The Immortal Dream

"Do you all know me?" Cherrabell asked, sitting uncomfortably in a chair in the infirmary that looked more like it was designed for a foal than an adult mare - much less a mare as pregnant as her. "You're all staring like you've seen a ghost."

"More importantly, do you need anything?" the griffon nurse grunted, pushing a drawer closed and checking that the room's cabinets were in order as she locked them one at a time. "We're closing early tonight, but if it's an emergency, it'll be easier to open back up now than after I've finished..."

"Merely to borrow your patient," Glyce said with a bow. "These are guests of Father's, and expressed a desire to meet with her after seeing her work in the exhibition lounge. Would such a thing be permissible?"

Interest flickered on Cherrabell's face, but the nurse spoke first, looking distinctly relieved. "Absolutely. Better that someone keep an eye on her while I get some sleep in case she needs me in the night. Would you?"

"It would be my pleasure," Glyce regally told her, though from a grifflet it sounded more silly than refined. "Cherrabell, if you would?"

Cherrabell heaved herself to her hooves, equal parts curious and apathetic and apprehensive and uncomfortable. More than anyone else in the group, her eyes tracked Floria.

"Thank you," the nurse said, her step noticeably lightened as she continued locking up. To Papyrus and his crew, she added, "Cherrabell is on watch for delivery. I sleep in the back room here, so bring her right back here if anything changes. Alright?"

Papyrus clicked his teeth, not at all surprised. "The night of a ferocious storm, grounded here with no way in or out? That's such a poetic time to give birth, it sounds downright inevitable."

The nurse nodded. "Would be nice if it happened. Most nights don't give me an excuse to close up early. And the storm just means there's no chance of other patients getting lifted here from Griffonstone to distract me."

"Does that happen often?" Felicity asked, tilting her head.

"Duh," Glyre said. "What good is our standard of living if the peasants don't get to see it?"

Glyce nodded sagely. "A small taste of the benefits of civilization to tempt the commonfolk into seeking out more. But not for free, mind you. We do have standards to uphold."

More like downhold, Papyrus was tempted to quip.

It was Cherrabell who spoke next, though. "Can we just get going? I need to stretch my legs."

"Go on," the nurse encouraged. "Nothing's keeping you here!"

Papyrus found himself backing out of the doorway to make room as Cherrabell lumbered past. Even after his reincarnation, there were precious few creatures he had encountered who could make him step aside by force of presence alone, and yet Cherrabell was unquestionably one of them. Those broken eyes, decadent griffons, an impending birth in a storm...

No, it wasn't her making him step aside. It was his past, channeling itself through her. He had to be seeing things. And yet still, the night Crystal had given birth remained etched in his memory, both as the final act he had committed that sealed the Empire's fate, and as the first time in a decade he had tasted true lucidity.

What was he supposed to do with this?

Cherrabell cut an odd posture in the hallway, looking simultaneously worn down and winded from walking just a few steps, and yet buoyed by a strength Papyrus had only ever seen in soldiers facing their end on the battlefield: creatures who could bring more than usual to bear, because they weren't saving anything for the future. Especially odd to see that here, when her very near future included an act that took from most mares all they had to give and more.

"My lady," Glyce said, bowing a little more deeply to Cherrabell than his station probably warranted. "Would you accompany us back to the exhibition lounge? Nothing would warm my heart more than partaking in a discussion about the merits of your artwork between you and your newfound fans."

Papyrus raised an eyebrow.

Cherrabell just stiffly nodded, then took the lead, retracing Papyrus's route down from the exhibition lounge. He didn't want to point out that among imperial nobility, taking your guests on a round trip just for the purposes of picking up someone else they wanted to meet with would have been considered a faux pas; this baby griffon didn't need any more lessons about how to imitate the elite. What he did want to do was talk with Cherrabell, and yet the aura of uncomfortable awkwardness radiating from her suggested that anything other than letting her do the asking would be a bad idea. Could he defuse this somehow? What did she need?

...The absurdity of his train of thought caught up with him a second later. Was he, Papyrus, really organically thinking about how to make someone else comfortable and trying to anticipate their needs?

