Youngblood

Chapter Three

Lord Capital was like a father to Youngblood. He was the one who supported him in times of need, kept him financially stable, advised him on life issues, made sacrifices for his benefit and dedicated what he could of his life to him and his sisters. He also made sure that when Youngblood was scolded, he would never get to say a word in defence.

“The odd misbehaviour is one thing, young sir; assaulting the son of a royal adviser is another thing entirely!” Where had he heard this before? “I hope you have a bloody good reason to explain yourself, for your own sake!”

“Sire, I…”

“What could have possibly caused you to do such a thing? Just felt like a little bit of adventure did we?”

“Look, just…”

“Don’t you ‘look’ me, son!” The royal alicorn loomed over the unicorn, “That pony’s face is in tatters, his parents are on my plot and your sisters haven’t stopped the waterworks since you first made the move on him!”

“…”

“What have you got to say for yourself?”

Youngblood sighed heavily, rubbing his hoof against his right eye in defeat. Now he had a window to talk.

“You know how Money’s been with me? Well let’s just say he it took it a bit far this time.”

“To the point where you assaulted him?” he bellowed in disbelief. “I feel the same way about my staff sometimes, I manage to stay half sane!”

“No, it’s not like that. He just…” Youngblood began to see how deep he was within the category of wrong-doing. He had assaulted somepony, hurt them, their family and his own too. But surely such words about his parents were excuse enough to punch his lights out?

“What? What did he do then?” The king was losing his patience faster than he was losing his hair.

It all came crashing down on Youngblood and the emotional turmoil quickly caught up with him. He fell to his haunches, the carpet on the wooden floor doing little to dull the pain of the impact. Now it was his turn to be hurt. By now, Lord Capital was expecting a confession, not what was about to hit his ears.

Between sniffles, Youngblood managed to mutter, “My parents…” which then set off a short stream of tears. Each drop carving a path through his blue coat, using its colour and becoming a sky blue river.

The anger tumbled out of the king’s face, his white coat falling slightly as the tension was released. Still, he grimaced as he gave his adopted son a fatherly hug. He felt Youngblood’s heavy breathing against his chest and heard every chime of the silence emanating from beneath him.

After a minute passed, the embrace was loosened and Youngblood lowered his head to stare at the floor. Lord Capital apologised, his voice low and sympathetic:

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realise. But was it absolutely necessary to hit him?”

Youngblood failed to answer the king’s question. He was too lost within his own grief to begin speaking. Then, as quiet as a shadow, the single door opened from behind Youngblood and two mares made themselves visible to their father.

“We heard everything, father, every word.”

“That we did; in our opinion Youngblood had every right to damage that cretin.” Luna’s voice was harsh, yet contained.

The king looked at them in disappointment for a second; they had disobeyed his instructions for them to remain outside. Having contemplated their words however, he smiled and invited them to join the embrace. The entire royal family; all together, all in grief.

The fire within the room cast its final auras of soft light as the embers began to dwindle. The night grew darker and Luna’s moon rose as Celestia’s sun sank beneath the waves of mountains. How they had managed to do so without him noticing, Youngblood would never know.

They remained there for a good few minutes, though time seemed to slow in Youngblood’s mind, and they were each told to bed down for the night. The trio left their father, walking together out of the room and into the cold air of the vast castle corridors.

***

Youngblood’s bed was a welcomed friend as he entered his room. He took in the sight of his luxury: the poster bed, the grand dresser, even the lampshades in their modest colours. His room was much similar to that of Luna’s, although the colours and shapes were of a much more generalist theme. The colours however, had been put to a peaceful, blue-tinted rest by the night’s lack of substantial light and Youngblood did not feeling like disturbing their slumber. Besides, he loved the night. It seemed much more adventurous and mysterious.

He and his sisters had spoken little on the long journey to their quarters. Only the odd apology from himself for his behaviour and from the princesses for the situation he was in at the time. He was alone now. He was alone when he approached his bed and sat on the covers thoughtfully. He was alone when he let his head rest on a forehoof and thought of the day’s events. He was alone when he hit the mattress and he was alone when he drew up the covers. Though through it all, Youngblood knew that he would never be totally alone.

He drifted into a warm, cosy sleep. The turmoil of the evening spilled away into the welcoming darkness.

