Hēafodweard, Sē Fyresta: Sē Rundgang

Eth,

I’ve got great news! Thy to-be mentor managed to get through to the Ministry of the Interior, and get thee cleared to travel on the 6th of July to Ponyville on the 5:00 A.M. train (I know, I know. Thou canst always get some sleep on the train.)

Like everypony else, I wit not what’s going on outside. I hope Coltchester was safe two weeks ago. █████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████

I’d been waiting six months to see thee again, Ethy, and now it’ll be six and a half months. Please come soon. I like not thee alone ████████.

Love,

Gorthy

A young, tan-coated, brown-maned stallion, covered with a red mask over his muzzle and all manner of deep red and dark clothes angrily huffed, scowling at the blackened redactions in the letter through his reading glasses. This was completely unconstitutional. Completely. Unconstitutional. The Royal Guard didn’t have the power to monitor anypony's, much less everypony’s communications without a judicial order. They certainly lacked the power to censor them. Even if some infringement was justified since two weeks ago, he couldn’t think of a single word his coltfriend could possibly say that posed a security threat. But nope, they just went ahead and censored it anyways.

Typical Royal Guards. Everything they don’t like automatically marks you as guilty. And ponies used to tell him “the military’s better than the police units”.

The train came to a halt, and he shoved the letter into his saddlebags. At the train exit, a unicorn Royal Guard, still stood as stoic and unmoving as when they had departed Saddle Lake about an hour before. Were it not for the occasional blink behind a visored helmet draped in camouflage cloth, whose pattern matched the train's wooden browns and metal blacks, he might have thought that the figure was a statue. It was already difficult to see their magically-whitened coat, after all.

“Everypony,” a voice crackled through the magical speakers. “The train has arrived at Ponyville station. Passengers whose authorized destination is here may exit the train in an orderly manner when the Royal Guard opens the doors. Please have documentation proving your identity ready to be provided to the platform checkpoint.”

He rolled his eyes. This was the definition of security theater. They had already checked all passengers’ identification when they boarded. The idea that somepony could sneak onto the train was moot when Royal Guards were monitoring every last inch. He was scared like everypony else, but this was a waste of the resources the Guards should be using elsewhere. Even if the image of the burnt-down Prefecture Building of Her Radiant Majesty in Trottingham had been seared into his mind earlier that day as he gaped in horror from inside the station while waiting to transfer.

On the bright side, though, it was heat season. Not because he was out looking for a mare to get him, or had a marefriend. No, the Guards wouldn't give him trouble about not showing his talent mark. He had every right not to under the Realm Cultural Rights Act of 1393. He doubted that, were this all happening another time of the year, the Guards would care about forcing him to humiliate himself in public. It was impossible to single him out, though, when everypony was wearing clothes to keep a level of decency he, as a good Coltchesterite, thought they should have year-round.

How anypony felt no shame with everything being out to see, much less comfortable with everypony seeing their talent mark, he would never understand. Barring, of course, Her Radiant Majesty, whose form alone was such a paragon of equinity that it was an insult to clothe her.

He made sure his seasonal mask was nice and tight so he didn't get hit by any pheromones, and waited until everypony else had gotten up and in line to exit the train. Only then, he rose, turned his head, levitated (with effort) his saddlebags onto himself, and walked over to the end of the line. He didn't like having to wait behind everypony else, but... That was the safe thing to do.

He got stuck behind some mint-green unicorn mare, and once again checked his mask was tight. Figuring this was going to take a bit, he decided to strike up a conversation with her. She looked, or, at least, he hoped she looked safe enough. “Good Lady,” he greeted. Normally, as a good Coltchesterite, he would bow his head for a stranger mare, but it was heat season, and thus impolite (much less unwise) to do so when behind them. “What is your name?”

The mare glanced back, meeting him with yellow eyes. “Oh, I’m Lyra. Lyra Heartstrings.” A bit unusually, she was wearing a seasonal mask, though it sounded like she was smiling. Like many mares at "that time of the year", there was a slight flush to her. “And you are?”

“My talent name is Holright, Lady Heartstrings,” he answered.

