Blood and Wine, Tears and Rain

by applezombi

Rating: mature
Tags: Violence, Death, Anthology, Drama, Gore, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Original Character, Sex
Length: 6473

What happens if the side stories are darker, bloodier, and wilder than the main tale?

In an far future, darkness and ignorance rule Equestria in the form of the Holy Equestrian Diarchy. Ponies and other creatures find a way to live anyways, to love and thrive, to bleed and to hurt.

This is an anthology of Rekindled Embers side stories that surpass the original's Teen rating limit. Each chapter will include an authors note with the tags that apply to that particular chapter. New tags may be added with new chapters. Some stories may contain spoilers for the main narrative; if so, it will include a warning.

Published 2021-05-19 13:20:01 UTC
Last updated 2022-02-06 22:16:00 UTC

Our Love Will Survive This

Author's Note

"Our Love Will Survive This" was written for a Quills and Sofas speedwrite event, the Day After Hearth's Warming contest.

It takes place several decades before Rekindled Embers.

Content Warnings include blood, death, gore, and some brief mention of sexual themes.

Our Love Will Survive This

Our Love Will Survive This

Don’t worry. Our love will survive this.

I thought about the first time he said it as I shoved him up the steps with the tip of my spear. It was the first conflict we’d had. The first argument, though in retrospect it had been pretty silly. I was going to pass up a promotion. A posting in the Zebra lands, at a pony colony called Twilight’s Spear. I had wanted to turn it down, but Steel Wire had convinced me. It was good for us, he’d said. Good for our marriage. Good for my career. Besides, he’d find something to do. There was always a need for craftsponies.

Steel’s gallows-meat companions were already in place at the top of the platform. Two others, a zebra stallion and a pegasus mare. They were both already hooded and noosed, standing at the edge of the drop before them. I watched Steel’s eyes dragging across his erstwhile companions. I saw the shiver that passed down his spine as he paused.

“Move,” I grunted, and he made the mistake of looking back at me, the chain around his neck clinking. I poked him hard with the blade of my spear, deep enough to draw blood. He hissed in pain and kept walking past his fellow condemned. “Stop.” I pointed with my spear at the ‘x’, drawn in stark black paint on the unpainted rough wood. He didn’t look back again, stepping over until his forehooves rested on the x.

It’s not that bad, love. Our love will survive this.

The second time was when we first laid eyes on Twilight’s Spear. It wasn’t anything like we heard. Back in the Diarchy, ponies spoke all the time about the Zebrican colonies. How we were bringing faith to the heathens, the ponies and zebras and other creatures living in ignorance over here. What I saw was much more complicated.

Sure, Twilight’s Spear was thriving. Ponies and Zebras, living together and working under the watchful gaze of Diarchy Knights, kept safe from the violence of the endless war between the Diarchy and the Free Zebra Republic. Here there was peace, and law. Merchants and farmers who kept the rules and swore to the faith prospered.

But we’d been expecting a colony, not an armed fortress and military camp.

After our first week here, I stopped speaking with Steel about the work I was doing. He didn’t need to know about the arrests. The interrogations. The inquisitions. He didn’t need to know because he wouldn’t understand. Wouldn’t see how it all was necessary. The light of the Saints had to shine the whole world over. Saint Twilight’s knowledge and truth would bring hope and light to all the world.

That’s what I had to keep telling myself, after all. It was expected. Steel didn’t need to know the dark side of what spreading that light entailed. The biggest irony? I was assigned here to reign in Lady Whiteflame’s zealotry. Not become a part of it.

“Hood?” I whispered to him as I stepped up behind him on the platform. I didn’t trust my voice any more than that. Silently I begged him to say yes. So I didn’t have to see his face. To remember him like this. He shook his head, and my lips pursed. I didn’t want to look into the same eyes that had met mine across the wedding altar. I didn’t want to see the hate and despair in the same blue eyes that held mine as we kissed, embraced. As we made love.

“No,” he said out loud, and I saw the way his gaze drifted towards the guardhouse. To the barred window. To where the last prisoner waited. It wasn’t her turn, not today at least. My chest clenched with pain. This was her fault.