***

The dragon’s roar shook the shadows of the world as it disappeared from sight behind the ruins of the ancient pillared palace. The harsh dusk sun ignited the cracked ground from beneath Youngblood’s hooves, each fault seeming to deepen for miles in their shadows. He was in the open, the mighty hall that once stood for over a thousand years now lacking its high walls and the ceiling lay scattered across the grey stone floor.

He was gulping air like a fish in water, his sweat filling his partially open mouth; the sword’s leather hilt tasting of blood, salt and grime. Youngblood felt the sound of the dragon’s wings beating as it flew somewhere completely out of sight. Youngblood was poised, his head low and rump high in the air; a tiger before the pounce on its prey, only that it was he who was being hunted.

A great ‘thwomping’ sound caught him off guard and he spun around to meet its source. However, the wing beat yielded nothing but a vibrant orange cloud cover, stretching into the far beyond. Then the glare of the sun was lifted from his hide as a mighty shadow crossed the unicorn.

The ground was impacted and waves of stone raced up toward the pivoting pony, the solid floor now nothing but a liquid. Youngblood was sent cascading away from the seismic epicentre, head over hoof into a piece of long collapsed ceiling. The pain shot through his back as he impacted upon the hard, crumbled stone blocks.

The sword was released from his grip and lay six feet away to his right. To his front, the golden scales of the elder dragon gleamed similar to gemstones in water, though much tougher and imperfect and littered with deep scars. The beast stood at least three stories high and brandished colossal wings of gold and tan, they remained splayed out with its fore-claws steadying itself against the ground.

Its horned head lowered, bowing in a seemingly impossible grace of a creature that size. Youngblood scrambled to his hooves and half-vaulted, half-rolled over the fallen stone, narrowly missing the screaming jet of golden beams of fire as they hit the other side. Youngblood had tucked himself in, drawing his hooves into his body. His teeth clenched as the heat reached his nerves.

After five long seconds the blinding inferno ceased, Youngblood peered around the side of the now semi-molten stone block to find his sword. What was left anyway; the intense heat had burned the leather to an ash and the only remaining steel was of that that had lain in a small pothole; the remainder of the tip had melted away.

The dragon stomped its way toward him, its claws making dusty custard of the disturbed stone floor. It gave a signifying roar as it picked up speed and charged toward the prone pony. Youngblood had little time to spare; fumbling with the glowing hot steel held in his teeth, what flesh of his touched the blade was singed and scalded, he managed to steady the blade. He mounted the stone rubble, reassuming his tiger-like posture. His eyes narrowed and snarled in the dragon’s sight.

“Come on you big bastard! Come get me!”

The mighty beast opened its gaping maw, displaying rows of serrated daggers. Its eyes lit with a fire of their own, a fire that existed only within the dragon’s rage. The final metres diminished in seconds, Youngblood raised his head to meet the gigantic head. His blade slipped from his teeth and scalded his lower lips. His eyes widened, his vision filled with a great, reptilian throat.

***

He woke with a start. Celestia’s sun shone straight through the window to his right and blinded his eyes. He was sweating, or had been, substantially and he panted heavily. One might have mistaken his appearance for something entirely other than a bad dream.

He never gave them that name though. And not all of his dreams had ended that badly anyway. They were adventures, not real, but none the less they excited him. He wiped his forehead with a hoof as he sat up and adjusted to the morning light. He looked over at the large clock across the room; eight o’clock, “Bang on!”

His morning routine passed as normal, the only real difference being how he had got soap in his eyes. He would wash every day; however he disliked the idea of maids and other staff that his sisters received. He could take care of himself, mostly. Celestia would have been awake for a while now, having raised the sun at six as per usual. Luna would probably be asleep, she normally remained asleep all day but occasionally she woke around midday as to not seem totally outcast.

With that in mind, Youngblood found himself skipping breakfast in order to seek out his other sister. Celestia would normally spend her mornings schooling, however today was a start of a short break from education and so she would most likely be in the castle gardens. He had loved the gardens as a younger pony, but now that all the mysteries and hiding places had been discovered, it was no longer a place of interest so he seldom ventured out into the vast, topiary paradise.

