Bad Mondays

by Handyman

Chapter 53 - The Prince and the Pauper

It strode over the snow, its steps the sound of the wind’s laughter, its strength that of a mountain’s roots, its weight that of the dewfall.

Even then, she knew it was there.

Nanny Frie halted in her trek across the snow. She didn’t have to, but she had just about finished trailing through the birch woods, ‘shopping’ as it were, looking for new goods: saplings, bones, winter fruits, and other things only found in times of winter—living, dead, or neither. It was all the same to her, but seeing as her little pet project had so kindly moved out of the protection of the city... well, she felt kind towards the notion of taking a stroll. Indeed, right up to his new mansion to bestow upon him another little gift he might find ever so useful now that he had truly become aware of the potential of magic. It was something to help him put away the silly little trifles and hoary traditions of his pet mage and the wizards of the land. She would show him something older, something deeper, show him the real way to power.

However, her plan had been cut short, her happy rhyming cadence she had been half-humming, half-singing coming to a sudden stop when she noticed it. The air was cold, but it was a cold that could touch her. The wind had a bite, but it was a bite that could cut her. There was something here that was not some mean spiritling leaning too close against the veil, neither some sylph nor wisp or sprite of this world or another. This was nothing she could force into bondage, nor trick into servitude, nor parley for its service. No... this was something else entirely.

She saw it by turning towards the one direction her eyes did not want to look, facing the one place her growing instincts told her to flee in terror from. She feared nothing—she never had—and was not about to start now.

It stood there, calm and alien, at once very like those forest dwelling fools far to the south, but at the same time far too different to be mistaken for one of their kindred. If any doubt remained, the vast black pools of its eyes laid waste to them. It was whiter than snow, almost brilliant with it, as if the snow and parchment-coloured birch trees that made up the forest were pale greys, a fading dream before its reality. It was if the world would break where it stood if it truly set foot upon this earth, and all about it would die of shock.

It was then, looking at its countenance, she knew she would not be allowed one step further in her goal this day. A rebellious part of her was utterly incensed at the impudence that such a creature would dare tell her what she could or could not do, and with nothing more than its presence no less! A hundred and one objections rose and died in her throat in an instant, a multitude of curses, hexes, and charms running through her mind but facing as soon as they came. There was nothing she could bring that could coerce this creature to let her by, to banish it, to dispel it.

She was not the one who brought it here.

“I will not be denied, stranger,” she hissed venomously. The White Stag did not react. “I may not be able to come to him, but one day he will come to me, and no protection of yours will forestall my power!” She turned and trod off, relief flooding over her as the presence of the thing did not pursue her. She grimaced, her young face now no longer aged but resplendent in stolen beauty. She cast her shawl over her beak to keep out the bite of the cold.

Her mind was too troubled to cast the charm to ward off the winter’s fury.

--=--

The doors slammed open just as he finished placing the last book onto the shelf. Spike let out a small sigh and turned around on his ladder.

“Home already?” he asked, though his smile faded when he saw the state Twilight was in. Her mane was a frazzled mess and stood on end, fur matted and scorched, arcs of static lightning dancing across her body at random intervals. There was even a small fire on the arc of her tail. Her eyes twitched, and when she opened her mouth to respond, a puff of smoke erupted as she gasped for air. “Err… you alrigh—?”

“Fine!” she said quickly. “Just… peachy!” And then she collapsed face first onto the floor. Sighing, Spike stepped down from his ladder, walked around the table and, now being old enough to actually do so, lifted Twilight up from under her forelimbs and carried her over to the reading sofa. “Uhhhh…”

“Bad day, huh?” he asked genially.

“It all started off so simply,” she whined, nuzzling her head into the sofa cushion as Spike turned back to his work.

“Uh huh.”

“First I went to the marketplace, you know, see who I’d meet, probably get some asparagus…”

“Twilight, you don’t have to do that any mo—”

“I know! But I just needed to get out of the castle, you know?” she said pitiably.

“Okay, and then what happened?”

“And then an eldritch vortex split the sky and threatened to suck all of Ponyville into a nether realm of eternal darkness and horror!”

“...Huh? I thought that was last week.”

“No, that was the thing with the giant bee and Fluttershy. You’re thinking of that one with the living shadow monster from the Everfree that possessed Zecora. That was last month,” she explained with closed eyes and raised hoof. Spike rolled his eyes.

“Right, and then what happened?”

“Well, I went to get the girls of course.” Twilight’s brows furrowed.

“Of course.” Spike nodded.

“So, there we were, giant evil vortex thing doing its swirly darkness thing when Pinkie—!” Spike tuned her out as she went on another tedious explanation of the day’s events. He’d been spending more and more time in the castle anyway, so much so that even the reports of Twilight and the gang’s adventures just sort of bled together after a while.

While she was talking, he returned to the bookshelves, climbed the ladder, and did some last minute sorting before taking a moment to pick out a particular book. That done, he descended and waved away one of the few palace servants Twilight finally hired, having relenting to Spike’s arguments. The poor mare had poked her head into the room after hearing Twilight’s rather loud complaining about some stupidity Rainbow Dash and Pinkie Pie did that ruined her third plan to contain the monstrosity. Couldn’t be helped that occasionally Twilight’s rants would be overheard, but at least the castle no longer looked like some super villain’s dark and empty old castle anymore.