Whatever. This probably wasn't the time to get hung up on proving a point. If this really was an inexplicably perfect analogue to Crystal and Izvaldi, then Cherrabell probably had a superweapon capable of wiping out half of the content, and he had more important things to worry about than his own ego. Things like... somehow making her more at ease.

So he studied her. The majority of her discomfort clearly arose from her physical condition, and beyond that, he could tell she was still deciding what to make of him and his entourage, especially Floria. But it wasn't them she spent the most time trying to keep in her vision, oddly enough: it was the grifflets.

This, he could do something about.

"Say," Papyrus declared, trusting his gut and springing into action. "If we're to properly have a rousing and intellectually stimulating debate up there, we can hardly carry on all night on empty stomachs. Have you any chefs awake at this hour?"

"Certainly," Glyce said with a bow. "I can take you to our kitchens right now, if you would like to sample the fancies they have to offer."

"As luck would have it," Papyrus pressed, leaning in, "I was actually so looking forward to discussing fine art with Cherrabell that I was hoping to start right away! You already fetched us such fine drinks, I'm sure you could handle this one without our input as well, no?"

His eyes added what he hadn't said earlier: It's rude to make your guests do work, kid.

Glyce looked slightly conflicted. "Well, then what dishes do you fancy?"

"Four courses ought to do," Papyrus told him, reaching out a wing and patting him on the head. "Any dishes you please, so long as you can vouch for their quality - I'm a connoisseur, not some bumpkin with a limited palate. And it must be fresh out of the oven! We can't be having cold or soggy food on a stormy night, now. Got it? No corners cut during preparation, and then no time wasted when serving!"

Now Glyce just looked impressed. "Ah," he said, "a stallion of refinement. I had almost taken you for... Forgive me. I know exactly what it is you require, and I assure you our house will not disappoint."

But Glyre snickered. "What he actually wants is to watch you playing waiter with four courses for seven people at the same time. Does... Does she count?" She tilted her head at Braen.

Braen shook her head. "Braen does not run on food. No need for meals!"

"Hold, hold, come to think of it," Papyrus cut in, fully prepared to throw Glyre under the cart as well and pleased that she was making it easy for him. "One little griffon would have trouble moving all that food on his own, wouldn't he? He must be so heartened you're volunteering to help him!"

Glyre rolled her eyes, but for his part, Glyce looked concerned. "You're sure you will be alright unattended?"

Papyrus gave him a reassuring smile. "Worry not. If we somehow become lost while visiting a room we've already been to, I'll be sure to hold it against my own intelligence, and not your hospitality." He pointed a wing at Cherrabell. "Besides, she knows her way around, doesn't she?"

"I, for one, second this request," Floria agreed, joining Papyrus in uneasy lockstep. "The flight here was long, and I have had quite enough of airship rations for the time being. Make us a proper meal, would you?"

The two grifflets exchanged looks, then nodded. Glyce bowed again, rattling off a list of directions to get back to the exhibition lounge while retreating as Glyre silently slunk away.

Then, just like that, they were alone.

Floria raised an eyebrow. "Do you think they realized you got rid of them on purpose?" she breathed, voice low in case they were lingering around a corner.

Papyrus shrugged. "Whether they do or they don't, they'll have to learn someday that there are certain things adults don't talk about in front of children. One of those matters being foreign politics." He turned to Cherrabell. "Though I can't tell if you were simply apprehensive about the possibility of discussing a certain other country in their presence, or with their presence to begin with."

Cherrabell evaluated him, her expression growing slowly more favorable. "...You're more perceptive than you look," she said. "Thanks. Though it's more the boy that bothers me than his sister."

"How come?" Braen asked. "Glyce seem more polite than Glyre, at least on surface. Even if he doesn't really mean it, is worse to be treated nicely than rudely?"

Cherrabell shook her head. "Most of Gawain's children leave this place by the time they're his age. Surely you see problems with a young male griffon entering adolescence in a place where the only females in his life are his younger sisters and his father's consorts."

Floria blanched. "You can't mean to say his character is so low that-"

Papyrus cleared his throat.

"...Point taken," Floria sighed. "Given what his father is like, I suppose it would be. Positive role models are probably outlawed around here."

"Fortunately, he's got another year or two to go until he's anything more than precocious," Cherrabell said, then sighed. "...Do you mind if we keep walking rather than going to a sitting room? I don't know what else to do with these cramps."