Love, please forgive me. Our love will survive this.

The third time he said it was when I first caught him in bed with another mare. I don’t even remember her name, some earth pony girl he’d been working with at the smithy. They were twisting together in bed. In our bed. He was mounting her, and I remember the moans of extasy that slipped out of her mouth as she took what should have been mine.

I remember the stab of betrayal. Of anger. But it was dull, somehow. The weeks of work, of prisoners and interrogations, had driven an emptiness between the two of us. I remember thinking guiltily that at least it wasn’t some non-pony creature, so I didn’t have to have him arrested.

And hanged.

After that, the other mares had come as less and less of a surprise. We tried counselling. Reconciliation. But each new affair drove the nails deeper into our marriage. He stopped bothering to hide it. Soon enough we weren’t even speaking to each other any longer. One day he wasn’t there any longer. I came home to an empty house, an empty room. An empty bed.

I let him have his wish. The hood stayed in the pockets of my saddlebags, resting over the lavender armor that served as both magical protection and symbol of my service to Saint Twilight. I reached out with both forehooves and pulled the noose, dangling limply over his face, wide enough to pull over his head. The other two had resisted. Steel Wire stared forward, his eyes on the guardhouse window. I didn’t dare look.

“The prisoners are prepared, Lady Whiteflame!” I called loudly. My superior in the Knights, an older earth pony mare, stood with the soldiers assigned as guards and witnesses to the execution. None of the town’s residents were here; the invitation had been made, but nopony and nozebra had shown up.

I didn’t want to be here either, but by all the ancient Saints, I would do my duty. However wretched it might be. I just had to make myself numb enough.

“Very well, Knight Justice. The third condemned refused a blindfold?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I see.” She brushed a hoof through her short grey mane. “Very well then. Wheat Field, you have been convicted of heresy, rebelliion, oathbreaking, murder, theft, and banditry, and sentenced to hang by your neck until you are dead. Do you have any last words before we send you to the Saints?”

The zebra spat loudly, but said nothing.

“As you will, heretic. Do your duty, Knight Justice.” I stepped behind the zebra, turned, and shoved with both hooves. I couldn’t bring myself to look as he fell. As the rope stretched taught. I heard the snap, though, and the whimper of fear from the other two condemned.

“Dove Feather, you have been convicted of heresy, rebellion, and carnal relations with a non-pony creature. Do you have any last words before we send you to the Saints?”

“This is wrong!” the pegasus shrieked as she trembled in her bonds. “This is wrong and someday you’ll all see it! The Saints would never approve of what you have done. You’ve twisted their words!”

I’d been one of Saint Twilight’s Knights for ten years now. I was well used to ignoring heretic ramblings. I waited until she was done speaking to plant myself and shove.

Scream. Snap. Silence.

“Steel Wire, you have been convicted of heresy, treason, aiding and abetting rebel factions, and of carnal relations with a non-pony creature. Do you have any last words before we send you to the Saints?”

“Not to you,” my husband said clearly. Fearlessly. He looked to the guardhouse, and this time I couldn’t help but look. To see the tear-stained face of the zebra mare I’d caught him with. The one whose love had condemned him to the noose. “Don’t be afraid, my love. Our love will survive…”

I couldn’t let him finish. A scream tore its way through my throat, rage and hate bubbling up until it burned out. I didn’t kick him off the platform, I shoved hard with my forehooves. He tumbled and fell. No clean drop. No broken neck. As long as I didn’t have to hear the words again. The Saints-damned lies he’d said to me, over and over.

Back before I ruined us with my work. My faith. My duty. My fault.

I looked down at Lady Whiteflame. She looked a little surprised, but when our eyes met she simply shrugged. It didn’t really matter that I hadn’t let him finish. Not to her. She didn’t care about the ponies we questioned. The heretics we killed. As long as they died in the end, she felt we were doing the work of the Saints.

I had to force myself not to run from the gibbet. Not to look at the slowly swaying ropes. The guards would ensure nopony did anything with the swaying bodies. I tried not to notice how one of the ropes still twitched.

Following Lady Whiteflame inside, I happened to match eyes with the zebra mare. I expected hate. I expected fear. What I saw was pity.