He hummed to himself, pouring a glass of water from an amphora and picking up a sandwich he had been saving, and made his way over to Twilight, sensing she was nearing the end of her tale.

“—And I guess I just had to finally admit I needed help.” She sighed in defeat, finally winding down from her report.

“So, you’re going to be adding this to the diary?” Spike asked, surprising Twilight with a fresh glass of water and her favourite, dog-eared copy of Machinations of a Maddening Miscreant. It was a fictional omnibus written by an elderly mage from Concordia, with fantastical speculative magical theory being a prime element of the story. Twilight adored the genre for the outside-the-box thinking in the realms of magical theory and practice, and was constantly frustrated at how very few examples of the genre she could find. Spike personally couldn’t see the appeal in high level magical-babble getting in the way of a good story, and he actually had some education by way of Twilight. He couldn’t imagine very many other ponies would either.

“What? Oh. I don’t know.” She gulped down the water gratefully. “I should probably let Celestia know about the fact that we had an incursion from another world.”

“...Isn’t that impossible?” Spike asked. “I thought there needed to be an old ancient relic that anchored one world to another or some natural cycle or whatever, like the breezies use, or the gates of Tartarus. Or you’re Discord and you can just do that on Tuesdays.”

“No it isn’t, which is exactly why I think it's necessary to inform her of it. Spike, take a letter.” Twilight hopped off the sofa and got ready to pace as she dictated. Spike was already ahead of her and simply lifted the flap of the pouch at his side and took the red-feathered quill from where it lay on a nearby table.

No sooner than when he laid his draconic claw on the feathered instrument, he felt the familiar rumble in his lungs. The hitching of his breath, the same feeling he got whenever he ate too much too fast, and he was left burping for half an hour, only with a tickling edge. He steadied himself, opened his mouth and let it out in a stream instead of a rough burst. His lungs hurt enough as it was, and the action left him coughing all the same.

The missive fire burned away the blank parchment he had been prepared to take dictation upon. Somewhere, far away, a very surprised snow-white alicorn princess just got bopped on the nose with a rolled-up piece of blank parchment a second after she had dismissed her own letter. But that was not important right now.

“Spike?” Twilight turned to see the dragon coughing lightly and the sealed letter falling to the ground at his feet. She lifted it up while she walked over to him. “...You okay?”

“Yeah,” Spike managed, coughing hard. “What’s in the letter?” Spike hurriedly changed the topic before Twilight’s concern could grow. Twilight hesitated while he walked off to grab a pitcher of water, but eventually she hung her head and magically unfurled the letter.

Twilight’s eyes danced over the page, her brow slowly furrowing.

“It’s from Princess Celestia. Apparently she wants me to… make a goodwill visit?”

“Oh yeah?” Spike downed his second glass of water. Twilight watched him out of the corner of her eye, concerned as he occasionally sputtered, trying to keep down another cough. “W-Where to?”

“Griffonia.” There was no enthusiasm in her voice. She lowered the letter, rubbing her chin in thought.

“Oh right, wasn’t there that whole thing or whatever?” Spike asked absentmindedly, helping himself to the sandwich Twilight had abandoned in her hurry to dictate a letter. Twilight looked at him for a moment, noting how tall he was now and how quickly the time flew by, and how many times she heard him trying to hide how bad his coughs got by secreting himself away in hard to reach parts of the castle.

“Yeah,” she murmured, lost in thought, considering options... opportunities. “Celestia wants me to go there, as a sign of friendship. Mend ties.”

“Twilight, you okay?” He turned around at last and noticed the odd look she gave him. She smiled, the decision made.

“Yeah.” Her horn glowed and drew up one of the long lengths of parchment for another one of her, to anypony else, infamous checklists. “Now come on, we have a lot to do to get ready.”

“I’ll get the girls. Hope you guys have fun.” She chuckled at that.

“Silly Spike,” she teased, “you’re coming along too.”

--=--

He grunted as he shifted the whole weight of the thing off his shoulder. He nearly stumbled and hurried to catch and steady the coffin before it tumbled over. It was a bitch, but at the end of the day, it was worth it. He lifted the brick and shined its face on the cellar around him. Barren, dry, solid, and very empty. Whatever the previous lord of these lands had used it for, if he had used it at all, Handy could not begin to guess.

The cellar was a rough quadrangle with deep alcoves on all sides, very deep, some of them twisting in on themselves in curves or right angles. Seven on each long side, three and four on the respective shorter sides. Handy hadn’t bothered exploring all of them yet. It had been a flight of whimsy that brought him down here and to his current task. Hell, it had been a flight of whimsy to go out and actually get the coffin made. A private joke.

Well, in a manner of speaking, it was no wonder the whimsy came to him. He could not sleep in his own manor because he was busy having it repaired. The artisans’ guild who rented the land upon which they built their guild house? They were co-operating with his blacksmiths on repairing and, worryingly, expanding it, if the few snippets of conversation he had caught were anything to go by. Handy already had more space and rooms than he knew what to do with. Still, he also had more money than he knew what to do with, so he quickly ran out of excuses to try to dissuade the eager master carpenters, masons, and brickers using the opportunity to squire their young apprentices in their trades.

Henri Hammerstrike was delighted to take the contract to help out with all the necessary ironworking, and something of a rivalry, friendly or otherwise (Handy could not discern), erupted between him and his pupils versus the artisans and builders. To make things exponentially worse, practically all of the menfolk of Handy’s demesne showed up to offer labour and expertise, digging ditches, fetching and carrying and all manner of work. Word got around, and the twins, the ones who ran his taverns that he could never remember the names of, nor get right whenever he could recall, started supplying the alcohol to keep everything smooth and jolly.