She slightly cocked her head. “...Any reason you’re specifying your name is your talent name?” With that accent, she had to be from Canterlot. He would have asked her what was going on in the capital city, if she knew anything about what had happened, or if Her Radiant Majesty's Office had said anything about two weeks ago. Yet, with the Royal Guards watching, that was bound to spark trouble.

“I come from Coltchester, good Lady. We only use our talent names on the job.”

“Ah, right. I have a friend who studied there for a year.” She shook her head. “No offense, but I have no idea how she or any of you feel remotely comfortable using birth names.”

“None taken. We pride ourselves on being one of the few to hold to tradition.”

Her snort was overpowered by a little chime over the speakers that led to the Royal Guard at the train exit issuing instructions. “Please keep in an orderly, single-file line,” he mechanically stated. “If you have any luggage, you will have to proceed, upon clearing the checkpoint, to your left to the station where Guards are inspecting your things.”

The train door opened, and the Guard stepped aside. “Long rise the sun! Long live Her Radiant Majesty!” He didn’t know how many times he had heard Guards say that normally rare, ceremonial phrase over the past two weeks. Every time it was said, though, he became just a bit more inclined to believe the terrifying whispers a few made, fearing that there had been a “change in government” in Canterlot. Not that he would ascribe such a tyrannical action to Her Radiant Majesty - merely whoever might have, in this horrifying thought, claimed to speak for her.

It took a bit for the line to file out, but by the end, he was standing between the train platform and train car, the doors surrounding him. The basic wooden platform was split by fencing between the train and the wall of the station building, whose door lay open, some ponies having already entered. Fencing on the right side of the platform ensured that the only way in or out was through the building. Looking through the window, he could see a Royal Guard standing behind a desk, inspecting somepony's saddlebags.

“So, what brings you to Ponyville? I was uh...” She looked behind him at the Royal Guard in the car. “...I’m coming here to be with my marefriend.”

A slight sense of panic entered him. The safe, careful thing to do would just be saying “personal business”. The less anypony knew about him, the safer he was. But he wanted to believe...

“...I’m here to read law under Councilpony Tall Order,” he answered. That was probably the most public thing he was going to be doing here anyways, given the past two weeks.

“Read law?”

“Be his apprentice, so I may become a lawyer in time.”

The line moved ahead a pony, and when he exited, the train door shut. “Legalpony, then.” He nodded guardedly. “I’m a musician, though I’m going to be helping Bonnie with her sweet shop. You should come by some time.”

Thankfully, he didn’t have to fake a smile. Only fake the sound of one. “Uh, yea. I’ll have to see... It.”

I hope Gorthy agreeth ’tis safe. That she’s safe.

“A University of Coltchester graduate who will associate with a Canterlot graduate?” she gasped.

He furrowed his brow, then exasperatedly groaned. “Oh no, not a hoofballer fan...”

“Heh, heh, heh...” she snickered. “Don’t you worry. I don’t care about hoofball, much less University of Canterlot hoofball. Particularly since I didn’t go there.” She didn’t go to the University of Canterlot, and was a Canterlot graduate? That didn’t make sense... His eyes widened. Lyra coughed, “Yeah, I try not to outright say it, but... Her Radiant Majesty’s Royal Academy for the Talented is my alma mater.“

Her Radiant Majesty’s Royal Academy for the Talented? And she was coming to almost-no-name Ponyville?

He would have demanded to know why she was here, but he recognized it was at least for partly the same reason as he was. He didn’t know of any acclaimed musicians who lived in this small village, though.

“Lyra!” The feminine voice out beyond the fence startled him. The unicorn immediately turned to his right, finding a cream-colored terran waving a bare hoof at her. In a completely unreal display, Lyra didn’t demand to know why this mare who apparently knew her was so grossly insulting her in public. Instead she raced over to the fence, leaning her hoof upon it, tears welling in her eyes. “Lyra, I-I’ve been so worried-!” The terran began to move towards the other side of the fence.

“Ma’am, please return to the street, and refrain from conversing!” A Guard standing by the station building on the other side of the fence took a single step towards her. The terran's ears completely fell flat, and she backed away immediately. “You will be able to reunite after the passenger has cleared inspection.”