The caretakers were mid-shift in their morning tasks and paid little attention to him as he strode out and onto the cobblestone path. He did not mind their lack of attention to him; after all he was no major noble. It was a whole ten minutes before he discovered the white alicorn. She had been sat in the secluded cover of a large tree in the company of some of her friends, three of them. Youngblood instantly recognised two of them as some of the same mares that had been sat near him at the banquette. “This is going to be interesting…”

He caught a few wisps of light conversation, though he could not care less as to the topic at hoof. His presence went unnoticed until he was just a few yards away when he spoke up, “Morning, Celestia.”

She turned her head sharply, slightly startled. The three others mirrored her surprised expression, turning in unison to face the blue intruder. Each was also a unicorn, with the exception of a pegasus whom Youngblood did not recognise.

“Whoa! Dear me, Youngblood. Please don’t do that.” She stopped to exhale, composing herself, “Are you feeling any better?”

Youngblood grimaced at the question, surrounded by the very bystanders that had snickered at him the previous evening. In fact, why was Celestia even with these ponies? He took a quick glance at each face before answering in a monotone, “I am, thank you. What about you?”

She smiled awkwardly up at Youngblood, giving a quick nod in response. “These are…”

“I know. Good morning, m’ladies.” He forced a pleasant smile; perhaps he could get some dirt on that noble prick. Heck, he does not even deserve such a compassionate title!

Each displayed very unique signs of fear, except for the stranger. The reply came out of modesty and fear, rather than true compassion, the stranger again out of suite; she seemed a little more, friendly? Who was she? Had they met?

“I hope you can find it within your heart to forgive us for last night’s… complications.”

“Indeed, Youngblood. We are truly apologetic, you simple must…” She stopped, catching her tongue before she recited the entire works of Foal Dahl. Her name was Parchment, Quill’s daughter and book worm. She was quite a small mare, much smaller than Youngblood and her mane was always kept short, to her father’s distaste, though it never lacked the graceful shape of her companion’s.

Youngblood raised a hoof, “Accepted; even I have apologies to make”. “Even if they are for the wrong bloody reasons!” He turned his gaze over at the second mare. She had the flowing mane of Luna herself, though it was a very light pink and lacking the starry quality of the princess. She was of her companion’s age, though she seemed at least two years older. She went by the name of Rose, though the mark on her flank depicted her of much less a floral character; it was a pair of crossed pikes, though she made the careful effort to hide them from sight.

“Nonsense; he was being outrageous. Not only that, but I doubt he’s awake for you to apologise after that show you gave him!” The pink maned pony giggled and was joined in chorus by Celestia and the rest of them. Youngblood remained silent, though failed to keep down a huge smirk.

“It was that wine I tell you! Father lets me only a single glass on the occasion…”

The conversation drifted to the more pleasant and humourous aspects of the night of yester. The boundaries were lifted and the group descended further into laughter and confessions of particular behaviour. This pleased Youngblood. He seldom had the chance to talk to the ponies that practically resided with him and these mares none the less. It occurred to him that he lacked a single colt or stallion that he regarded so friendly; which was probably the cause of the banter he faced on a daily basis with certain individuals (yet is it really such a bad thing?).

After they had exhausted the final jokes and remarks of last night, Youngblood stepped in with a burning question. “Tell me, what is it that Money wants out of all of this?”

The two just stared at each other, exchanging nervous glances like two sisters in trouble. Parchment spoke up, “Oh, I bet he’s just a bit bored or jealous…” she said warily, as if Money was standing right over them.

The blue unicorn was not convinced. “You’re hiding something, what is it?” He calmly demanded.

For the second time, they paused. Parchment spoke again, trying to force a joking tone, “Well, he does have a liking for your sister.”

“Tell me about it! It’s like I’m a parent who keeps refusing him a sweet or something,” Celestia cut in. This elicited more spouts of laughter, but Youngblood was persistent. He stared at Rose, his eyes a steel of questioning.

She faltered under his gaze, squirming and avoiding eye contact. Looking aimlessly at the floor beneath her, “He… uh… said once that it was something about you being…” She paused, “I don’t want to be impolite…”

“It… it’s fine, what did he say?” He struggled to interrupt.

She hesitated, “About you being… low and… unworthy or something,” she cringed at the words. It came as little surprise, but the confirmation of his suspicions relieved him somewhat. “But please know that it is he alone who believes such things. Personally, I think it’s marvellous that you reside here with us.”