Now, conventional wisdom would dictate that supplying free beer would encourage workers to stop, you know, working. However, often conventional wisdom proved to be wise, while sometimes it was downright retarded. All the workers seemed to work with a consistent energy and even joy at their task, the beer helping to keep high spirits and good cheer. His bakers supplied free bread and cheese, so everyone was fed and watered at all times of the day, and work continued through rain, snow, or sleet. Ironically enough, every time there was a clear day, almost nobody showed up, but that was very rare indeed.

Oh, and that wasn’t even the half of it. No, the worse part was the women. Now, many a man would tell you what the worse thing in the world would be, and each answer would be different from the last. Handy in his own opinion was pretty sure that telling a woman that money was no object was probably somewhere near the top of everyone’s list. The wives of his serfs and tenants conspired with those of the workers and artisans, all directed by Henri’s wife and daughter, who were the opposites of each other. One was old and surprisingly fat for a griffon, and the younger some thin rake of a thing. Horrors of horrors, they co-ordinated with the workers and were busy reigning holy terror on the shopkeepers and clothiers of the city of Skymount.

Handy liked the idea of the finer things in life now being within his financial reach, but with his recent brooding mood, he had no mind nor care for searching high and low for them. Therefore, the women took it upon themselves to extort, cajole, negotiate, bargain, and in a disturbing number of cases, threaten to ensure that Baron Handy Haywatch had the finest appointments in his manor of living as could reasonably be scrounged up. So it was that no sooner was a room finished that the furnishing and fittings were purchased, constructed, or made by the griffons themselves and stored away for its final completion.

One of them, Handy was not sure who, actually managed to get a worryingly accurate judgement of his tastes: impressive, just short of ostentatious, and something that would likely look good a long time from now and not just a passing fashion, enduring both foul weather, foul moods, and foul treatment. In this way, his manor was deconstructed, redrawn, and rebuilt brick by brick to reflect this.

All this started one morning after he had managed to use what tiny control he had over magic to help try to suppress the glow in his eyes so that they weren’t glowing in the dark like he was some kind of cheap cartoon supervillain. He was slightly worried about how much his new control helped in that regard. He had a mind to thank Crimson for all her help despite the fact he was still mostly getting nowhere, and had nothing to show for his efforts other than bruises where the stones hit him. Jacques had dropped in on him that day and the pair of them, when walking about, had come across some creaky floorboards. Jacques said something he thought was witty. Handy had predictably scowled and casually mentioned offhand how he was probably just going to tear the place down and build it up again.

Jacques shared that with Klipwing and Crimson. Crimson shared that with the alchemists. Klipwing shared that with the artisans. Jacques, presumably after a couple of cups of whatever gut rot he favoured, mentioned it in one tavern or another while he was off doing whatever he did when Handy wasn’t paying attention to him. It all kind of snowballed from there, and he was still waiting for what the alchemists were up to with some trepidation.

It wasn’t near done, of course, but all this would help give context to help you, dear reader, to understand exactly why Handy went and custom-built a coffin for himself.

With all of the constant activity, everything around Handy’s former manor had become very crowded and very noisy, and he had nowhere to sleep. Sure, the inns and rent-rooms within the city were always available, but the city tended to be noisy and distracting, the inns often busy into the wee hours of the morning with noise below or, God forbid, from the rooms next door. He could always crash with his alchemists once he found them, but he’d rather keep his distance from the madbirds. All the promised potential of alchemy in the world couldn’t entice him to risk a single night one thin wall away from an alchemical accident. Staying with his serfs or tenants was an option, but he’d rather not disturb someone’s family life over the matter.

He had, as a matter of fact, taken to sleeping in a tent near the construction site. It was a nice tent, nearly as spacious as the large one he had stayed in during his time in the tournament. Kept the cold out as well. Unfortunately, this meant he often lingered in close proximity to the site during the day and, predictably, was constantly interrupted or called upon by innumerable griffons. Some had business that was more legitimate than others, such as Henri, who was taken by the opportunity to insist on double-checking measurements and other such necessities, given he was still working on Handy’s new armour. He wondered what was taking the griffon so long with the damn thing. He had finished repairing his magic resistant armour after the first week. Nonetheless, the constant interruption of his daily affairs got to him, and it was not as if any of them would tolerate him actually lowering himself to keep busy with the work of labouring. He was not adverse to the work if it meant he could keep to himself by proxy; being so visibly busy that people just left him alone.

So it was that he was left to spend as much time in Skymount as humanly possible, on errands suitably ‘private’ enough that the roaming bands of barbarians masquerading as the womenfolk of the griffons working on his estate would leave him well enough alone. So it was that he busied himself with finding a suitable tailor. The problem with living in a world of natural nudists who had the virtue of guarding their modesty without an artificial cover was that clothes were a luxury. Luxuries were by nature more expensive than necessities and therefore harder to find. The laws of supply and demand were a bitch like that sometimes.