Completely forgetting the obscene gesture, he, along with everypony else leaving the train, stood and gawked at that Guard. Even more when not a single Guard told him to, as a well-mannered Coltchesterite would say, fuck off. Even though a well-mannered Coltchesterite would have the patience to not even shout out in the first place.

This was Equestria, right?

The realm ruled by the just, peaceful hoof of Her Radiant Majesty?

He had not crossed some international border?

Lyra stood there, watching her marefriend scurry back out of sight, her jaw unbound from her skull. Eventually, when a couple of ponies had cleared the checkpoint, she silently turned and came back to the line. There was no conversation after that point. Just falling and moving ahead in line like a good little herdling. It dripped ice upon his back to think it was not because she (at least in his limited judgement) was unsafe.

It took maybe ten or fifteen minutes before the line had moved enough that he was inside the building, and Lyra got through the checkpoint, taking up her saddlebags and slowly exiting the station. Through a window, he watched her cautiously approach the other mare, and hesitate to embrace her. Even if the act of public embrace was undignified for a good Coltchesterite, that unsettled him.

He caught sight of a blue-coated, red-haired unicorn standing in the plaza, bringing him to ease. At least he was but moments away from being in safe, caring hooves again. The two nodded to one another.

“Sir. Identification and saddlebags.” The Royal Guard behind the desk, a pegasus, caught his attention. Well, time for yet another dance of security to be performed in front of nopony but two other Royal Guards. All three of them, he knew, had that stonecold expression that they had to spend months drilling into them and every other Guard.

“Talent name is Holright,” he stated. “Date of birth is the 11th of February, in the year 1420, home province Coltchester. I’m here due to a change in residency and occupation.”

The Guard nodded, and the unicorn turned so he could lift up his cloak. Keeping his eyes fixated on the point of his arcane focus, he slid out the passport and gave it to the Guard. He looked it over wordlessly as the unicorn turned and, to the best of his ability, moved his saddlebags onto the desk as if nothing was amiss. The Guard hooved back the passport, and started looking through the rest of his things. “You’re cleared, Mr. Holright.”

After taking another moment to put back his passport, he watched the Royal Guard sift through his things with trepidation. “What’s with all the legal materials?” The Guard lifted out a textbook with his wings and paged through it.

“I’m here to study law under Councilpony Tall Order.”

The Guard continued looking through his things, but the unicorn didn’t say a word. He knew it wasn’t safe nor wise to try to speak with a Guard at this moment. The Guard went through almost everything without a meep, leading him to prematurely allow relief to wash over him. Then, when the Guard was digging through a folder, he stopped and pulled out a notecard.

“What is this, Mr. Holright?”

“I-I’m sorry?” he stammered.

The Guard placed the notecard in front of him. “This notecard has writing in another language. What does it say, Mr. Holright?”

A notecard with writing in another language? What was he talking about...?

Fare wel med þīnre foredōmgradan, Hālriht!

A memory whose happiness, after years, now inspired a confused discomfort floated past his mind’s eye. He still had this? He thought Gorthy had gotten rid of these ages ago.

“’Tis but a parting memento from an old friend,” he answered. “It saith in Old Equish ’Good luck with thy pre-law degree, Holright!’”

“Why is it in Old Equish?”

“We used to study for Old Equish classes together.” He hoped this would be over soon. He didn’t like thinking about this. It was bound to lead down a road of carelessness that, ultimately, would lead to him being unsafe.

The Guard grunted, and put the notecard back. In short order, the saddlebags were packed back up, and, in a bit longer order, they were back on him. “You’re cleared, Mr. Holright.” The Guard stamped, and stood at attention. “Long rise the sun! Long live Her Radiant Majesty!”

Shifting uncomfortably, he headed for the door. A bit too stressed, he decided to hoof it open. Trotting down into the small plaza in front of the station, he allowed himself a smile under the cover of his seasonal mask, and a slight skip in his step. The blue unicorn, as to be expected, remained standing exactly where he was, though he could swear as he drew closer he saw the clench of the eyes indicating a smile. When they had come within hoof’s reach, the two bowed their heads, briefly touching horns.