Youngblood nodded, “Thanks, Rose. And I understand well enough who is to blame, don’t you worry.” He drew out the last few words, his tone of voice a lot less friendly than expected from the blue unicorn.

“Perhaps that’s not the answer. Perhaps, oh I don’t know… just… Why even fight if it leads to even more fights? Can’t you forgive him or something and just be on with it?” Celestia was never one for conflict, though she knew hardly any alternative to it. He had had this talk many-a-time in the past and so Youngblood began to lose his patience rather quickly.

“No! He’s a right pri…” A white, shoed hoof silenced him in the mouth. It’s owner looking rather stern. The eyes of his sister said it all, “Speak, and be banished to the moon! Or something…”

He released his breath, removing the foreleg from his personal space. This gave him some time to think. Perhaps she was right, or talking sense. Youngblood’s issue was that any problem or threat he encountered, the direct solution seemed to him the only one to exist (and it usually ended up with injuries or tears either way), though with the coaxing from the white alicorn, he began to consider the path of forgiveness.

He reluctantly agreed, exciting another one of Celestia’s suggestive trademark facial expressions. He left them at that, bidding farewell and trotting away towards the open courtyard where arms training took place. What stress he had built up could easily be relieved via some cold steel. If he was still breathing, Youngblood could settle the score with Tucker. “That is, if he doesn’t mind getting his face ploughed in again!”

Glorious images of a particular failing noble filled his mind. He saw him fall flat on his plot having received one of Youngblood’s favourite disarming techniques that he learnt on the street. Money would get so red that his particularly ornate armour would ignite on the interior and vaporise his sweat that always graced his noble hide. Fantasies like this came quite rarely as Money’s position and father often swayed the actions of their instructor.

He found himself taking the scenic route, using the florally decorated path around the armoury block rather than the quick trot though the great doors that lead directly into the courtyard from the gardens. It was a quiet, scarcely used area of the castle that entitled Youngblood with a sense of ownership. It was his little pathway in a maze of bustling servants and staff. So caught up in this tranquil spot was he, that he failed to notice the swooping pegasus just above him.

She stopped with a practiced skid across the cobblestones, coming to rest on the right hoof-side of the path under the shadow of a summery sycamore tree. It was Youngblood’s turn to be startled. It was her, the third of Celestia’s friends.

“Youngblood, ain’t it?” She asked over her shoulder before turning to face him and offering a hoof. “Name’s Sharp Wind.”

“Finally, one accent that doesn’t reek of practiced mumbo-jumbo.” He quickly regained himself from his mental gratitude, shaking her hoof. “I thought I didn’t recognise you. You’re one of Celestia’s friends?”

“Nah… not really, yet I mean,” tilting her head. “I’m actually Parchment’s cousin. She introduced me to her yesterday whilst she was gearing up for the ban-ker-wet.”

Youngblood drew a hoof to his chin, considering her comical pronunciation. “Were you there last night? I didn’t see you.” He could vividly remember Rose and Parchment plus some of the others, but not this Sharp Wind.

“Yeah, I was sat on the middle table, y’know with the ‘hopefuls’,” she rolled her eyes at the word.

Youngblood chuckled out of sympathy, “Nothing to be ashamed of surely.”

“As you say,” she sighed. “Where you headed to anyway?”

“The courtyard, arms training,” he said proudly. “What’s it to you?”

The pegasus stifled a giggle, ignoring his question. “No offence, but you don’t look much of a fighter.”

It was true. He was perhaps the leanest, most fragile looking male in Canterlot and had the hair of a pampered prince. He looked hardly the formidable foe in the face and lacked any noticeable muscle. But this was his weapon; lacking in the body, but not in the mind. He was smart, not all-knowing but he had a notable intelligence; one that quickly made decisions in order to suppress his foes, that is.

“Is that so? Well, then I guess you’ve yet to see me out there then.” He jested.

Sharp winked at him before taking to the sky again, “We’ll see.” And so she left him puff of dust and wind. He couldn’t help his stupid grin and he couldn’t help but splutter into the thick wall of dust leaping at him through his displayed teeth.

Then, remembering where he was going, Youngblood set out to regain the lost minutes he should never have lost in the first place. He was sure that Sharp would be watching.