"Cramps?" Floria asked. "If your labor has arrived, oughtn't we return to the nurse's ward?"

Cherrabell shook her head. "It hasn't. I've been like this for a while... Don't worry about it. She just wants me to come back if it gets worse." She picked a random direction at the intersection and started walking. "So. I didn't realize the Empire had any sphinxes left. Which family are you from?"

Papyrus glanced at Floria, curious to see how she planned to handle her heritage in front of someone who knew enough to ask questions. Felicity, he noted, was giving her the same look.

"...Stormhoof, by blood," Floria said. "Though I was raised outside of Imperial society. You are familiar with northern customs?"

"It's where I grew up," Cherrabell admitted. "What's it like there now? Has it gotten any better over the years?"

"That's either a very long or very short story," Papyrus answered. "Let's leave it at maybe with a generous helping of no. I'm guessing you left at least twenty years ago?"

He probably didn't need to ask. Any sarosians still in the Empire when it fell to Chrysalis would have been enslaved and stripped of their souls. Though she had somehow awakened to the power of shapeshifting...

"I don't know." Cherrabell shook her head. "It was many years ago. I haven't been able to track time well since coming to Lord Gawain's manor. But it was about two years after Everlaste's royal family was killed."

Papyrus instinctively looked to his allies' reactions at the reminder that someone else - probably Consul Tarunda - had finished what they failed to do two decades ago. All of them knew it had happened; they had extensively debriefed not even a day ago when deciding to officially give up on the Empire. Oddly, none of them were really that expressive.

"That was what, fourteen years ago?" Senescey glanced at Papyrus.

He nodded. "I think that's what we heard. Truth is, our knowledge of imperial affairs within the last long while is a bit lacking, ourselves. So that means you've been here fourteen, two... twelve years? Assuming you came here straight from the Empire."

"I did. And that makes sense." Cherrabell sighed and looked away. "...I make paintings of the Empire so that if anyone who recognizes them visits, they'd notice me and we could talk. But now that it's happened, I'm not sure what to talk about."

"Are you lonely?" Floria guessed.

Several emotions flickered across Cherrabell's face, doubt and resignation dominant even though loneliness was undeniable, too. But all of them were pushed aside by sudden discomfort as she brought a hoof to her belly, teeth gritted.

"...If I may," Felicity offered, breaking her silence. "Not to disparage the expertise of your doctor, but I have some amount of expertise in the medical arts."

Cherrabell shrugged helplessly as the pain started to pass. "Just a contraction. What can medicine do? You just take it until it's over."

"Sometimes, not much," Felicity admitted. "And other times, more than you might think. But your silence spoke volumes towards Floria's question, and so I figured the least I could do was offer."

"Floria?" Cherrabell tilted her head at Floria, confused. "That's your name?"

"Did we forget to introduce ourselves?" Papyrus cleared his throat. "Erm, I mean, did those silly grifflets forget to introduce us? How rude. Yes, that's Floria, this autonomous suit of armor is Braen, and I'm Papyrus, her bodyguard. Which brings us to these three..." He paused, wracking his brain to make absolutely sure he didn't mess this up. "Larceny and Leitmotif. And..."

His face fell. Whatever Felicity's new name was, he really, legitimately had forgotten it.

"Felicity," Felicity finished for him, patting her breast and making him feel like a fool.

"And I'm Nehaley," the blue one added. "Long story. I remind him of someone he used to know."

Papyrus planted his face against the carpet. "I swear I don't always do this on purpose."

"Do not beat yourself up over it," Floria urged, giving him a patronizing pat on the head. "Coming from you, a sincere apology is worth half a dozen wrong names."

Cherrabell looked baffled and amused, but her focus was more on Floria than the sarosian sisters. "You're the first sphinx I've heard of who doesn't use a G-name."

Floria shrugged. "Consider it a rebellion against my culture on my mother's part for coining it, and on my part for continuing to use it. After all the good sphinx rule has done for my race, let alone the Empire they ruled, I have few fond thoughts towards my cultural heritage."

Cherrabell gave her a more serious evaluation. "And what are your thoughts towards Lord Gawain?"