“‘Tis good to see thee, Gorthy,” he sighed.

“I’m so happy to see thou’rt safe, Etheigh.” The two lifted heads. Etheigh’s heart swelled at the sight of Gorthy’s red eyes. They, despite their contrast with the lavender blue coat and yellow mane, always felt like the completing part of the stallion. “I’ve already been scared for thee. Worried that something would happen because I wasn’t there. And then, two weeks ago...”

Gorthy paused. For the briefest of instants, those eyes latched onto a Guard, holstered sword peeking out from beneath a cloak matching the greys of the road and the light tans of the “terran settler”-style housing. He looked back at Etheigh. “...Come along. ‘Tis a bit of a trot to the house, but I can show thee much of the village.”

“Alright.” Etheigh grinned. He always liked to believe he’d inculcated a strong sense of skepticism towards the Guard in Gorthy. He seemed to distrust them even more. Probably because the only thing protecting Etheigh from a Guard was his mouth, and not also his horn.

The stallion waved a hoof, bidding him to follow. “I must warn thee, Etheigh,” he began to advise. “Ponyville is a place where clothes only come out for heat or formalities.” Wonderful. Just wonderful. The odds had been right. He was going to be living with nudists, like half of the places in this grand realm. “My advice for when the time cometh, Etheigh, is to focus on faces. I was told ‘imagine everypony’s clothed’, and that, unsurprisingly, did nothing.”

Etheigh chuckled with Gorthy. Nevertheless, he started to respond, “Focusing, too, is easier said than-”

Gorthy abruptly stopped, and leaned into Etheigh. “There’ll be enough nudity later, hm?” Gorthy breathed into his ear.

Lurid thoughts briefly entertained his mind. Blushing, he replied in a low voice, “Gorthy, we’re in public...”

“And because we’re dignified and clothe ourselves, I can always whisper sweet nothings in thine ear without anypony being the wiser.” Gorthy trotted off, tauntingly fanning his tail up and down once with a smirk. “Come,” he repeated.

His face feeling like it was on fire, he hurried up. To cool off, he regarded the buildings around them. An unexpected, but welcome surprise was that, so far as Etheigh could see, buildings were whole and unharmed.

“Oh, if anypony offereth their bare hoof up to thee, ‘tis not an insult.”

“What?”

“If anypony offereth their bare hoof to thee...” Gorthy gestured for them to turn right after they reached an intersection. “‘Tis not an insult.”

That was a nonsensical statement. “Thou’rt jesting.”

As if to prove Gorthy right, a grape-colored mare waved their bare hoof at him. He waved his horseshoed hoof back. Etheigh gaped. “Nay, I jest not.” He shook his head. “I wit. ‘Tis mad.”

He began trotting again, and Etheigh followed, shaking his head too. First the nudity. Now bare hooves not being one of the most insulting gestures. This was going to be a wonderful place. Hopefully Tall Order was more sane.

“Makest any new friends while I had to wait for thee to graduate?” Etheigh’s ears slightly fell. Gorthy hadn’t liked that Etheigh hadn’t crammed classes together so he could graduate early like he did.

“Nay...” he responded. “Nay, I wasn’t too sure anypony was safe.”

“Hath not stopped thee from befriending unsafe ponies before.” His ears drooped further. He was a careless pony, for somepony with his problems. “From conversing with that unicorn.”

“I know...” Trying to think of something that would make Gorthy happy, he offered, “...I figured thou’dst know the safe ponies here anyways.”

“That I do.” He gestured for them to stop, and he pointed towards a great tree emerging from the cobblestone. In a rather beautiful way, a building had been carved out from it. A sign out front read “Golden Oaks Library”. "The new librarian, who I hope will stay, is one of them.”

A librarian? “Who is...?”

Etheigh then noticed that the library had no less than six Royal Guards stationed in front of it. He could not quite make out where they were looking, as their visors, like every other Guard he had seen, were down. Nonetheless, he could feel them gazing upon him and his coltfriend with suspicion.

Gorthy glanced back. “...Thou wilt see.”

