynhildr’s senses. She was a demon who thrived in the worst weather, nothing could hold her back from her kill. Ever closer she inched, pressed firmly against the dirt where green grass had grown a lifetime ago and foals had once gamboled without a care. Her prey began to sing softly, piling sand into a cracked bucket then dumping it into a small pile. Six feet. Curiosity nibbled at Brynhildr, her prey was constructing a strange building out of the now damp sand. The victim had no idea at her impending death, instead now surrounded by a halo of light rain that made her pink mane hang limp. Uncorrupted purity was held within those shoulders and Bryn was going to devour it. Brynhildr felt a bizarre urge to play with the creature blossom in her chest. Steeling herself against the whims of childhood, she pressed forward. Four feet. Brynhildr paused as her meal stopped singing and looked at the sky, slinking low to blend her dark form into the shadows of the monolithic equipment that had once been a playhouse - now little more than a skeletal bundle of sticks. The innocent foal looked back down at her muddy hooves, resuming the beautiful song in her high, sweet voice. Bryn licked her lips and resumed her snail crawl along the dust. Three feet. She tensed her haunches, preparing to leap upon her unsuspecting mark. Spreading her wings, she mentally began to count to three, aiming for the throat. The singing paused and Brynhildr froze. The small foal looked over her mint shoulder at the darker bat-pony, who stared back with wide eyes, her jaw agape with the anticipation of the first blow. “Check it out, Bryn. I made Canterlot castle!” Bubble Spice squeaked, her voice excited to share her sculpture with Brynhildr. She sighed in exasperation, miffed at the loss of her hunt. Bryn scampered over to the sandpit and stared in awe at the huge mound that Bubble had made. She felt briefly impressed before remembering she was supposed to be hunting. “It doesn't look anything like Canterlot castle dummy!” Brynhildr scowled at the sandy mound, streaked grey with ash. She prodded it with her hoof, leaving a dent in the side. “There are no towers or nuthin! Everypony who’s anypony knows that Canterlot has towers.” “Like you'd know!” Bubble flicked sand at her friend. Brushing the sand from her coat, Brynhildr turned her angry scowl on Bubble. ”You ruined my hunt.” “I knew you were there the whole time. You aren't exactly stealthy, you were singing along with me.” “Was not!” “Was too!” “Was not!” “Was too!” “Was not times infinity.” “Was too times infinity plus one!” Bubble stuck her tongue out at Bryn, who glared angrily at her before both the foals dissolved into giggles. Brynhildr leaned back on her hooves, a breathless grin on her face at the sight of her friend rolling on the dirt laughing, and her eyes twinkled mischievously. Climbing to her hooves, she took to the air, her small wings flapping quickly to get high enough to dive bomb Bubble and teach her not to underestimate the might and strength of the legendary batpony race! Guardians of the moon and the night! They did not sing while hunting! Turning in the air, she looked down at Bubble who had assumed a battle position below her, ready for a fight. Their eyes met like pink and purple fire. Their mouths opened in unison with a battle cry. “For Canterlot!” Bubble Spice bellowed, launching herself into an air born leap. “For Luna!” Howled Brynhildr in return, plummeting downwards with broad strokes of her wings. Her heart raced and her wings burned yet she did not falter in the charge. The two fillies met mid air in a flurry of kicks and punches before crashing back down onto the scarred earth. Over and over they rolled, each tearing furiously into the other to gain the upper hoof. Pain sparked where Bubble’s powerful hooves connected with Brynhildr’s face, backed by the strength of the earth pony race. Her head snapped back and Bubble wrapped her legs around Brynhildr’s throat, squeezing down. Brynhildr felt her wing muscles scream in desperation for freedom as she fought to gain the air once again, the sky was her own and she held the advantage above any creature. Sinking her teeth into Bubble’s leg, she felt her fangs pierce the delicate skin and Bubble yelped in surprise, releasing her iron grip on Brynhildr’s throat. Seizing the opportunity, Bryn scrambled back towards the clouds, only to be pulled sharply down by the weight of Bubble gripping her