“Don’t…” I rasped. I wasn’t sure what the rest of that thought was going to be. Don’t what? Pity me? Look at me?

“I hear I have you to thank for my reprieve,” she whispered, and I stopped. I drew closer to the bars that guarded her cell. “Because of my…” she glanced over at my husband. “...because of our foal. Thank y--”

“Don’t you dare,” I hissed. “Don’t thank me. I’d rather you sit and contemplate your sin. Get right with the Saints. It’s only temporary, then we’ll be sending you to them alongside him.”

“I still thank you.” She sounded strong. Much stronger than me. I hated her for it. “The other Knight wanted to kill me anyways.”

“Whatever you’ve done, your foal is innocent.” It was a little piece of him, after all. The last piece of Steel Wire left, after he died. The last tiny shred of anything bright or hopeful in my life. “I won’t see innocent blood spilled.”

“Your Saints don’t seem to mind, though,” she shot back, and I recoiled from the heresy. “Steel tried to convince me that they were kind and good. That Saint Twilight and her friends were heroes. Maybe they were. Or maybe they were monsters, just like you and that Knight that wants to execute me and my unborn foal.”

“Of course they--”

“It hurt him, to learn the truth,” she interrupted me. “Maybe you’ll never find out. Maybe you will. I hope you don’t have too many regrets.”

“Silence, heretic,” I slammed the tip of my spear against the bars, and the zebra mare jerked away in surprise. I don’t know why she was getting to me. The words of heretics usually flicked off my resolve. But I was worried. Lady Whiteflame had suggested they string up this mare alongside the others. Only my request had kept her from the noose as well.

I made a mistake as I passed the gallows on the way to Lady Whiteflame’s office. I looked up and saw. The only eyes I’d ever fallen in love with were open, bloodshot, glazed. The only muzzle I’d ever kissed was open, the swollen tongue parting red foam flecked lips. The hooves that had wrapped around me stiff and still.

If I’d been able to eat anything the last few days, I would have lost it.

“You did the Saint’s work today, Knight Justice. Saint Twilight would be proud.” Lady Whiteflame sat behind her desk. Her eyes never left the pages of the reports she was reading. How could she be reading reports at a time like this?

I shouldn’t have been too surprised. After all, it wasn’t her husband that had been hanged today. My mouth tasted like bile.

“We have a lead on the next cell of rebels. I hope to move on them as soon as possible. New Canterlot City says they’re sending us a fresh new squad of Knights, to account for the increases of guerrilla attacks recently.”

“That will be good.” The words were stiff and monotone. I wanted to hide. I wanted to drink. I wanted to satisfied. To feel anything other than sick. I wanted to sleep forever.

I didn’t know what I wanted.

“I’ve rethought our earlier conversation, and sent a dragon-flame scroll back to Headquarters. We’re going to have to kill the zebra mare, after all.”

Her voice was casual, light. As if she were talking about tomorrow’s lunch. Next week’s requisition reports. Next month’s schedule. Her hoof shifted a single paper around on her desk, and I caught the text from the corner of my eye. An execution order. My throat tightened.

“Why?”

“Her foal doesn’t matter. The spawn of heresy and sin. Born in corruption. Nothing good will come of that life, so it will be best to move it on to the next.”

It. That was the foal to her. An it. The last piece of Steel Wire. The last little bit of his love.

Our love will survive this.

Our love will survive this.

Our love will survive this.

“You won’t reconsider?” The words slipped from my throat. They sounded desperate, even to me.

“No, Knight Justice. Though…” she paused thoughtfully. “If you wanted, you could always spare both of them the indignity of public execution. If you chose to take care of things with your spear, tonight, I’m sure the Saints would bless you for your mercy.

“I… see.” I tightened my grip on the spear, spinning the haft in my hooves. Nothing left of him. Nothing left of us. Only emptiness and death. Whiteflame was right. I could take care of things with my spear.

Whiteflame never had a chance. She only had a second to react, the tiniest widening of her eyes before the blade of my spear stabbed through her right eye, slicing past tissue and impaling deep into her brain. I slammed it deep, hard enough to lodge in the back of her skull. Blood and other fluid squirted out, splattering over my face and marring my usually clean armor.

