The Procession in Griffenheim
„The Emperor's Day commemorates the event upon which the first Grover claimed the Idol of Boreas. Tradition holds that on the longest day of the year, he traversed the Hyperborean Mountains and received a vision from the Gods themselves. At the summit of the world, an Emperor was made, and he would set out to unite griffonkind under one rule...“
The sixth Grover knew his lessons perfectly well, though he considered the tale to be somewhat fanciful, even if history did turn out that way. Maybe his glorious ancestor simply found the Idol in the back of a storage room? Regardless, it was the event itself that gave Grover reasons to complain.
At a glance, it seemed pretty simple. An Emperor would carry the Idol (these days it would be a replica) from the Imperial Palace all the way to the Grand Temple of Boreas, accompanied by the three Archons. A brisk ten minute walk, five if he decided to fly. But no, tradition demanded that after every dozen pawsteps, they would stop and bow down in prayer. Supposedly, it represented the hardships the first Grover encountered on his climb, but all the current Grover could think of was how scorching warm it is these days.
“Mister Eros, must I really attend the Emperor’s Day ceremony? It’s going to be so hot and I really don’t like sweating…” Grover pleaded with his regent and guardian, hoping to break the stoic old bird with his wide eyes. Why couldn’t he simply stay and play with Benito? Even lectures with Erion would be better than the heat.
Unfortunately it seemed that Eros was not buying any of it, turning to him with an apologetic smile. “Your majesty, even though you are six years away from ruling on your own, you are still our Emperor, the guiding light upon which our nation depends. I do not like forcing you to do anything, but this is our tradition.” Grover sulked and looked to the ground. “Come now, I do not enjoy the sun bearing down on me as much as you. Consider how it affects an old griff like me.”
He had to admit that Eros’ logic had no room for arguments, as much as he wished otherwise. Perhaps he could extract some concessions afterwards, like more pear ice cream for dessert. “Why is it so warm, anyway? Last year it wasn’t so bad, it even rained that day.” Kneeling in puddles wasn’t exactly Grover’s favourite either.
The old priest’s expression shifted in contemplation. “I do not know why the Gods made it so warm, only that we must accept whatever they grant us. Otherwise, I’ve heard of some disturbing events across the ocean…” Grover looked up in curiosity, wondering how that could have been related to the weather. “Nevermind that, it’s just rumours. Please be ready for tomorrow, Grover, and remember it starts at noon like always.”
“Yes, mister Eros… I’ll be prepared.” He now also recalled how stuffy that ceremonial clothing was. It was as if Maar conspired to make the day a living Tartarus for Grover.
Grover stood in the antechamber of the Imperial Palace, bedecked in a simple yet ostentatious robe that was reused every year for the event. He remembered how Eros told him it was an actual item worn by the first Grover, and this he believed without question. It felt itchy and overly loose for a chick. Sadly, his last-ditch attempt to evade responsibility by playing sick failed, and there was nothing he could do but wait, shifting from one claw to another.
Of course, he wasn’t the only one standing at the ready. Grover looked around and spotted various important griffs: in front of him were the three Archons in their simple robes, discussing in hushed whispers. He couldn’t see Eros’ face as he was not facing him, but Erion’s sullen expression and Proteus’ bored gaze suggested they were not too thrilled for this event either.
Next to him were Benito and a clawful of the Emperor’s Most Loyal Guard. Grover was most happy that they would accompany him in the procession, even though their presence was unnecessary given the tight security. It represented the close unity between diamond dogs and griffons, and that Grover’s Peace was intended for all creatures.
There were also some nobles, in their usual finery, and he couldn’t help but wonder what happened to his aunt Gabriela. Whenever he asked Eros for details, he would simply answer that she was ill and confined to her estate in Readewetter. Grover could never get anything more out of him, and the others were similarly evasive.
His train of thoughts was interrupted as a servile voice called out from Grover’s blindside. “Terribly sorry for the annoyance, your majesty, but I’ve brought you the Idol of Boreas.” One last sigh, knowing that there was no backing out of this, he faced the servant.
“Thanks for your effort.” Grover took the offered item and briefly admired it. Of course it was just a replica, but he sometimes daydreamed about taking Benito and rescuing the real Idol from the chasm it was lost in. This was just a pretty lump of metal, with no inherent magical property to it. Still, it seemed that the fortune of griffons didn’t depend on it, given the news of victories he heard from Eros.