short tail in her teeth, her eyes sparkling with the fire of battle. Bubble was grinning up at her through the mouthful of fur, obviously confident in keeping Bryn to the ground. Brynhildr narrowed her eyes, and Bubble’s widened in shock when she realised what was coming. “I will never surrender!” Brynhildr screamed, aiming her hoof so that it would connect with Bubble’s muzzle, who gasped out a sharp cry of pain. Bubble released her tail, stunned from the blow. She hit the ground and lay still, ashy sand billowing up around her. Bryn took to the sky proper, picking up an imaginary lance and aiming it down to the foal who dared to challenge a fearsome soldier of Luna’s army. Puffing out her chest in triumph at her impending victory, she stared Bubble in the eye as she hurled the crackling electrical lance downwards, letting out her most thunderous Royal Canterlot Voice, passed down to her from her father. “YOU WILL PERISH HERE FOUL HEATHEN. YOU FOUGHT VALIANTLY. NOW DIE!” Bubble shrieked in agony when the lance collided with her. She flailed around, enthusiastically dying in the most dramatic way that she could. Finally her death throes came to an end, and she lay still, her tongue sticking out pitifully and her eyes squeezed shut, a hoof dramatically held to her forehead. Pleased with herself, Brynhildr dove down, and began to feast upon her winnings. “Om nom nom nom.” Her mouth tickled against Bubble’s side, who curled up in a ball hooting with laughter at the attack. “Stooooop!” she begged, but Brynhildr steeled herself and mercilessly nibbled down her friend’s ribs, where she was most ticklish. “OM NOM NOM NOM” Bryn laughed, gently nipping her friend before flopping down on her back, throwing her hooves into the sky and staring at their dark colour against the grey of the clouds. The rain had stopped at some point and they hadn’t even noticed. Mint hooves joined her own, and together they lay there in the dirt, surrounded by the skeletons of a playground that had once bustled with life long ago.
The Wine CeremonyBubble Spice felt the heat of the fire warm against her face, the gleaming brass pot was heavy in her hoof. She leaned closer to the flames, sweat beginning to trickle down her nape, soaking into the too-large gown that was draped heavily over her body. The gown was her mother’s, hastily tailored to fit Bubble for the ceremony. She felt self conscious in the deep blue pattern, knowing it looked out of place on her mint fur. Nerves bit at her steady hooves as though threatening to drop the skein cradled in them. Throwing a subtle glance towards the door where Brynhildr stood guard, Bubble caught the eye of the bat pony who tilted her chin slightly towards her. A tiny movement that was barely discernible, but it was comfort enough. She took a deep breath and focused back on her surroundings. She could do this. Hazy figures danced at the edge of her vision, the indistinct babble of chatter around her pulled her into a sense of calm tranquility and she concentrated on the skein of crimson wine, fat and bulging against her leg. She tilted it up, the wine pouring and splashing around the cauldron with small whirlpools forming as the foam rose and fell. Anticipation lingered in the air from the indistinct forms around her, but Bubble dared not to look around lest it break the much needed feeling of serenity in her mind and expose the deafening sound of her hammering heart. The voices around her increased, she realised she had stilled and was holding her breath. Exhaling into the flames, she emptied the skein of wine and began to stoke the kindling. Despite the heat, Bubble found a shiver dancing down her spine. Whether it was from fear or excitement, she couldn’t tell. In this moment, the guest’s eyes were solely fixed upon her. The atmosphere was heavy with expectation and curiosity, for it was not usual for such a young mare to be performing the wine ceremony. Moving her hoof slowly and deliberately, she stirred the foaming wine in the brass pot; first clockwise then counter clockwise. The wine pooled around the silver ladle, rippling and whirling as it thickened in the heat. It resisted the ladle, making stirring difficult. Bubble set down the spoon, minding the angle to be exactly 45 degrees to her right, symbolising the horizon. Lifting a tray, she settled it in front of her, the bags of fragrant herbs and spices heady and stifling in the hot room. The murmurs turned silent, this