My hooves felt numb. I pulled, but my spear was lodged. I pulled harder, finally bracing one hoof against her forehead. There is a crunch when I yank, and Whiteflame flopped down onto her desk, her head thudding against the wood. Blood spurted out, pouring from the gaping ruined eye onto the very order of execution she’d been looking at earlier.

I was frozen. I couldn’t move, so I stared, watching the wave of red cover the damning words on the page, soaking through the paper and blotting out the sin with blood.

I stood there staring for far too long.

There was only one guard by the cell as I approached. He stood straight as my hooves clopped against the hard stone floor, his hooves twitching nervously on the haft of his own weapon, his eyes wide as he saw the blood dripping from mine. I didn’t give him the chance to react, darting forward.

The haft of my spear swept his aside, while the butt jerked up to strike him hard against the side of his helmet, knocking it off entirely. While he was stunned, I rammed my shoulder against his chest, shoving him against the wall. His head struck the hard stone and I watched his eyes roll back into his head. I glanced at the cell’s occupant.

“Why are you here?” the zebra asked fearfully, the tiniest flame of hope in her eyes. They kept darting between me, and my bloodstained spear. I reached down and fished the keys off the guard’s belt.

“Because,” I replied, my voice hoarse and broken. “Because your love needs to survive this.”

The Root of Silence

Author's Note

"The Root of Silence" was originally written for a Quills and Sofas speedwrite event.

It takes place right around Chapter 1 of Rekindled Embers.

Content warnings include profanity, discussion of sexual acts, alcoholism, mentions of domestic violence, and some descriptions of bodily fluids

The Root of Silence

The very first time Raspberry Ice propositioned Deep Root was on the very same day they met. Within an hour, even.

“Hey. So, wanna fuck?”

“Wha…?”

“You’re cute. I’m gorgeous. It’ll be fun.”

“Uh. No thank you.”

In the months ahead he hated himself for that ‘no thank you’. Not because he was upset he’d turned her down. But because Deep Root was supposed to be an adventurer. An explorer. The kind of kirin they’d write storybooks about, a hundred years from now. What kind of bad-flank adventurer talk was ‘Uh, no thank you’?

At least Raspberry had been nice about it all. For an instant after his no, he’d been worried she’d react poorly. But the thestral mare merely shrugged and smiled at him.

“Okay. Want some booze?”

He’d turned that down, as well.

For the opening lines of his (hopefully) brilliant and storied career as an adventurer, Root was not doing so well. A bit boring, perhaps.

And it had all started so well, too.

When Deep Root left Treeholme, he’d been in high spirits. His father and mother, his sister, and even Umbra Flare had come out to say goodbye, and to cheer him on. That bit had burned a little. Didn’t they remember why? They’d been there, during his confession. His apology.

His shame.

It was a testament to their love for him that he saw none of the recrimination or accusation in any of their eyes. They only wanted to see him succeed.

“You are always welcome here, son,” his father, Elder Yellow Leaves, had said. “You always have a home. The Great Tree will shelter you in her branches forever.”

Despite the circumstances, and Deep Root’s own self-imposed exile, he’d been hopeful.

The kirin had traveled for three whole weeks before he happened upon another sentient creature. The savannah was full of all sorts of gigantic fauna, many of whom thought Root would be good to eat. He had enough control over his magic that a little spark of fire dissuaded most large predators, though. Still, his heart soared when he saw the colorful tops of the thestral caravan’s wagons. He made sure to approach in the open, walking over the savanna grasses with his head held high.

The thestrals saw him coming. A few of them kept their hooves on long, bayoneted rifles, but when it became increasingly clear that Root meant no threat they came out to meet him. It was Root’s first time meeting ponies, and he was pleased to see that they were much like he was, though they lacked scales and horns. Their wings, in particular, were quite beautiful and fascinating to him, especially when a gaggle of colorful thestral foals began flitting about him in the air, bombarding him with curious questions about where he came from.

“Who’re you?”

“Why do you have scales on your bits?”

“I’ve never seen a pony like you before. Why’s your tail poofy at the end?”