He started trotting off. Etheigh was curious, but it was probably not the best place to talk about it, given that Gorthy was choosing to continue onwards.

“Well, I’m happy to hear that thou wast mostly not acting careless without me.” That made Etheigh happy. If Gorthy was happy, Etheigh was happy. Everypony was happy.

“Thanks.” Etheigh smiled.

“We’re coming up on the market here.” The two trotted into an open square where shops of all sorts lined the edges. He got the feeling that there being only a few ponies out (barring another twelve Royal Guards, six of whom were stationed outside a house on the northern end), as was the case, wasn’t normal. “I think thou shouldst be okay, but I’d prefer I come with thee.” He pointed down a road to their left - in the distance, a large building loomed. “There’s the village hall I’m sure thou’lt be working in, once it is reopened.”

He gestured to a small dirt road to their right. “This way.”

They began trotting towards a small bridge over a river, a Guard stationed on either side. After they crossed, he pointed down a road to their left. “Down thataway is the Ponyville School.” In the distance, he could see a building topped by a bell. “Yonder after that is Sweet Apple Acres - the home of the Apple cartel.”

He didn’t need to be reminded. That was about one of three notable facts about Ponyville. This was where the monopoly on apples all across the realm got its start. He was an adamant believer in the market, but the Apples at this point needed to have their hold broken up.

The second notable fact was the Everfree Forest, which made Etheigh massively uncomfortable. The terrans who settled this place had been mad enough to settle right on the edge of the Everfree, even if it had been granted to them by royal charter. Nevertheless, if Gorthy thought it was safe for him here, it was safe.

The third... Well, Etheigh supposed that was technically conjecture.

They trotted past a few houses. “Where’s thy passport?” Gorthy asked.

“Why, wantest to keep it again?” Gorthy liked to keep a hold of important documents like that. Just in case somepony tried to rob Etheigh. It was the safe thing to do.

“Yea, I would. Alas ‘tis needed for the checkpoint up ahead, and with all the Guards... I’ll let thee keep it for now.”

“Left inside pocket of my cloak.” Without even looking, Gorthy lifted his cloak and withdrew the booklet.

“Take it.”

“I, um, can’t right now...” Gorthy stopped, looking at Etheigh. His ears wilted a bit. “I, um...” He scuffed the dirt road with his hoof. “I’ve been really stressed, I think, and I can’t focus as well.”

Gorthy put it back in Etheigh’s cloak pocket. “Very well.” He placed a consoling hoof on him. “That’s okay, Etheigh. Thou’rt not a bad pony for thy horn.”

He smiled, nodding. Etheigh’s mother didn’t like his horn. Gorthy, though, only cared about what it meant for Etheigh’s own safety. Especially after that one time Etheigh got... Beat up in high school.

The two started down the road. Quickly, they approached the rail line, where Guards had defensive positions. It wasn’t nearly as bad as Trottingham, being little more than a couple of walls made up of logs, but it still provoked that sense of antagonism and fear in Etheigh.

“Good day, Lieutenant!” Gorthy trotted ahead. “I told you my coltfriend was coming today, and here he is!” The Guard he had approached was not clad in the military uniforms pervading even this small village, but “just” a basic set of grey metal armor that police units used in the rare event of a serious public disturbance. Unlike the soldiers, his visor was currently up, and the lack of the white-coat uniform enchantment revealed a terran with a brownish-pink coat. It was mad that Etheigh felt less anxiety around policeponies than soldierponies.

“Hey there!” the Lieutenant waved. “If ya could just please give me some identification, I’ll let you through.”

“What’s your name, good Lieutenant?” A reflexive instinct kicked in in Etheigh. Always get policeponies’ names.

“Ah, I’m Lieutenant Bulwark Hold.” Wow, he just gave that away without any questions. One of the exceptions.

“Alright.” Etheigh came to a stop in front of him, turning his head to get out his passport.

“I’m fine with Bulwark, though.” Etheigh immediately looked up, eyes slightly narrowing. The terran chuckled, “Only reason I’m wearin’ my armor is because, well...” Etheigh got out his passport, for some reason deciding to use his hooves. Gorthy frowned, but didn’t say anything. He gave it to the terran, who seemed a bit surprised. “You can handle that thing with your hoof like a terran?” He set the passport on the ground and began paging through it.