was the moment that would decide how the evening progressed. Each spice had a meaning, each herb a different effect. The wrong combination could be disastrous, overpowering and vile. Bubble could feel the clients leaning towards her, interested to see her choices. Aromatic cinnamon balanced on a silver spoon, and it was soon joined in the pot by nutmeg, preserved spices from long ago. Bubble set the weighty tray aside and dipped her hoof into the sleeve of her gown to retrieve the secret vial Lord Strikes had slipped her this afternoon. The spoon dipped into the tiny dark vial, lifting out a clear thick fluid. Precariously it balanced, quivering on the spoon on its journey to the pot, the fine muscles in the young mare’s hoof trembling as she kept every drop of this precious liquid safe. It splashed into the mulled wine and an explosion of berry scent, sweet and rich, burst through the tent and filled the noses of the guests. Sighs of admiration, gasps of realisation and the room exploded into talk with the identification of the mysterious substance. Bubble wanted to desperately look around, to see the shock and awe upon their faces as they realised what she had placed in the wine, but knew in doing so that the ceremony would be tainted by her eager inexperience. Instead she contented herself by once again flicking her eyes to Brynhildr’s, delighted to see a tiny smile on the stoic mare’s face. She had also enjoyed the wonder that the guests had experienced, watching such high society ponies marvel like foals at a fair was a rare sight. A brash guffaw cut through the admiration. It was a harsh, gravelly sound that hurt her ears, and it took all of her restraint to not fold them back. Instead she focused on stirring her choice of flavorings into the wine, spreading them so that it would taste even and rich, while listening to the conversation that now grew around her. “Elderberry! Marble Strikes, you never cease to amaze. Where in Celestia’s name did you get elderberry nectar?” There was a slapping sound, and Bubble Spice knew that the toothless donkey whom the voice belonged to had just slapped her Master on the back. He was a new business partner, having travelled here from the irradiated swamp lands with a Talon hire as his guard. Brynhildr said that the need to pay a guard spoke volumes of his ability to inspire loyalty, and from the smell that lingered about the jack and his coarse way of speaking, Bubble could understand why. “I bought it off a travelling herbalist,” Marble Strikes boasted proudly. “She said there is still a tree or two in the Everfree Forest. It cost me a great deal of caps, but as you fine ponies can tell, it was well worth it. This is a momentous night, and I felt it needed a wine befitting the occasion.” “Momentous indeed! This deal will make further all of our territories, and make us all much richer!” More guffawing. Truly, that donkey was little better than a irradiated mule, discussing business before the ceremony was completed like some heathen. The guests were seated in a large circle around the fire, with Bubble placed in the middle. She began to set delicate silver cups in front of each guest, thinking back to this morning when the clients had arrived. Master Strikes was going to make a pact that would change the power dynamic of the surrounding houses of power, and as such was holding a feast and a wine ceremony to ensure its success. The swamp stallion had been her charge of the day to serve, and he had spent the whole time belittling her employer’s camp, boasting of his own and making crass jokes. Bubble would have dearly loved to kill him, but he was an important guest. Instead she had contented herself with pulling faces at him from afar with Brynhildr. “Now now, Velvet Bristle. You know it is customary for the wine ceremony to be completed before we turn to business. We wouldn't want to bring bad luck upon this agreement would we?” A low, raspy feminine voice reached her ears, full of wisdom and age. “Of course, of course. Just some silly banter, Obsidia, no need to get your horseshoes in a twist.” The prune coloured stallion sneered across the room at the older brown mare, who looked upon him with haughty eyes. “After all, we will all profit from this venture.” The sleek coated mare’s eyes narrowed dangerously as she made to begin a retort, but was interrupted by Bubble Spice laying an ornate silver cup before her, completing the large