“What makes your horn split like that? Hey, can you float things like a unicorn?

Root obliged the last by juggling a few rocks through the air.

For their part, the bat ponies were happy to welcome another traveler to their campfires. Food and bedding were cheap, in Root’s estimation; all it cost him was a night’s worth of stories about Treeholme, about the Great Tree itself, and about his kin and family.

It did become a little awkward when they asked why he had decided to leave the Kirin behind.

“I’m not quite sure, but I think it’s my destiny,” Root said vaguely. Even though it was true, it sounded a little silly and dishonest. He was sitting at the fire with seven thestrals, including their caravan leader, a pony called Eyepatch. He was middle aged with multicolored fur, including a ring of white around one eye. “I couldn’t stay home any longer. Something was calling me out.”

The thestrals nodded in understanding, and Eyepatch reached out to pat him on the shoulder. “We know the lure of the road, son. We understand it well. You’re welcome to travel with us, for as long as you like - assuming you don’t mind pitching in.”

“Not at all,” Deep Root said. Labor wasn’t a problem; everypony in Treeholme did their part, even the Chieftain's son. “But where are you headed?”

“Nowhere in particular,” Eyepatch said vaguely, waving a hoof in the smoke of the campfire. “We don’t like to stay in one place for too long. We follow the whims of the Many-Faced One, and we travel wherever She guides us.” Each of the thestrals at the fire looked upward at the cloud-spattered sky and the sliver of moon that shone up above, while making a strange motion with their hooves; first they touched their foreheads, then their hearts. “The zebras allowed our ancestors to come to these lands, centuries ago after we fled Equestria. We don’t like to overburden the land with our presence by staying in one place too long, in gratitude for their hospitality.”

“Thestrals came from Equestria?” Deep Root perked up at that. “My own people left there, as well.” This was his reason for leaving. He wanted to know the story. He had to see his people’s ancient home, someday. He had to find the Stream.

“Ages ago, son. It’s ancient history. Nopony bothers much with the old stories, except maybe Raspberry Ice.” Several of the bat ponies around the fire chuckled. “Good luck getting a story out of her right now, though. At the last zebra village we stopped near, we made some good trades for a few barrels of nice smokey whiskey. I doubt she’s even capable of standing up at the moment.”

But Root had gone to meet this Raspberry Ice. And she was only about half as drunk as the others had joked.

Raspberry Ice stood by herself, at once a part of and separate from her people. She sat on a small bluff, looking out over the plains with her long rifle leaning up against her shoulder. Her unkempt blue mane feathered about in the light breeze that danced over the grass covering the bluff. Next to her was a large wooden flask. The breeze brought with it the sharp tang of alcohol long before Root got to her.

He paused, not saying anything, taking a moment to try and block out the painfully familiar scent.

“Hey,” she called out without turning, when he didn’t come any closer. Her voice was slurred, and she swayed a little as she looked behind her. “Oh! You’re that dragonpony cutie that showed up.”

“Kirin,” he corrected, stepping forward up the bluff. “I’m Deep Root.”

“Raspberry Ice,” she grinned. She held out a hoof for him to shake, and nearly unbalanced herself and fell over in the process. “Oops. How can I help ya, Rooty Tooty?”

“It’s Deep Root,” he said patiently. “And I’m on a quest. I’m looking for information about my people’s ancient home. Equestria. Legend says we left there a thousand years ago. I was just going to travel by myself until I reached a zebra city, but I happened upon your caravan.” He pointed back at the fire. “Eyepatch said I should ask you about it.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m the Equestria expert, for sure,” Raspberry giggled. “What do you want to know?”

“I’d settle for how to get there,” Deep Root said, and Raspberry burst into a wave of drunken cackles, pointing a shaky hoof to the east.

“Keep going that way, then swim a bunch,” she said between gales of laughter. “There’s a whole ocean between you and them.”

“Is there somewhere I can hire a boat?”

“One of the zebra cities, maybe,” Raspberry said. “But you don’t wanna go there.”

“Why not?”

“How many stories do you dragonponies tell about what happened in Equestria?”

“Kirin. And very little. Something about a cult that took over, after the goddesses left?”