"A fine and upstanding role model for society," Floria replied with a perfectly straight face. Rip. "Keeps for himself an enviously-sized family." Rip. "Provides his children with only the best of educations and influences..." Rip. "...and is exquisitely prepared to meet the needs of his wife, singular, be they emotional, material or simply an interesting place in the world." Rip rip rip. "And did I mention how eloquent he is? Not to mention his inspirational attitudes towards the commonfolk. By the way, did you happen to know I'm not just descended from imperial royalty, but a prestigious clan of assassins? This isn't relevant to anything, I just thought it merited mention."

Papyrus glanced at the carpet between her forepaws. She did too.

"If anyone asks," Floria added, already picking evidence out of her claws, "the rug was always like that, and the low regard for maintenance around this place gives you serious concerns about its structural integrity in a storm."

Cherrabell sighed. "Right. I don't know what I was expecting."

"Cherrabell sounds sad that Floria not like Gawain," Braen remarked. "But does Cherrabell really feel different? Not seem like this place has much reason for living."

Cherrabell grimaced. "What are you, anyway?"

Braen stood stiffly and saluted. "Braen is daughter of Shinespark and Valey, on mission to travel and see world! Now sees you being disappointed. Why? Does Cherrabell like Gawain?"

"No..." Cherrabell shook her head, drooping with weariness. "Just hoping against hope you had a fresh perspective on why I should even bother."

Floria flicked her tail, stepping past the ruined carpet. "I'd like to say because you have many years ahead of you with which to flee this gilded cage and find something actually worthwhile to do with your life, but something tells me it won't be that easy..."

"Apologies if this sounds rude," Papyrus cut in. "But supposing you decided you shouldn't continue to bother, what would you do instead?"

Cherrabell shrugged. "I don't know. What else is there to do? I've tried fleeing several times, and it always ends the same. Leaving the Empire just brought me here."

Unsure whether he was about to jinx it or simply rip off a bandage, Papyrus tapped his wingtips together with a toothy, apologetic smile. "Beats me. Pull out some bizarre eldritch power and kill everyone in this mansion?"

The open shock on her face was almost too much for him to register. There was no way he had actually jinxed it. Right? No way.

"Who are you?" Cherrabell whispered, her shock giving way to haunted fear. "Why do you know about me? You looked like you recognized me earlier! In the Empire, did they-"

She winced, cut off by another contraction, but kept her focus squarely on Papyrus.

"I was joking!" Papyrus frantically waved his wings. "Woah there, I didn't expect you to actually... Look, no one needs to have their souls eviscerated, here. What say you we strike a deal in everyone's best interests: you don't use that power, and we do everything in our power to ensure that you don't feel we have to. How about that, eh? Deal? Peace? Please?"

Cherrabell watched him, panting, until her pain started to subside. "I wasn't going to use it. Just, please tell me who you think I am. What you think... What you know."

Papyrus glanced at his allies. Braen seemed clueless, and Floria confused, but Felicity was poised to interrupt him at the slightest misstep.

"Right." Papyrus sighed. "So, frankly, it's not you I recognize. It's your situation. As luck would have it, this is not the first time I've been there when a desperate and emotionally destitute mare, presumptively pregnant with the child of a minor griffon noble of no renown, gave birth in the middle of a storm. You and her share a couple of minor physical characteristics including a strong build and the look in your eyes, and last time it went so horrifically off the rails that supernatural doom was in fact involved. You probably know about it. It led to the ransacking of the entire continent and the extinction of Mistvale."

A wretched look crossed Cherrabell's face that didn't exactly scream 'I had nothing to do with that.'

Papyrus sighed harder. "If you actually were involved with that, I swear on my own involvement with it that I'm not out for revenge."

Now Cherrabell looked confused. "You can't be that old, can you?"

"Long story, you'd be surprised." Papyrus waved a dismissive wing. "But if you've got baggage you feel badly about, then congratulations, we're all escaped villains here. Seriously. I don't hold it against you."

Cherrabell hesitated, then finally said, "I don't know if I was involved. I have amnesia. They found me in Everlaste about a month after the collapse. I can't remember anything from before that, not even my age or original name. They guessed I was about thirteen, and the queen took me in as a wingmaid. Does... does any of that sound familiar? Do you know...?"