circle. Bubble lifted the heavy pot from the fire, and began to pour the wine into the guest’s cups, bowing deeply before each guest when the cup was filled before moving onto the next. Strong scented steam curled up from the cups, and Bubble noticed several of the guests licking their lips in preparation for the exceptionally rare taste of elderberry nectar wine. The cinnamon and nutmeg added a depth of warmth to the strong berry flavour, and Bubble found herself wishing she could experience the fine taste trickle across her own tongue. Instead she breathed deeply of the steam, the ghost of the flavour satisfying her for now. The handle of the pot was hot through the cloth gripped in her hoof and once again Bubble feared that she would drop it. “You have trained this slave rather well in the art of the wine ceremony, Warlord Strikes, especially for one so young. She doesn't even have her cutie mark yet.” Obsidia gave Bubble an approving nod. Bubble’s cheeks flushed with pleasure, and she almost lost her internal struggle not to beam with the compliment. “My staff value tradition as much as I do, no matter their age.” The pride in Marble Strikes’ voice was apparent. “This one also happens to be the foal of Buttermilk, the last earth born pegasus.” Obsidia now looked at Bubble with fresh appraisement. “Indeed? She does have the mane colour. Tis a pity she did not inherit the wings her mother is famous for as well.” Bubble filled the final cup of wine, placing the ladle back upon the now empty pot, her ears burning from the unintended cruelty in Obsidia’s observation. She was the only foal of the most famous and beautiful mare in the wasteland, and she was an earth pony. It was a point that she knew had disappointed everyone around her with her birth, but she had vowed long ago to become an exemplary slave, one that could be on the same level as a pegasus. She made her way to the silken cushion in the corner of the room as she tried to calm the hurt in her heart. There was a slight shift by the door that caught her attention and without looking, Bubble knew that Brynhildr was sending her a comforting look. She knew how much not being a pegasus hurt. Bubble drew strength from her friend, holding her head high. Scooping up the silver bell that awaited, she silently sat down and waited, the smoky room stinging her eyes slightly. The moment for the ceremonies apex was almost nigh and her timing had to be perfect. There was no time for self pity. The fire had already burned low, the enchanted wood snapped loudly. The orange colour was engulfed in sparks, shifting white hot then settling to a deep blue, filling the room with its brilliant radiant shine. This was the moment. The wine was prepared in an orange fire, representing the flames of the sun. It was drunk by the glow of a blue fire, representing the glow of the moon. When done right, the ceremony was said to give both Luna and Celestia’s blessings upon the deal that was to be struck, ensuring prosperity and protection. It was an ancient ceremony from the land of Mistmane, and her mother had been performing it since she was found by Master Strikes. Three light and gentle chimes rang from the bell Bubble held, symbolizing the rise of the moon and the start of the time for drinking. The room fell quiet, the only noise now the genteel slurping of the mulled wine. The scent of the elderberry was almost overpowering in the room, one could almost get intoxicated from the smell alone, which she was sure was Lord Strikes intention. Bubble held herself still in a delicate sitting position, patient and waiting. After they had drunk the wine, she would gather the cups, replacing the elderberry wine with a more gentle ale, and begin the ceremonial dance, a beautiful dance of an ancient bird called the crane, full of bells and slow movements. Her heart hammered in her chest, nerves betraying her stillness. This was the part that she had no confidence on. She was an earth pony, and hadn't mastered the bird-like movements that the dance needed. A sharp movement caught her eye and her head whipped around only to watch in shock as the foul Velvet Bristle did not sip his wine. Instead he threw his head back and chugged the entirety of the glass at once. Bubble held her face still, but her eyes betrayed the shock at the blatant disrespect for the importance of this ceremony being hosted by Master Strikes. Scandalized gasps escaped from the other guests as they