There were a few tailors he found right off the bat, though they mostly handled women’s clothing, dresses, and the like, or otherwise did formal wear. Some, he learned, were the personal tailors to a roster of local nobility, and he got the distinct impression that he’d rather not share such establishments with the other nobles out of some niggling need for privacy. He was, after all, going to rely on this person to help fabricate all of his clothing after all, and there was none of the anonymity of the vast, impersonal commercial system he was used to on Earth to protect him from his personal space issues. He pressed on in his search. It was not that he was short of clothes—indeed, the garments he had had made for him by the creepy twins far to the south in a desert settlement of Pawstown were still very much serviceable. He had taken to wearing fresh clothes every day, which on Earth had been a norm but in this world was a luxury. He could always use more, and better, garments.

He had found one young griffon down a side street in the marketplace. Her mobile stall was worn and battered, her own clothes ragged and worn, and a tired, defeated cast about her features. The fact she was so lost in her misery that she did not even give Handy the customary wary sidelong glance he was so used to was notable enough, but what really caught his eye was what she had on display.

The stall had tunics, cloaks, a few hats of various sizes, and styles suited for gryphonic skulls, scarves, a few belts showing she had some skill at leatherworking, besides everything and more. What was truly noteworthy was the styling and intricate artwork of it all. Even the most plain of tunics on offer had the subtlest of details lined out just so to draw the eye and make it memorable, all this despite presumably being made out of the cheap or even crude material available to the griffon. The fact that they were all immaculately clean and well cared for in comparison to the girl herself and her wagon spoke well of her work ethic.

As interesting as that all was, it was not enough to arrest Handy’s attention for more than a moment… except for one thing.

“Excuse me.” He picked out a black velvet hat, wide-brimmed. The hat. The sort that for centuries, from musketeers, to Napoleon, to the tricorne and onwards, was all really just one hat, crushed into various styles to make hundreds of different kinds of hats. The kind of hat Jacques favoured when he could manage to hold onto one long enough for it to get comfortable, before losing it in some ridiculous manner. He always blamed Handy for the losses of his hats, which was rather unfair in his view. It was not Handy’s fault that his life was absurd. The girl looked up and let out a very ungriffon-like squeak of surprise that almost made Handy laugh. He decided to press on through her shock, not in any mood to dissuade fears at the time.

“This hat, how much for it?”

“Uh… That would be just two crowns, Milord,” she managed, blinking and looking from the hat to Handy. “It’s a summer hat.”

“Ah,” Handy said, disappointed, placing it back on the stand. “Pity.”

“W-Wait!” she called out as he began to walk off. Handy turned as she lifted the black hat and wiggled a claw under the black band around the bump in the middle for the head and pulled it off, along with the little black bow Handy had not noticed before. She took a small pin from the stall, folded one of the sides of the hat, put the pin in it, and bent it on the inside. “Now it’s not! A good hat for a griffon of your station.”

Handy let the hint of a smile tug at his lips. Quick on her feet, this one. Handy stroked his chin for a bit and tilted his head. “I don’t know; smacks of desperation. I’ll give you a halfer.”

“One and a half!” she insisted, desperate enough to get a sale but determined not to sell herself short.

“How do I even know that is real velvet? What deer did you fleece to get a hold of that material? A halfer and a few coppers.”

“This is genuine grephix velveteen. I got it from the Blue Coast!” Handy had not the slightest notion what in the fuck a grephix was, but he was guessing it was one of the stranger animals roaming the world. The Blue Coast was approximately half of Griffonia’s eastern coastline and largely dominated by the Republic of Fernstrid. Very far away, presumably worth a hell of a lot more than two gold crowns.

“And all that time since, you couldn’t sell the hat before you got to me, all the way on Equestria’s doorstep?” Handy protested, now enjoying watching the merchant girl struggle. “A halfer, not a copper more.”

“No! I didn’t sell it because none of the farming griffons who I passed had money to pay. One crown, I will go no lower.”

“You’re doing yourself no favours, lass. I am a lord. Why would I pay a crown for a hat a farmer would not buy with his spit?” Handy challenged. She looked like she was struggling, and thus Handy was amused. Poor girl needed to up her haggling game. “Well? I’m waiting.”

“They couldn’t afford it because it was commissioned!” she said at last. Ah, well now Handy had to hear this just to see how far she dug that hole. “I was taking it to the buyer.”

“Well, that certainly explains why you went all the way to the Blue Coast for this... ah…” Handy trailed off, rubbing the material of the hat.

“Velveteen,” she supplied.

“Yes, that. And?”

“…And, Milord?”

“And you were saving this for the one who commissioned it. Why is the hat not in their hands if it were originally a summer hat?” Handy asked, closing the trap. He had expected her to stutter or panic. He was not expecting her to deflate. ‘Ah, trying the sympathy routine. That’s low.’

“She... just wanted rid of me,” she admitted, looking up. Handy kept his peace and let her continue. “I was trying to make a name for myself. To get noticed. Out back east... tried too hard... rubbed too many griffons the wrong way. I was given the commission to get rid of me; came back to find my name blackened and nogriffon would hire me. So…” She gestured to her cart.

“So why didn’t you just move to another city and start again?” Handy asked. “No shortage of self-important people running about in dire need of stroked egos and expensively tailored vanity.”

“You don’t understand. When you anger the wrong griffons, your name gets… it gets passed around. Nogriffon would have my work. None would even take me on as a seamstress in their stores.”

“So? Sell to the commoners. You don’t need a noble patron to get by.”

“That's what I have been doing!” she whined. “But griffons have neither time nor the money to spend. I’ve just been scraping by.” Handy put the hat back on the stand and flipped her a silver. She looked up at him in surprise.