Papyrus shook his head. "We know basically nothing from after the war, aside from two days just now spent in Stormhoof and deciding we wanted no part of what the Consulate was selling. And among the things I don't know is why history appears to be repeating itself here, but the fact that I got that reaction from a joke intended more for my companions' benefit than yours worries me even more than it appears to worry you. As a member of Team No Longer Insane, I'd love to get to the bottom of this before it repeats any further and dooms you to becoming another of history's greatest murderers."

Cherrabell's face fell as she listened.

"It's true," Felicity agreed, stepping up beside Papyrus. "I don't know why this situation is the way it is, but as atonement for our own mistakes, please believe me when I say that we now have no higher priority than helping you."

Cherrabell shook her head, eyes glassy. "It's too late," she whispered. "I already did use it, once. I... I killed the royal family of Everlaste. The ones that first took me in. How can I trust you? If you're like Gawain, you'll just use me again. And if you're like them, what if I repay your kindness like I did last time? I'm already a mur... murd..."

"That was you?" Papyrus blinked several times. "Balderdash. I absolutely had that Tarunda guy pegged for the culprit...! I mean, eh. Even if you did get them, we probably put a lot more effort into killing off Everlaste's royals than you ever did."

Now it was Cherrabell's turn to blink. "That's your reaction?"

Papyrus shrugged. "Sure, we might have failed in the end, but if you've learned from it and we have too then I'd say that puts us in great company. Plus, if you used this power of yours and all it did was corpse a couple of nobles, I'd say odds are roughly zero that it's actually the same thing as last time. Still doesn't explain the uncanny similarities, but history might not literally be repeating after all."

Cherrabell looked up, baffled. "Who are you? There's... That just wouldn't make sense..."

"If you've got an idea, you might be right," Senescey said. "Especially since you did just get some of our original names. But can I ask about this power you used? What is it? What does it do?"

"It's... a long story..." Cherrabell said, ears back. "It's a very small dagger. The blade looks like a green crystal needle. It's somewhere safe; carrying it around makes me uncomfortable. I don't really understand how it works, but I stabbed one of the palace staff for self-defense one day. And the blade disappeared instead of cutting him, and he just left me alone without a word. And then the next day, he killed everyone. I don't know why, but I know I made him do it."

Senescey frowned. "So you still have that dagger? It got its blade back?"

"I got a new one." Cherrabell shook her head. "Could I... trust you a little more before I tell you where I got them, please? They were given to me by a friend, and... I don't want to betray her any more than I already have."

Papyrus raised an eyebrow at his entourage.

"Darling," Felicity consoled. "I don't know the entirety of what's going on here, but it's not too late for you. We will get to the bottom of this, and we will make it so you never have to worry about using that dagger again. Alright? The only thing you should have to think about right now is bringing your child into the world. Everything else, I promise you can leave to us until that's over."

Cherrabell sighed, turning her head down. "That's what everyone says when they want my trust."

"I'm not quite sure what to say to that," Felicity apologized. "It's your choice whether to trust us or not, and frankly, it's not going to change what we try to do here. Even if it's clearly different, there's still a disturbing similarity in place here that we need to fully understand. All I need from you is for you to focus on yourself right now. Do you think you can do that?"

"I've aired out my dirty laundry." Cherrabell shook her head. "You've taken my trust whether I should have given it or not. I just don't know how to do anything different. If you can give me answers, then you can do what you want with me in return. What do you need me to do?"

"Focus on a safe delivery," Felicity insisted. "We are not on a schedule, and so long as there is no immediate danger, you don't have to be either. We can talk as much as you like about anything you like, but there's no point in doing detective work while you've got something more important to do."

"Something important to do is what I need," Cherrabell pushed back. "Please! I've been in early labor for a full week already, nothing is progressing and I can't do anything or go anywhere and all the nurse wants me to do is wait in bed! I've done this many times before, I can take it, but I don't want to wait. I just want to focus on anything other than this." She glared down at her belly for emphasis.

In response, it shifted, her breath catching in her throat as another contraction arrived.

"A full week?" Larceny looked haunted. "And I thought mine was bad..."