“That’s about right. Listen, Rooty. You, uh, you’re still so fresh from your hometown I can smell your mamma’s milk on you, ya know?” He blinked a few times in confusion. “Sorry. Idiom. You’re not worldly. And you’re cute and interesting, so I’ll make you a deal.” She stood and stretched. “You travel with Eyepatch’s caravan for a few days. We’re heading southeast, so it’s kinda in the right direction. When it comes time to peel off, I’ll come with you.”

“I don’t have any money,” he said carefully, and Raspberry burst into another wave of giggles.

“I’m not asking for any. Just keep being interesting, and I’ll stick around. Nopony around here seems to care about Old Equestria, so it’ll be nice to have somepony around who’s interested in the same stuff I am.”

“Okay. I guess.”

“That’s the spirit, Rooty,” she stumbled to her hooves, her rifle dropping carelessly into the grass as she ambled over and put a hoof around his shoulders. He tried not to recoil from the smell of alcohol, but it wasn’t that bad. Underneath, she smelled like fresh dirt and mare. “So, you wanna fuck?”

The second request came weeks later. Running for their lives seemed like an inappropriate time to be discussing carnal relations, but Root had long since learned that Raspberry Ice had a unique sense of timing and appropriateness. It was something he had grown to appreciate, even though he didn’t participate.

“Hey Root?” she panted between hoofbeats, their legs pounding the beaten dust of the road as they fled. “I got a question for you!”

“Can it possibly wait until angry minotaurs aren’t chasing us?” He spared a glance over his shoulder. The posse was still headed their way.

“Nah, it’s super important.” She was slurring again. She’d been drinking. Of course she had.

“Go… ahead,” he panted. The minotaurs were closing. He could see the moonlight glinting off of their axes and metal-lined clubs.

“When we get out of this alive,” she paused for heavy breathing. “Do you wanna bang? Ya know, sexy times?”

He was laughing so hard he could barely breathe.

“Isn’t that… what started all of this?”

“He wishes,” Raspberry Ice growled darkly. “Damned minotaur punk thought flirting meant he had an invitation to grab my flank. I might have dumped my beer on him.” She swore. “Waste of a good beer. Minotaurs brew the best lagers.”

“You…” Root hadn’t heard the whole story until the blades and clubs had come out. “Huh. I didn’t realize.”

He turned and stopped, planting his hooves on the ground as a half-dozen angry bovine bipeds barreled down on them.

“Uh, Rooty? What are you…”

“Okay, you bastards,” he snarled. His anger coiled like a snake in his gut, spinning and twisting and begging to burst free. It hadn’t since that night, long ago. As the magic of his fury churned in him, he flashed back.

Cries of fear.

The smell of alcohol.

The heat, the cursed, beautiful, hideous, lovely, wonderful heat.

Flames exploded up and down his body, and his voice ripped out of his throat in a snarl.

“THE LADY SAID NO. YOU TOUCHED HER WITHOUT PERMISSION, AND NOW YOU OBJECT TO HER DEFENDING HERSELF!?”

He hated every second of the pleasure coursing through his body. He hated how much he loved the terrified looks on the minotaur’s faces. The reflection of his flames in their eyes was beautiful. The fear he could see dancing in the flames was like a drug. He drank it all in like a bitter, yet succulent poison.

“What are…” the one in front snarled. His friends hesitated, but kept moving forward.

“TURN AROUND, GO BACK NOW, AND NOPONY GETS BURNED ALIVE.” He poured his rage into his magic, and the flames grew higher, blackening the dust around him. The front minotaur pulled back, recoiling from the heat. The others weren’t moving forward any longer, murmuring in terror.

He took one step forward. Then another. Tiny tongues of flame licked at the road beneath him, consuming blades of grass.

A single rifle shot roared into the darkness, and the dirt at the lead minotaur’s feet sprayed into the air. Root spared a split-second glance behind him; Raspberry’s rifle tip pointed towards their pursuit, it’s bayonet glinting in the light of his flames as it swayed back and forth.

“Whoops,” she laughed. “I meant to hit your ball sack.”