“What? Please, sir, I thank you, but I don’t need your pi—”

“What’s your name, girl?” Handy asked. Thoughts spun in his head as he gave a critical eye to the work she put on display. He wondered if he could kill two birds with one stone.

“I… Belladonna, sir.”

“Like the plant? Odd name for a griffon.”

“My mother was a pony,” she said. When Handy raised an eyebrow, she continued, “Adopted.”

“Ah, well Belladonna, don’t consider it pity. Consider it an investment,” Handy explained in a haughty voice. “You say you’ve been scraping by and making rather fetching beggar's wear out of sackcloth?”

“I—!” she sputtered. Handy smiled. He got her goat with that one.

‘Good. Let’s see what she can do with some fire in her,’ he thought, crossing his arms and tapping his chin. “You see,” he began, “as it happens, I happen to be shopping for a seamstress. A tailor. Someone who has a way about them when it comes to sewing and darning.”

That shut her up right quick, her eyes widening.

“But,” he said, putting a stop to whatever wild hopes his words put in her head with the promise of a pitfall. “You get nothing for nothing. I take it from your tale that none of the tailors in this fine city of the king’s would have you, am I correct?”

“...Y-Yes, sir,” she managed.

“And none of the high and mighty would give you a second look, and none of the low and mean have the coin to spare on expensive trivialities, am I right so far?”

“...Yes,” she said, smarting at the admission.

“But I am not like most, I think you’ll find. What some consider trivialities, I consider necessities. And where other lords weigh the words of the known and storied more heavily than that of the skilled, I happen to know a thing or two about resourcefulness and how useful it is. Would you consider yourself resourceful, Miss Belladonna?”

“I-I would! Definitely!” she said, rising, wings partially extended from her sides.

“Prove it,” Handy said, departing. “You can scurry off with that silver like an urchin, or you can use it to give me a fine black cloak fitted for a pony, with a hood if you please. Then there’ll be more than just silver in your future; there’ll be a job and a roof over your head.”

It took her a moment to finally respond to that. “H-How will I find you!?” she shouted after him. He suppressed a laugh.

“You’ll manage! I’m hard to miss!” he shouted back.

--=--

And with that, he set in motion a plan to amuse himself while he went about his business in Skymount. You see, the nobility game could be very subtle at times, and sometimes it could be straightforward but misleading, with the real trick being in discerning when it was being one or the other. Handy had discerned that, however much pressure Joachim had faced when it came to the final decision to disgrace him, the real final deciding factor as to the manner in which Handy was ‘put in his place’ likely came from within the court itself.

Handy had no public enemies in Joachim’s court—keeping one’s distance from both the unwashed hoi polloi and the high-born fuckwits, and projecting oneself as the ominous weapon of the king’s displeasure would do that. As far as they were concerned, he was anonymous, impersonal, with no more designs on anyone’s possessions or ambitions than the odd decorative suit of plate armour or tapestry, albeit a touch more animate and bloodthirsty.

That did not mean he, his presence, and his position was not in someone’s way. Perhaps a cadre of nobles merely wanted one less voice in the king’s ear that could not be controlled, or some jealous guard wanted to dilute the influence of the royal knights at the expense of the palace guard in some bid for power. Either way, someone benefitted from Handy’s erstwhile exile, he was sure of it, but just because you were cast out into the cold did not mean you could not exert your influence back into the hall.

And Handy had enough time and money on his hands to do just that.

Belladonna had pulled through for him and, when she found him once again in Skymount, this time catching him on his way out from the still useless brewery he was trying to find a use for, she presented him with the cloak. It was red samite with a black, woollen exterior, gold thread weaving the interior in tight, knotted patterns along the edges. It was clearly meant to be turned inside out upon the needs of the wearer. Wool on the outside for travel and the rain, samite on the outside for the show of it, with the addition of the wool keeping one warm on a cold night.

How in the hell the woman managed to make this on nothing more than a silver halfer, Handy had not the slightest idea, but she had and so Handy had kept his word. That had been the start of it. He had given her a room at one of the tavern inns to stay in at his expense, with several other rooms given over for her work and set her to her task. Now, every day, Handy went out about the town with a new cloak, a tunic, trousers. Each was more impressive and eye-catching than the last as Belladonna settled into her work and got used to the measurements.

Handy was not a strutting peacock that some men were—he had no real care for fashion, but he did like to look good, or at least he didn’t enjoy looking like some scrub. All the same, he carried himself with an infuriating disregard for his own wealth, or at least that would be what the other nobles would see. Typically, some new up-and-coming noble showing off expensive clothing would be disregarded for the attention-seeking whore that he was, desperate to be seen. Handy’s trick was genuinely not caring whether he was seen or not, which was much more noticeable, a casual air that probably only a human could pull off in a world where simply putting on a tunic was probably making a statement.

Handy didn’t just want to flaunt his wealth, oh no. Handy wanted his servants to be better dressed than the court dandies. Hence his little gift for Crimson, and a proper outfit and livery for Klipwing, with the hammer device Handy had taken for a crest. Hell, even a new hat for that bastard Jacques that he seemed more than pleased with. The fact that he was doing this out in the streets and not, say, in the court of the King of Gethrenia was a calculated slight. He knew King Johan wouldn’t care personally, but it was the look of it that mattered. It was petty, it was small, but Handy could be a very petty man when he chose to be, and sooner or later someone was going to make a move.