“...Yea.”

The terran chuckled, then gave the passport back. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen a unicorn who can do that.” He stuffed the passport back into his cloak. Gorthy frowned more. The terran stepped aside. “Go right on through. Long as you got the cloak and you say your name, nopony’ll ask you for this again. Here, anyways.”

What was his game? Royal Guards didn’t act like that.

Gorthy started off, and Etheigh followed. “Thank you, good Lieutenant.”

Walking down the path, which led through a treeline, Gorthy waited to flatly state, “...I’ve nothing to say about thee doing that.”

“Gorthy-”

“I’ve told thee.” The unicorn stopped and pointed at Etheigh. “Using thy hooves leads to ponies asking questions about thy horn. Judging by how thou didst that, this hath not been the only time thou’st done it recently.”

He really hadn’t thought he had. He couldn’t recall doing it. Maybe two weeks ago, he... Ah, there was no point. “Sorry.”

“I’m just trying to help thee, Etheigh. The only pony to apologize to is thyself.”

Yeah, he was right. He needed to be more careful. “Okay...”

They went through the treeline. “Worry not too much about everypony who lives in this little community of ours,” he pointed ahead. “I know each and every one of these ponies, and they’re safe.”

“I’m still surprised thy Society sponsors thy artist community. It must have cost a fortune to pay for this.”

“Part of the bill’th been paid by the mayor.” He stopped and pointed back towards the main village. “Executive Action, or, as everypony here calleth her, ‘Mayor Mare’, hath made her career off of attracting investment in Ponyville. When she heard somepony with ties to an estate in Coltchester, much less everypony else, wanted to come...”

Well, he didn’t know any politician who would deny that. After clearing the trees, the road led up a slowly-rising hill. Eight houses, of noticeably different architecture than the rest of Ponyville, sat upon it. The best comparison he could make was a combination of the architecture of Coltchester with Classical era architecture, combining red brick with angular, dark wood. Interesting choice.

“We live right up on the tippy-top of this hill.”

That top house, however, was pure Coltchester, through and through. From the brick walls to the looming black roof, it felt like he hadn’t gone too far from home.

As they went up, a bright yellow mare came out of one of the houses, clothed in some fashion he didn’t really recognize. The closest thing he could liken it to was the armor of the Celestian Guard - there were alternating shades of purple and yellow that scaled down from her head and along her back, almost completely covering a pink mane. Beneath those “scales”, what looked like a mural of the sun eclipsed by the moon emanated from them, though rays of sunlight continued shining. It would have been strangely beautiful but weeks before. Now, it inspired a strange, haunting sense of optimism in Etheigh.

“Good afternoon, Age Talker!” The mare waved at Gorthy’s direction. Etheigh sought out anypony else in the community, but nopony else was around.

“Who-?”

“Good afternoon to thee, Steel Shaper!” Gorthy trotted over to her, gesturing for Etheigh to follow.

“Why is she calling thee ‘Age Talker’?” Etheigh quietly asked.

Gorthy didn’t immediately answer. Instead, he trotted up, and gestured a hoof at the mare. “Steel Shaper, this is my coltfriend from Coltchester I’ve been telling thee about.”

The mare’s eyes widened. “Oh, hello there! We’ve heard so much about you!” Etheigh could hear the beaming upon her face.

Wow, Gorthy must have really trusted these ponies, to talk to them about him. Respectfully, as to any mare, he bowed his head. “Good Lady,” he greeted.

“‘Good Lady’!” the mare giggled. “Remember when you used to call me that, Age Talker?”

“Yea, good Lady.” The mare laughed. He pointed a hoof at Etheigh, then at Steel Shaper. “Etheigh, in this little artist community of ours, we all call each other by a pen name. ‘Tis a statement that we determine who we are, and not even our talent marks.”

What? Gorthy had more respect for tradition than he ever could. That he would now not insist on being called by either of his names seemed... Extremely strange. Then again, everypony seemed to have changed in the past two weeks alone.