The minotaurs broke. A little singed pride and spilled beer wasn’t worth a fiery death, or worse. Root watched them go, carefully, until he could no longer see the glint of his flame in their armor. Then, with a sigh, he slumped down.

“I meant it, you know,” Raspberry said into the silence that followed. “I’d screw you silly right now. You’re really hot. Smoking hot, I’d say.”

This time he joined her in her laughter.

“Sorry I poured out all the booze on that ass. I should have saved some for you.”

That stopped his laughter dead.

The third time she asked was in the massive port town. Jubilation was a beautiful melting pot of cultures, filled with zebras and ponies, minotaurs and dragons, even the odd diamond dog.

It had taken them nearly a year to get there. They’d tried asking the fabled collector Mlinzi the dragon, but he’d driven them out with fang and fire. They’d gone next to bargain with Queen Nadia of the seaponies, but she’d refused to even meet with them. Finally they’d spoken with Annika Garamundi, The Noble Rose, scourge of the Equestrian invaders. Annika hadn’t been able to help, either, but she’d directed them to Jubilation.

By now, Raspberry Ice had taken plenty of time to fill Root in on why his dream was an impossibility. Equestria really was nothing like the old legends; it was a place of sorrow and hatred. Certainly not safe for a non-pony like him. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t learn more about it, and about his people’s history. And Jubilation was a port town, where all sorts of goods and products came to be traded.

Goods such as old books.

The bookseller they found was wealthy. Almost astoundingly so. Turned Page was a young zebra, but he had already amassed a veritable fortune of tomes, all stored in his expansive library. It was open to the public, though burly zebra security guards at the entrance made sure that library patrons didn’t become book thieves.

“You know,” Raspberry said between two very tall, very secluded bookshelves. “Nopony can see us here.” She pulled out one of her many flasks, this one small and metal. She pulled off the lid and offered it to him, watching him intently as he shook his head. With a shrug, she drank. “Wanna do something naughty in the library?”

“No thank you,” he said with a smile. She never seemed that mad when he rejected her.

“Um,” she took a long drink from her flask. “I gotta ask. Am I bothering you? By asking? Because I’m not teasing you. I am really interested.” Her ears pinned back, and she seemed to shrink. “You’re not gay, are you? And I’ve just been harrassing you this whole time…”

“I’m not gay,” he said. He wasn’t sure if there was a word for what he was. Attracted to anypony, as long as he felt connected to them.

He was attracted to Raspberry.

“Oh. Okay.” He could see a spark of hope in her eyes, and she took another pull from the flask. “Um. Good.” Her eyes narrowed in concentration. “Can I ask why not, then?” her eyes widened again in panic. “Not that you have to say if you don’t want to. I don’t wanna push.”

“I…” he glanced at her, then at her flask. Something in her eyes lit up with recognition, and she put the flask away.

“Nevermind,” she said brightly. “Let’s find a book on your homeland.”

He remembered the night that led to his self exile, but only barely.

The scent of alcohol was there, like a haze over everything he could see, a brown haze that made everything darker. He remembered the feel of it, the sour-sweet taste of the beer they’d been drinking. Then the cider, then the whiskey. He didn’t even remember what the argument was about. But he remembered the hooves flying. Not his first, but his next.

Then came the flames. Hot, burning. His flames. Umbra’s flames..

Their house, on fire. Ash and smoke, bitter and choking.

The alarms and sirens. The shackles. The drunk cell at the sheriff’s office.

He remembered the foul taste in his mouth. The pounding of his head. It hurt so much less than the shame.

The hospital was horrible to endure. Root was hurt far worse than Umbra Flare. But Umbra’s bruised eye and singed fur were images that would remain with Root until the very day he died.

The courts determined that nopony was at fault. They ordered counseling. Therapy. Addiction recovery. But Root knew, deep down, in a dark, angry part of himself, that he’d gotten off because of who his father was.

He’d checked the law books the next day. Surely there was more of a penalty for a kirin unleashing their flames in anger, destroying property, injuring another.

But no. It was nothing more than an ancient fragment of an ancient story. ‘The kirin who unleashes their flame in anger shall step into the Stream of Silence and surrender their voice. They cannot speak to the tribe.’