It came on the morning he entered town to collect the coffin he had made for him. A roomy thing, it was black-lacquered wood on an iron frame, gold handles and hinges with white velvet interior lining and enough padding to be a mattress. He had learned, somewhat to his shock, that griffons were unusual in their preferences to bury their dead. Ponies—at least the Equestrians—tended to cremate their deceased, which would explain the lack of graveyards he had noticed while traveling. They put them in caskets all the same as the griffons, just didn’t bury them.

And on his way there, after ignoring how everyone seemed to have been watching him as he strolled, more so than usual, he passed by a young griffon boy hawking the newspaper. Newspapers weren’t the social force in this world they were back on Earth, even with the printing presses. Typically, most towns didn’t print ‘papers’, but rather printed single sheets once a week that detailed local events, distributing them to nearby towns and villages, with the sheets nailed to the doors of temples, town halls, taverns, and other gathering areas in village life.

The larger towns and cities were more meaty affairs with proper newspapers. Yellow pages were the shorter, smaller, weekly news printed and sold a copper a piece to everyone who happened by. White sheets were the monthly runs that were broader and thicker, brimming with merchants advertising their wares or workplace openings. The white sheets showed everything, from news, to gossip, to court rumours, to local happenings on a kingdom scale, international news if it could be got, and even short stories penned by local wordsmiths hoping to make some money by entertaining the masses with penny dreadfuls not worth a book of their own. There was very little regulation of any of it. They even had pictures occasionally when the press could afford the extra ink for image repetition.

This was exactly why Handy stopped in his damn tracks when he noticed himself on the front page of a white sheet. It had been a picture of him reading and lying half out of his tent on one of the better days that winter. The story underneath was titled ‘LOCAL BARON LIVES IN DITCH! TOO WASTEFUL TO AFFORD A ROOF?’. Handy tossed the kid a copper and took a copy. It was a hit piece, the column author sounding sympathetic, which honestly just made it seem so much worse, as if Handy was to be pitied. The most damning line was the one that wondered whether or not he was seen in such fine clothing as a means of compensating for his mean lifestyle living in the rough. Someone had paid for this to happen. If Handy was interesting enough for someone to risk snatching a photo and writing an embarrassing article, they would have done so a long time ago. Hell, they probably did for all he knew. Handy normally never bothered to read the papers, even back on Earth.

Handy remembered the flash. He actually had been sleeping that day. It had been unseasonably warm, so he had dozed off while reading and the flash had woken him up. He had been so dazed that he had no idea who it had been before they had taken off into the air and flown away. Honestly, as bad as the situation was, he was actually relieved the picture didn’t reveal what he was reading. He could probably twist this to his advantage somehow, but how do you explain away that the terrifying human was reading a Daring Do novel? That was one thing that’d make him look bad no matter what.

But the picture, the ink to run it, the story? Yeah, someone had wanted to run that story, had paid for it. Seemed like he did tick someone off in the end. Good, the game was on then. Now he just needed them to show their hand… claw in this case. In the game of nobility, the one who got mad, lost. Handy was well aware of his temper and his pride and, if he was honest, the embarrassment did goad him. Just a touch. He couldn’t let it show, however. He had to get even, but how?

He thought about that long and hard while having the coffin hauled back to the manor for him, paying the two young serfs a silver apiece for their help. Now at least, he could actually sleep somewhere that was not out in the open where something like that could happen again.

“Master?” He turned to see Crimson walking down the stairs to the cellar. “Are you done here?”

“Ah, Crimson, is it time again?” he asked.

“Yes, Master,” she said happily, taking the small bag of rocks Handy was all too familiar with out from under her new cloak. She tossed him one for his use. Handy looked at it sceptically.

“It’s... bigger than before.”

“Yes, I thought it might be better.”

“Heavier too. Won’t this be harder to focus with?” Handy asked, and she smiled. “Oh come on.”

“Think of it as advancing. The more you can control your magic through focusing through stone, and the harder it is to do so, the better you will be at the end of it,” she explained. Handy rolled his eyes.

“Yes, I understand the principle, but I could barely manage it before.”

“You’ll be fine. Ready to begin?” Handy looked around.

“Down here in the dark?” he asked. She tapped her chin in thought. Then, with a wave of her horn, four purple-red orbs of magic floated out to the four corners of the quadrangle, painting the alcoves black in sheer shadow but providing light so Handy could see what he was doing.

“There.” She turned to him, the smile dropping from her face. “Master, what is that?”

“Nothing you need to be worried about.” Handy waved her attention away from the large coffin leaning against the wall. “Let’s just get this over with.”

She didn’t look any less worried but complied all the same. She emptied out the stones onto the floor, lifting them with her magic and giving him a nod. Handy held the stone out in front of him and, closing his eyes and pushing all thoughts aside, reached.

It was a strange feeling, like an electric tingling behind his eyes, an itch in his teeth. It was at once satisfaction at quenching a thirst and the frustration of seeing a waterfall plummet into an endless sinkhole, wasted and wanting more. Like he had done before when Crimson had helped him awaken to the magic that had been around him from the very start, he reached out, along his arm, through to his hand, and what was in his fingers. He imagined pulling on the ropes of a ship’s rigging, to control it so the mast wasn’t torn off as the wind played with the sail.