"I really would feel better if you let me take a look at you," Felicity told her. "A week of discomfort, certainly, but you look a sight more than uncomfortable. And however much experience an environment like this has given your doctor, if you've remained in this state under their watch for so long, I daresay I have abilities they do not."

Cherrabell sighed. "You don't need to dress it up. I said I'd do whatever in exchange for answers, and there's only one reason anyone is ever interested in my body."

Papyrus realized what was coming an instant before it hit him. A blanket covered his mind with the weight of an anvil, squashing his emotions with the weight of Garsheeva's footsteps: Crystal used to react like that too, he observed, with all the passion of an academic debater whose self-worth was predicated on their ability to remain neutral.

Everyone else was feeling it too, Cherrabell most of all. That was Felicity's brand for you: an area around her where she could manipulate the intensity of everyone's emotions, cranking what they were feeling up to absurd levels, or, in this case, stamping out any intensity and feeling that was powering their trains of thought.

Felicity let the field lapse so that she could back up her point with words. "Miss Cherrabell," she declared, her voice backed by the weight of a god compared to the depression of her emotion field, "I am not trying to use you."

Cherrabell was openly stunned.

"I'm trying to help you," Felicity insisted, instantly gentle and earnest once again. "I know how you feel. I spent decades in the courtesan trade, and witnessed countless colleagues without the powers to set or enforce fair agreements. I was one of the precious few with the connections and resources to flip that balance of power, and for many long years my only consolation when seeing mares like you was in the knowledge that those who took advantage of you, I could pay back in kind. On my word as a fellow courtesan, reluctant mother and pawn of the powers that be, and on my oath as a doctor, I am here to serve you and nothing more."

Cherrabell started to cry.

"It'll be alright," Felicity urged. "We want to help you. And ideally everyone else who's stuck here with no future as well, but that starts with you."

"I want you as my doctor," Cherrabell sniffed. "What do you need me to do? Should I show you to a room with a bed, or...?"

"I can check you over right now," Felicity explained, shaking her head. "This might tingle just a bit, but I'll explain what I'm doing as I go. Permission to touch, darling?"

Cherrabell nodded.

So Felicity pulled her upright and started poking, tapping Cherrabell's belly and body with the tips of her hooves and wings, explaining as she worked. "These are called Mistvale Arts. You've likely heard of them from your time in the Empire, but mine are tuned for pleasure and healing instead of combat. You are expecting a griffon, I assume?"

Cherrabell nodded again. "I don't know why. They say most mares can't even have children with griffons, but I can. And mine with Gawain are always griffons."

"There's a lengthy explanation for that we can get to in a moment," Felicity promised. "Now, we already established that this weapon of yours is different from the one our past experience involved, but just for reassurance's sake, I don't detect any of the anomalies that indicated something was wrong last time. Your grifflet is alive, properly aligned... and probably normal, though this is the first equine carrying a griffon I've actually had the chance to examine."

She straightened up. "That said, you're exhausted. Every part of your body is strained to the limit, and it feels as if you've been marinating in hopelessness for so long that you're practically falling apart at the seams. You haven't been sleeping or eating well for far longer than a week, have you?"

"No," Cherrabell admitted. "The nurse said my labor was stuck because I just don't have the desire to bring them into the world. But how do I fix that? I'm not that tired. I've done this before, it... it would be easy if it would just happen."

Felicity shook her head. "First, you rest. I've asked your little griffon if they could kindly wait to come for another hour or two. I don't know how inclined they'll actually be for that, given how long they've already waited, but that should be long enough for you to partake in the feast we ordered and then perhaps catch a short nap without anything getting in the way. By the same token, my arts should be able to stimulate your labor as well once you're rested up and ready. But I need you to take this time to get into a state of mind where you're ready to give this your all. And when you do, I promise I'll be right there with you."

Cherrabell sighed. "I'll take your word for it."

Floria hesitantly stepped in. "This really isn't my field of expertise," she offered. "But would it help to tell yourself this is the last child you'll ever be forced to bear?"

"I don't see how," Cherrabell lamented. "What are you offering, to take me to your own estate and let me live out my days there without being expected to do anything at all?"

Floria bit her lip. Felicity glanced uncertainly at her, and Papyrus knew exactly why: that was what Floria herself had been doing for her entire life, and she hated it. But what better answer did she have?