He told nopony about what he’d found. He did as the court ordered, he made every therapy appointment, and every court-mandated rehab session. But he was making plans the whole time. Perhaps no kirins followed the old law of silence any longer. But Root knew what he deserved.

His people would be safe from him. Even if he had to find the Stream of Silence to do it.

Root couldn’t find Raspberry in the bar at the Honeychime Inn. She was usually in the common room, drinking and cheering and flirting. He liked watching her, even though he’d never touch alcohol again. But the room was empty, and it seemed somehow… darker because of it.
Perhaps she had found another lead? But nights were when the bat pony mare liked to party. Maybe she was in their room.

He trotted up the stairs and opened the door. The air wafted out, and he curled his nose in protest at the smell that assaulted him. Vomit and sweat. He rushed inside, running towards the scent. He could hear the sound of whimpering from the bathroom.

Raspberry was covered in sweat. Shaking and trembling. Her own sick leaked from the corner of her mouth, and her eyes were closed. Root sucked in a deep breath before rushing over, picking her up off the floor.

“H-hey, Root. How’re ya doing?” she stammered.

“Raspberry,” he said softly. Chidingly. He was agonizingly familiar with the symptoms of alcohol withdrawal. He’d done the same thing to himself. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“Sure I did,” she rasped. “It’s the only way I’m gonna get you to sleep with me, right?” She laughed at her own joke, but it was a sick, unhealthy sound.

“Yeah, but cold turkey?” he sighed. “You didn’t have to.”

“I saw your eyes,” she whispered. “I finally saw, Root. I’m sorry it took me so long.”

There was an urgency in her eyes. A yearning that hid behind the haze of illness and the distraction of her shallow flirting. He wondered why he’d taken so long to notice himself. He reached up, gently brushing her damp mane from her face.

“You did it for me?” The words hurt to say.

“Yeah.” She coughed. “I was hurting you. I didn’t know. Sorry.”

“I didn’t tell you. Just like you didn’t tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“How long have you really…”

He trailed off. Root didn’t really have the words, even though he’d been in a relationship before.

“Been madly in love with you?” Raspberry finished for him. “Probably a long time. I didn’t notice until I realized I was hurting you. And I thought about what things would be like if I finally drove you away.”

Root stared at her, gently stroking her mane as she stared up at him with dazed, sick-hazed eyes. She wasn’t the one who needed to worry about driving him away. He looked away.

This whole time, Umbra’s face floated in his mind whenever he felt himself getting too close to her. His family, too. His father. The burning ruins of his home.

“I can’t—”

“I know what you’re looking for, too,” Raspberry interrupted him. “I found a book that talks about the Stream of Silence. In Turned Page’s bookstore. It’s got pictures of your kind, too. I sorta put two and two together, you know? And that’s when I realized what you were running from. And running to.”

“I’ll hurt you, too.”

“I don’t believe it,” Raspberry snorted, before a green sort of look floated in her eyes. Root gently lifted her up, so she could be right over the toilet. He held her as she was sick, flinching at the choking, retching noises, the splatters into the toilet water. With one hoof he stroked her back. “I’d fucking kick your ass if you tried.”

“Not right now you wouldn’t,” he muttered, and she laughed, coughing.

“Don’t change the subject,” she groaned, as he eased her back onto the floor.

There was a towel next to the sink. He turned the faucet, wetting the towel, before gently wiping at her mouth.

“What’s the subject then?”

“I read the book. I know why you want the Stream of Silence. Or, I’ve guessed, at least. You’re punishing yourself.”

“And you’re not, with all of this?”

Raspberry shook her head, but the motion made her groan in pain. Root held her still. Held her tight.

“No,” she gasped, her voice filtered through agony-clenched teeth. “I’m just moving past something that’s holding me back.”

The words didn’t take long to sink in. Raspberry wasn’t exactly subtle; she turned her head up to look at him, hazy, unfocused eyes on his.

“Do you…” she licked her lips and grimaced. “Do you want to know the name of that book? The one about the Stream of Silence?”

This was it, wasn’t it? Chase the past, and the punishment he had justly earned? Or move past something that was holding him back.
“No.”