The magic rushed around him, tempting him to draw it in from everywhere... but to let it in any other way was to flirt with injury and tempt harm. He ignored it; it had to come through the rope. The stone sat still in its place. Slowly, it gave, an agonizing slowness as the magic crept into the stone, to reach the void that was calling to it, to reach the heart, the stone warming in his grasp, both from his own heat and that of the magic trying to force its way through with—

“Ow!” The stone struck him in the shoulder and he jerked back, his focus lost, eyes blinking, the stone cooling as what magic had tried to worm its way through was lost.

“Concentrate,” Crimson admonished. “You were taking too long.”

Handy bit back a retort and put a halt on his anger, ignoring the pain in his shoulder. “How long?” he asked with a sigh.

“A half hour.”

“A half hour!?” Handy exclaimed. “That couldn’t have been a minute!”

“It’s easy to lose track of time when working with magic. You need to concentrate. You need to be aware of the world around you.”

“I was aware of the world around me. That’s how I was tryi—”

“Not enough.” Crimson frowned at him. “Not enough to realise how long it was taking you. Come on, try again.”

Handy let out a breath, rubbed his shoulder idly and then, settling his thoughts again, set to work. The problem with the stone was that while it did prevent Handy from being flooded by magic and thus being knocked onto his arse, it took a damn long time to let any magic through at all when he wanted it to. That was the idea—let a controlled trickle of magic flow into him so he could redirect it, creating the loop up along his arm to his body, and then back again to the focus, creating a natural channel for the energy to flow. It was a bit like directing a river so as to not to break the dam before you built it. In this manner, a prospective mage was introduced to the flow and control of magic and the basic concepts of the crystalline method in a safe and reliable manner. Once he managed to do it quickly and reliably enough, he could move onto more pliant materials for foci and move on in his lessons. Unicorns had to do this since the day they left their mothers’ womb, what with their natural foci in the form of their horns. Magical surges in unicorns were well-known phenomena, and could range from anything from accidentally creating pretty sparkles every time they sneezed to a baby having a howitzer for a forehead.

Handy? Well, he was still nowhere near controlling magic just yet, as evidenced by Crimson tossing a stone at him every half hour and the curses he spat in pain each time. He couldn’t help it—there was something about magic that when you concentrated on it, really concentrated on it, you could not help but lose yourself in it. You lost track of time and your thoughts, your very self. Hell, if Crimson had not been there hitting him with stones, he wou—

The realisation struck him as his eyes went wide. Crimson smiled, lowering her last stone slightly. Handy looked down at the stone. His arm hurt to move, tense and taut as it was from the effort, his hand feeling like a claw from clutching the stone so hard for so long. The stoning wasn’t to get him to catch them to prevent himself from being hurt. Rather, they were there to help him learn that controlling magic was more than just monitoring how much or how fast you allowed the power around you to enter into you. It was also about not allowing the magic itself to control you. To consume you.

She had told him to focus, yes, but in truth he wasn’t focusing, or rather, he was focusing on one thing entirely too much. He lost sight of himself.

“Is that what happened to the wild mages?” Handy asked, remembering the brief history of magic she had told him. “They lost themselves in their magics and were consumed?”

“Violently,” Crimson said. “Most times, at least. Very good, Master.”

“Couldn’t you have just told me what I was doing wrong?”

“I would have, eventually, but I wanted to see if you could understand what you were doing wrong. It’s easier to explain if the student is partially aware of what he was doing wrong.” And then she threw the rock at him, hitting him in the stomach and winding him.

“What the hell, Crimson?!” Handy demanded.

“You figured out your first lesson,” Crimson explained cheerily, gathering up the stones in her magic while sitting down. She had turned her cloak inside out to keep the warm wool on the inside while the winter’s chill haunted its way down the stairs from the exposed house above them. “But you still have yet to catch any of the stones. Let’s see how you do this time. Again.”

This time, Handy did not argue, and again he set himself to the task of trying to draw the magic through his hand by way of the foci and again, with glacial slowness, he felt the magic seep in. It was like water soaking into rock, only at the speed of molasses. This time, just on the edge of feeling himself become lost, he opened his eyes.

He almost lost it, almost lost focus entirely with the shock of it as his mind was jolted into remembering the world around him existed, that the magic he now felt washing over him like an invisible wind really was invisible, that there was no visible indication that anything was going on other than Handy standing there stupidly, clutching a rock in his outstretched hand. It felt… disconcerting, as if he should not be paying attention to anything else.

He held his ground, however, willing the magic to continue into the stone. Now aware of the world around him, aware of time passing, the process felt infinitely more slow and agonizing. The stone felt unreasonably warm in his hand, so hot he felt he should drop it, but he knew the feeling to be an illusion, a trick of his mind. He pushed on. This time he felt hungry, the strange feeling, the emptiness that needed to be filled lending strength to his will. He felt the magic begin to give, to enter the stone faster incrementally.

It took an hour, but he must have been doing something right, because Crimson didn’t toss any of her damned stones at him in that time. Finally, at long last, he felt it. The magic completely suffused the stone, and a trickle, the occasional drop of power, fell from it like water from a limestone stalactite, falling up along the length of his arm. An electric thrill raced along his veins as it passed, and as little though it was, it felt like it hit him in the chest with the force of a clenched fist. He had to be ready.

And at last, the river broke and the flow raced down his arm with all the energy and enthusiasm of an explosion. And like any explosive force rushing towards you, it was so daunting he almost stood there and let it hit him like an idiot.