“Your majesty? We are about to begin. Do you remember everything we’ve practiced?” Speak of Maar and he appears. Grover placed the replica Idol on his back, as required, and looked up to his guardian.
“Ready as I’ll ever be, mister Eros.” Briefly, he recalled their drilling. “I am to take your right side in our march to the Grand Temple. Erion and Proteus will be right behind us, with the Emperor’s Guard trailing. Every twelve pawsteps, we kneel and offer our gratitude to the Gods. Once in the temple, the rituals will be performed to renew our covenants, and griffonkind will prosper as a result.” Grover recited it from memory, and beamed when he saw Eros warmly smile in return. The old griff could be frightfully scary, but Grover only saw a kindly priest who gave everything for him to be happy.
“I’m very pleased to see that you took our lessons to heart, Grover. We’ll begin shortly.” With an authoritative bark, everygriff took their place as the small army of servants scattered out of view, except the two guardgriffs waiting to open the massive doors. Grover looked up to his left, as Eros sympathetically nodded in return. On some unseen cue, the guards did their duty and Griffenheim was revealed for the small parade.
Grover always admired the city. The fact that he was rarely allowed to leave the palace made its sights ever more appealing to him, with the old buildings, wide bridges and monuments commemorating the many victories of the past. Though there was nary a cloud in the sky, a sizeable crowd gathered to attend, as far as his eyes could see. Tentatively, he took the first step outside.
And immediately realised what a bad move it was. The marble floor scalded his paws, claws less so, and once the sun’s rays touched Grover he felt a weakness overwhelm him. He had enough composure not to immediately fall over, but it was difficult given how each movement forward burned him a little more. How the others endured this was beyond him. He leaned towards Eros as subtly as he could.
“M-mister Eros, it’s horrible… why couldn’t we have hired some pegasi to cover the skies?” They could have afforded that, right? He’s the Emperor; he can have anything he wants!
Grover almost didn’t hear the answer with how quietly he responded. “Just a trial from the Gods, your majesty. We’re strong, we can get through this.” The encouragement would have been more effective if he couldn’t see the Archon sweat, and the temple was so, so far away…
Glancing ahead, he noted their first stop point. Thankfully he didn’t have to count the steps himself, for it was marked by a pair of knights standing in full attention to their immediate left and right. Grover dearly wondered how they managed to carry their full, shining regalia in this blazing fury. Perhaps they were enchanted to keep the wearer cool on the inside? Worst of all, it reflected the sunshine like a mirror, forcing Grover to keep looking to the ground.
Eros called for a halt. “Today, we praise Boreas for all of His gifts to griffonkind, but in particular intelligence, which have aided great griffons for centuries. Continue guiding us in our times of need.” This was the cue to kneel, which Grover did with the utmost of reluctance. If walking was a pain, touching the ground was like getting his wing feathers plucked one by one. At least the praying portion was mandated to be in silence, which gave him plenty of time to ponder on the awfulness of his situation.
The others rose up, and the Emperor followed in suit. Though he still felt like he drenched the clothing in sweat, by now Grover reached a tentative amount of acclimatisation. Yet stealing glances at the crowd made him feel worse on how much he was missing out on. He saw griffs huddling under parasols, enjoying cool confections and profusely drenching themselves in water. There was even a unicorn mare conjuring ice cubes for others; a giggle escaped him when he saw a pair melt right above her face.
But before Grover could get endlessly distracted observing the commonfolk, the next knightly waypoint was reached, with Eros’ authoritative voice issuing another sermon: “Today, we praise Arcturius for all of His gifts to griffonkind, but in particular strength, which gave us the means to forge an unmatched empire. Continue showing us your fault so that we may show our commitment.” He had to be amazed how the Archon spoke so passionately and yet so clearly, as if nothing could bother him. Once more, they kneeled, and Grover prayed for some kind of salvation from this burning despair.
“Mister Eros”, he would subtly draw his attention yet again after they were done, “why is this taking so long? Why must we waddle like penguins?” At least they get to enjoy permanently cold surroundings. But Eros would only hush him again and remind him that this was for the good of everygriffon. Grover could only imagine in return how he would spend a week in the freezer. With every flavour of ice cream imaginable. They reached a new stop on their route shortly.
“Today, we praise Eyr”, Grover distinctly felt that Eros’ voice was beginning to weaken, “for all of Her gifts to griffonkind, but in particular our bodies, that allow us to tend to the land you’ve given us. Continue providing us bountiful harvests so that we may praise your name.” If only Eyr could grant him a freshly ripened melon or similarly refreshing fruit. Once again, onto the searing marble.
