Fallout Equestria: A Touch of Spice

“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.