"They say commoners are supposed to work or steal for a living," Cherrabell explained. "But I don't really have any talents. I... I guess I can clean, I suppose. I did that in Everlaste. But in Stormhoof, all I did was look nice, and here, all I do is have Gawain's children. I've never been to school. I think part of why I keep getting stuck in these places is because I don't know what else to do. So what else do I do with myself?"

Floria gave Felicity a pointed look that said You never answered that for me, either.

Felicity gave an awkward smile. "Well, I do have connections in the Equestrian government I could leverage to find a pathway for you. But until we find out what works, all I can promise is that we won't abandon you. And wouldn't it be silly to get too attached to a plan before you've even seen the wider world beyond a few failed countries and stuffy noble courts? Can I ask you to believe things will seem brighter once we give you a ride out of here?"

"You say that like you have your own airship." Cherrabell blinked. "Gawain controls the airship between here and Griffonstone. Did you come here on your own?"

"That we did," Floria assured her. "Presently parked out on your front lawn, and though I dread the prospect of flying in a storm like this, it ought to be sturdy enough to weather this weather perfectly on land. Though I daresay it won't be big enough for all of that stooge's consorts and children, so we will need to clean this place up no matter how our passenger list ends up."

Cherrabell hesitated. "Can I spend the night there? On your ship?"

Papyrus chuckled. "Can't stand one more minute of this place, eh?"

"I don't want to wait." Cherrabell stared earnestly at him. "Not one more minute. I can't do anything here. Nothing I do has meaning. Not living, not breathing, not eating, not... not pushing out this child. Do you even know what it's like to not remember how many children you've had? They all blend together, it's maddening... I want to visit your ship. Somewhere Gawain doesn't own. It might be pointless or even uncomfortable, but it's something I can have a say in. Please."

Felicity nodded. "I can't answer for everyone," she told her. "Especially given the size of our ship and the number of us already on it. But provided you first make the most of this banquet to recover your strength, I for one think it's a splendid idea."

Larceny shrugged. "Works for me."

Senescey nodded. "It sure isn't my ideal way to spend a night, but Felicity knows what she's doing. What about you kids?" She glanced to Floria, Papyrus and Braen.

"Just to make sure," Floria said, "we are talking about you giving birth on our ship. My mother is no quack; any pretense that your labor would remain stuck should likely be discarded."

"Sounds like it to me." Papyrus raised an eyebrow at her. "Scared?"

Floria narrowed her eyes in return. "I do not quail at the prospect of being present for a basic biological function. Rather, I'm worried about our recourse should things go wrong... and about your propensity for making weird jokes at the wrong time."

Papyrus sighed. "If this is my atonement for how things went last time, I shall be nothing short of saintlike. Believe it or not, this particular subject is one where I have an imperative to prove I've learned my lesson."

"I trust in my own abilities and in Cherrabell's," Felicity reassured Floria. "Should those fail, we will be but a short walk from the manor's infirmary... though the length she has remained in this state makes me question whether that wouldn't be a downgrade."

Cherrabell shook her head. "It would. But it won't matter. I've done this a lot before. I'd be fine if the baby would just come... And you say you think you can help with that."

Felicity nodded. "That should be well within my capabilities. Braen? You're the only one we're missing for a consensus."

Braen watched Cherrabell curiously. "Well, what's it like? Never watch mare give birth before."

"And Valey would kill me if I let you change that," Papyrus cut in. "You'll be spending the night with me in a storage closet while the ladies do their thing. I'll need someone to share my philosophical musings with on how awkward it'll be if this ends well and we have to live with being the good guys for real."

"Darling, if you jinx this, I will flay you," Felicity threatened. "But I'll take that as a yes, and trust you to keep Braen's parents from having words for me later." She nodded, satisfied, then straightened up. "Right, then. It sounds to me like we have a consensus. Now let's try not to look like high fools by letting those grifflets arrive with our food before we do."

"We could just eat on the ship," Cherrabell said dubiously, hefting her girth and starting a path back towards the exhibition lounge. "But I'll see what you can accomplish. It would be nice if you turned out to be trustworthy. And if you're not, it won't really change anything for me anyway."