“...I have not to take a pen name, do I?” Etheigh asked uncomfortably.

Gorthy immediately shook his head, glancing at Steel Shaper in the type of way he warded off unsafe ponies. Didn’t he just say- “No, no, Etheigh. Unless thou plannest on becoming an artist.”

Etheigh rolled his eyes at his coltfriend's teasing. “I’m interested in law, Gorthy.”

Steel Shaper winced. “Thou canst call her by her talent name, Yarn Ball. The pen names are for us.”

Something wasn’t sitting right here with Etheigh...

...

...but, Gorthy said they were safe.

“Alright, Lady Yarn Ball.” The mare giggled again.

“...Hey, Etheigh, canst thou go up ahead to the house?” He looked at Steel Shaper/Yarn Ball. “I need to talk to Steel Shaper about something for a moment.”

He nodded, starting up the road.

“Hē is mīn...” Gorthy started talking unintelligibly. Probably making use of his Old Equish classes. That... Oh, that was why he called himself “Age Talker”. Because he could talk in “the Ages”, as it were. He wondered why he was talking to that mare in Old Equish, much less what he was saying.

When he got up to the top, he took a good look over the house. The glass pane windows were draped with curtains of what looked like Her Radiant Majesty’s talent mark. Unsurprising. Gorthy was an avid supporter of “the need for a ruler who can think in centuries.” A bit unusually, the sun was set against the night sky. It reminded him of Yarn Ball’s dress.

He looked around behind him. In the distance, he could see the town hall peeking over the trees. It was a nice view. It...

A familiar terran, earthy green in coat with orange mane, exited another house. The instant she saw Etheigh, she stared for multiple seconds, her eyes narrowing. He stared back, though it felt like his eyes were bugging out.

Bell Beaker was here?

Gorthy still thought she was safe?

What was an archaeologist doing in an art community?

With Gorthy still talking with Yarn Ball, Etheigh tried to silently catch his attention. When that failed, he took a couple of steps back from Bell Beaker, though she was trots and trots away. Bell Beaker looked off at Gorthy's side, and then hastily re-entered her house.

Gorthy came trotting up the hill, holding a wrapped box in his levitation aura. “Hey, sorry, I had commissioned Steel Shaper to make a gift for thee, and I just wanted to give it to thee myself.”

A gift? “Oh, Gorthy...” His fears of Bell Beaker melted away.

“Please. I haven’t seen my special somepony in months.”

Etheigh looked down at the ground. His face began to feel wet. “I, um...” He was going to be mad, wasn’t he? Him being a careless pony. “...I had a gift, but it got... Lost two weeks ago.”

The wind blew against Etheigh. Then, a hoof wrapped around his barrel. “...I’m sorry to hear that,” he responded. “It seemeth everypony hath lost something since two weeks ago.”

He looked up at his coltfriend. Instead of being angered, there was a sympathy in his eyes that Etheigh always knew was there. Ponies occasionally told him that Gorthy “was trouble for Etheigh”, but they didn’t know the pony who had stood by a blank flank for years, much less a borderline useless horn. Deciding to not be a good Coltchesterite, he leant forward. The two nuzzled, Gorthy not saying a word in objection.

“Here,” Gorthy unwrapped his hoof, and gestured to the door. “Come inside. I’ll show thee this.”

Etheigh nodded. As Gorthy got out his key, he glanced at the curtains again. “...What’s with the curtains thou hast?”

Gorthy turned around, unlocking the door without having to look. “The curtains?” he asked. He met Etheigh's gaze “What about them?”

“Thou hast Her Radiant Majesty’s talent mark against the night sky.”

“Oh!” His eyes widened, and he nodded in understanding. “Thou seest, when I first came hither, I had Her Radiant Majesty’s mark against the white, like her coat.” He gestured back down the hill. “Steel Shaper, however, thinketh that, or the day sky, is not appropriate.”

He quirked a brow. “...Why?”

“What’s Her Radiant Majesty’s first title?”

“The Shepherd of the Sun and the Moon,” Etheigh replied.

“Precisely.” He gestured upwards to the sun. “She bringeth the day and the night. So, Steel Shaper asked, why shouldn’t we celebrate both?”