Afterwards Grover could barely pay attention to the ongoings. The traditional prayer to the Triarchy would be started anew, and the Emperor simply repeated his motions. Too warm to think. Too warm to do anything else. The only drive that pushed him onwards was that the Grand Temple was closer and closer in his sight. Surprisingly, the Idol didn’t slip and fall from his back yet, even though his gait steadily deteriorated.
At the second last stop before the sanctuary of Boreas, Grover was at his breaking point. Close to simply lying on the ground and letting himself go, he would weakly bring himself back up… only to realise the Archon hasn’t moved. Did he get up too early? Looking behind, Grover saw the concerned faces of Erion and Proteus, before poking Eros’ prone form with his claw.
“M-mister Eros? Are you alright? Please say something…” His whispers weakly trailed off as the old griff remained unresponsive. The worst kind of ideas began to overwhelm Grover’s thoughts, having a brief flashback to the time his father died. He couldn’t afford to lose another one. “Somegriff help! Help the Archon!” Grover’s voice cried for help, starkly distinct in the almost silent Griffenheim, yet nogriff moved. Confusion danced in the features of many.
Immensely disappointed that the so-called adults were useless, Grover ran around looking for a solution. He didn’t even notice that the lump of metal fell from his back. Obviously, Eros suffered a heat stroke, so he needed something cold to fix him! And right there behind a bunch of ponies (Griffenheim was a cosmopolitan city after all); he saw a griff running a lemonade stand. Salvation!
“Mister salesgriff, please give me your largest cup of lemonade! Mister Eros has fainted!” Grover pleaded with the vendor, though she gave him very little attention and was more occupied fanning herself in this heat.
“Look kid, I don’t care if you’re the Emperor, you still have to pay like any other griff. No idols, no juice.” The nerve of her! If he could he would have thrown her in the dungeon right now. Deciding that arguing was a waste of time, Grover helped himself to the available merchandise, kept cool in enchanted glasses. Ignoring the shouting and cursing, he ran back to the procession, where a sizeable group gathered around the Archons.
It was simple for his small self to veer between the many legs of others, though he spilled plenty, but Grover made his way back to Eros, who was being held up by Proteus. The old priest’s expression took a decisively unhealthy red hue, and he did the first thing on his mind:
Grover splashed Eros in the face with multiple glasses of bitter cool lemonade.
At first there was nothing, and some of the adults scolded Grover for his childish behaviour, before a weak voice rose above the panicked squawks of others. “What… W-what happened? Where am I?” Eros shook his head, feathers soaked and dripping.
“Mister Eros! You’re alive!” He immediately clung to his foreleg, thanking the Gods.
“Of course I’m alive, what nonsense is this? What is happening?” Proteus, still holding Eros steady, quickly explained to him what happened. Embarrassment was noticeable in his stature, but he would shake it off, angrily demanding that the ceremony is completed. Surely, the divines would curse them extensively for this breach of ritual!
As for Grover, he retrieved the fallen Idol and joined Eros’ side once more. The rush of adrenaline wearing off reminded him again of what conditions he was suffering under, but at least they were moving a lot faster now. It seemed there was no appetite for a repeat occasion. At the last stop before the temple, now directly in front of them, gleaming with decorations, he heard the weak voice from the left.
“Thank you for acting so quickly, your majesty. Would that the others were so fastidious.” Without a word, Grover looked up to the soaked Archon, who nonetheless remained dignified, smiling with appreciation in return.
“I was so worried for you, mister Eros. When you didn’t move I wanted to cry.” The temple’s rituals proceeded without a hitch, and now they were back at the Palace’s dining hall, kept at a reasonable temperature by both magic and enchantment. Grover watched as Eros clutched a pack of ice to his head, refusing any other meal or drink.
“It would have taken more than just a warm day to bring me down, child. Boreas still has a lot He wishes me to do for this land.” Whether Eros was fully convinced in his zealous declaration, or trying to save face, was unclear for Grover, who was enjoying that pear ice cream he was wishing for the entire day.
“Mhmm-hmmm. You’ll hire pegasi for next year, won’t you?” He couldn’t resist a little jab.
“I’ll consider it. Now cease staring at me like I’m going to pass out again, I’m perfectly fine.” The old bird grumbled while indulging further in the healing qualities of ice. As for Grover himself, he wished for nothing more than to stay indoors until the horrid heat passed, one way or the other.