too noticed him draining his cup, and he wiped his muzzle on his suit sleeve. The stains on it indicated that was a regular occurrence and Bubble suppressed a shudder at the display of such filth in front of her master. Bristle may hold the power of the irradiated swamplands, but surely dealing with such a beast was not worth her kind and loving master. Marble Strikes looked up sharply at the disturbance, just in time to see Velvet hurl the delicate silver cup at the fire. Bubble made to move and catch the cup, but a grey blur hurtled in front of her, leaping through the air gracefully. “Be still.” Her mother’s soft and gentle voice reached her, and Bubble sank back onto her pillow in surprise. Buttermilk had left on a secret and important errand this morning, which was why Bubble was here in the first place. The urge to embrace her mother almost overwhelmed her, but she knew this wasn’t the time. Coming to a stop, Buttermilk pirouetted while balancing the cup upon one delicate grey wing. She turned to look at the stallion who had callously hurled the rare and expensive cup at the fire, and in doing so had disrespected the entire evening and Lord Strikes. Hackles rose around the room as Buttermilk turned meet the gaze of Velvet Bristle, his hard eyed guard placing a claw on his scimitar. As soon as his claw made contact, the metallic scrape of the guards beside the door unsheathing their blades rang out through the room. Bubble heard a small growl behind her, a sign that Brynhildr was excitedly anticipating a battle. “Your cup appeared to slip from your hoof, Master Bristle. You really must take more care.” Buttermilk playfully chided the donkey, extending her beautiful wing towards the him with the cup handle turned his way. The room teetered on edge for a heartbeat, ready to break into a battle should Velvet Bristle not take the grace which had been offered. Bubble bit her lip, her own hoof curling around the blade concealed within her sleeve. “Y…yes, of course. How clumsy of me.” Abashed, Velvet Bristle took the cup back from Buttermilk, sitting back against his cushion, his murky eyes furtively glancing around the room at the rest of the nobility. Marble Strikes met his gaze, staring down his nose at the impudent donkey, causing him to sink further into the cushion in shame. The gryphon slipped his claw from his blade, and the guards behind Bubble relaxed but she could hear Brynhildr muttering angrily under her breath at the lack of bloodshed. Suppressing a giggle, she turned her attention back to her mother. Buttermilk smiled warmly at the foul beast, then turned and gracefully curtsied before the other guests. She spread her grey wings out fully; the yellow tips grazed the floor with a faint rustling sound. “I beg your humble pardons, my esteemed guests, my interruption was terribly timed. I do hope that my daughter was of no trouble, and that the ceremony can continue?” Her eyes were fixed on the floor, a slight tremble in her voice. Her pink mane seemed to droop, abashed at herself and begging for forgiveness. It was impossible for any pony, mare or stallion, to fight against her when she was like this, and she knew it. Sure enough, comforting calls came from around the room, and Marble Strikes helped Buttermilk to her hooves, a magnanimous smile upon his face. “No harm done, my dear! We shall continue as planned. Welcome back!” “Join us!” Obsidia tipped her cup towards the pair, her slanted eyes gleaming at the sight of a true pegasus. “It’s so rare that I get to see such exquisite beauty. I fear I am yet to tire of looking at it.” Buttermilk curtsied, this time bouncing up spiritedly, seemingly overjoyed at being forgiven. “Thank you for your kindness, my Lords and Ladies. Before I am fit to finish this ceremony, I must change into more fitting attire! If you will excuse me.” She kissed Marble Strikes upon his cheek, then swept Bubble Spice out of the room. Once in the hall, time was of the essence. Bubble quickly stripped from the dress before helping to slip Buttermilk into it. She pulled the the altered threads out, watching the fabric unfurl and settle back into its proper positioning, draped elegantly over her mother’s body. “Mother-” “I must return, beloved. I will send Brynhildr with word as soon as I am able. Rest now, you did wonderfully.” Buttermilk disappeared behind the heavy oak door, the scent of elderberry woodsmoke escaping briefly before the door slammed shut.