Etheigh turned up towards the sun. Everypony did a lot of that over the past two weeks. Just to be sure that the sun had risen again. That it was still moving. He wasn’t going to lie, he much preferred the day now than the night.

But, he saw a completion in there he could appreciate. “...No, I suppose. Why not?”

The door opened. “Come in.”

He trotted inside, and Etheigh entered afterwards. Coming in, the place was even more reminiscent of home. A miniature great room sat off to his left, complete with an (unlit) fireplace. A staircase in front of him led to the second story of the house, and, to his right, was what looked like a study.

Gorthy seemed to have all sorts of interesting things in there. A bookshelf held thick, heavy books, some of which looked rather old. A central table was draped, again, with a cloth depicting the sun being eclipsed by the moon, and yet sunbeams still shining. At his desk, there lay a type writer, as well as several papers.

What else to expect from Gorthy? He was one of those ponies Etheigh imagined would soon be one of those authors whose works brought up lots of philosophical questions. It was part of why he adored him. Even though both held similar views in some respects, they still could debate.

“Come here.” Gorthy trotted into the room, sitting down. Both his and Etheigh’s masks were taken off by a green aura, which also took his saddlebags. “I can open this up for thee, but thou canst take it out.”

Etheigh came over and sat down, watching the box be unwrapped. If he really tried, he might have been able to do it. Might. After it was opened, a tip of cloth was just barely lifted. Etheigh focused and brought it up and...

His heart skipped a beat, and the cloth almost fell, with Gorthy catching it.

The logo of the Ministry of Justice, a universal sign throughout the realm of the just law. It was against a tan background the color of his own coat. Beneath it, there read in Old Equish:

To eow scæl þæt Halriht cuman.

It was the Old Equish version Ministry of Justice’s motto, "To you shall come a realm of justice", with one single word changed. Instead of Rihtrice, there was the Old Equish root of his name.

It was a play on words, saying “To you shall come Holright” at the same time as “To you shall come the whole of justice”.

Tears dripped from Etheigh's eyes. “I... I...” He looked at Gorthy, who was smiling.

“Congratulations on your graduation. Congratulations on your apprenticeship.”

A wide smile spread across Etheigh’s muzzle. “Thank thee...” The two embraced, after over half a year of being apart. Etheigh was, in that moment, safe again.

Author's Note

"Terran" is the Long Night-verse term for "earth pony", although its use is actually fairly recent. As late as the 1200s, the common terms for members of the tribes were "earth pony", "horn pony", "sky pony", and "all pony". The terms "terran", "unicorn", "pegasus", and "alicorn" arose with the Scientific Revolution of the 1300s as more formal terms, which trickled down into common speech.

An oddity in the Friendship is Magic-verse has always been that it's normal, perhaps even the rule to be excepted, that a pony's special talent is somehow related to their name. It is as though parents know (or even determine) what their child's special talent is going to be years in advance, which seems unusual given how ponies have to actively work to discover their talent. Or there's just an extraordinary level of coincidence. Or the boring answer that it's a cartoon show marketed for children. The Long Night-verse's answer to this is the "birth name"-"talent name" system:

• Birth names are given by parents upon the birth of their foal. In most parts of Equestria since the 1200s, after one gains their talent mark, birth names are relegated to the most intimate of settings. In the rare few holdouts like Coltchester, birth names are still used in most contexts.
• Talent names are given by a pony themselves when they gain their talent mark (the Holright-verse name for cutie mark). In most parts of Equestria since the 1200s, this name becomes used in all but the most intimate contexts, and is the only name used in legal documentation as well. In places like Coltchester, the talent name is still only used when one is in a professional context.
• Normally, Etheigh and Gorthy would refer to each other by their birth names. They both understand, though, just how uncomfortable it can make others, and so use their talent names in public in Ponyville.

Etheigh and Gorthy, as explicated in this Chapter, come from Coltchester, which speaks an archaic dialect of Equish (English). As implied at the end, Old Equish (Old English) occupies a role akin to Latin in Equestria. Lots of heroic literature comes from this period, although some legends, as Equestria has discovered, may not be legends after all...