Have you ever rode a bull? Perhaps a mechanical one when you were drunk and there happened to be a fair on in town that day? Trying to control the flow of magic is a bit like that, wild, impossibly strong and ready to throw you to the dirt if you slackened your grip for even an instant. The magic hit Handy with the force of a wave concentrated into a single point, he had to shut off its access to the rest of his body, to any other means of exit, giving it no choice but to flow straight into his heart.

It almost stopped.

He breathed out, and in a heartbeat, the magic flowed back up his arm again, running along the very veins of his hand up to his fingers and back into the stone focus from whence it came. He relaxed; the magic was controlled now, a closed circuit he could control and manipulate, allowing its energy to suffuse his body without worrying about it hurting or overwhelming him. Outwardly, nothing showed. It felt much more powerful than it actually was, and Handy could not help but smile, the giddiness coming unbidden to his lips. It was like water pressure—once the flow got going, more magic was sucked into the circuit, as much as was pushed out by the new magic coming in. Handy hardly even needed to give it a thought.

“Ow!” The stone bounced off of his forehead. It had been thrown lightly but hurt none the less for it. His free hand clapped to his head as he hissed with the pain of it.

“You can move your arm now,” Crimson said, smiling. “I think you got it.” He blinked and tried to move his arm experimentally, surprised that the focus was no longer lost now that he was distracted. The magic, like liquid lightning, seemed to flow through him like a river. His arm ached with the movement, and his fingers hurt to move, but so long as he didn’t relinquish his grasp, the magic flowed. He laughed.

“I can’t believe it,” he said.

“What?”

“Nothing, it’s just… I don’t know, reminds me of something.” ‘Summer days when life was young and I was free.’

“Well, I’m glad you’re having fun. Shall we?” Crimson held aloft another stone.

“...How?”

“Well, now that we’re getting somewhere, how do you think?” she teased, throwing the stone up, letting go and catching it again in her magic. Handy thought about it. Catching the stone magically would be telekinesis, basically what every unicorn and mage did pretty much without thinking. It was hardly even considered a proper spell by virtually anyone with an inkling of magical skill.

If that were true, then it couldn’t be much more complicated than the basic concepts he just figured out. A projection of the will in the form of raw magic, but how could he do that? He looked at the stone in his fist. He supposed it logically followed that if he could draw magic in through it, he could project magic using it as well. If he welled up the magic, it would allow the power to flow into him through it but would refuse to let it leave the stone once it travelled through his body. Like holding your thumb over the spout of a water tap, he could then force it to come out at a higher pressure than it naturally would.

He saw the stone glow. Such was his surprise that he blinked and lost it. Unconsciously, he had been working the magic as he thought out the concept, teasing it in a manner he was familiar with.

“Do it again!” Crimson called out. “That. Whatever that was, do it again!”

Handy tried, and sure enough, he saw a flickering glow around the stone. A soft silver aura surrounded the stone and his hand, not unlike the glow suffusing Crimson’s own horn. She clapped her hooves happily at the progress.

“There! How did you do that? How did you figure it out?”

“I… just thought about what the magic reminded me of, and used that to help conceptualize other ways of utilizing it. It’s like a river—I thought about how you can manipulate the pressure of water,” Handy explained as best he could. Crimson hummed.

“The Starshine method? Unusual, but I suppose it’s more intuitive. It is more popular with griffon mages, I am led to believe. Most ponies prefer Starswirl’s methodology.” Handy looked at her blankly. “Never mind. I now follow what you’re doing, but how were you planning on using it?” She bounced the stone in her magical grip, Handy following its progress with his eyes.

“I was going to release the magic in the direction I wanted it to go.”

“Interesting. Want to test that hypothesis, Master?” Handy eyed the rock.

“I’d rather not.”

“Come on, Master, you’re doing so well. What’s a little pain for progress?”

“Still pain,” Handy replied, deadpan. Crimson snorted. “But… fine. Let’s go ahead with this.”

He readied himself. Again he blocked the magic’s progress back into the open air, and again the aura formed. He thought about it, wondering how he was going to do this. This time he thought of a hose rather than the water tap. Holding a running hose upright and putting your thumb over it, you could not only control the force of the water, but where it sprayed depending on how you moved your thumb. He planned to try that and kept his eye on the stone in Crimson’s grip.

She threw it lightly, more of a toss really. He lifted his arm towards it and released the magic. He didn’t see it, but he felt the magic leave him in a rush as an invisible force struck the stone and shot it back into the ceiling, rebounding and landing on the ground, skittering away into one of the dark alcoves. Crimson gave him a critical look.

“Well done. Still, I told you to catch it, Master,” she admonished. He frowned at her. How in the hell could he catch it? He couldn’t catch water once it left his grip—how the hell could he catch magic? “Try thinking about it differently.”

‘Differently, right,’ Handy bitterly ruminated. He gave the matter some thought. The way he was thinking of it, he was releasing the energy, not expecting it to return to him. No, what he needed to do was create an extended loop, another circuit like the one connecting him to the focus in his hand, only this time between the focus and the target. He had to throw the magic onto a point and hold it there. At first he thought of a lasso, but then it dawned on him that that would only catch the stone and bring it to him faster than he was ready. He needed to think about how to reach out to catch it and hold it there to his will. What did he know that allowed him to reach out, grab something, and manipulate it to his will?

Handy slapped himself in the face for being so stupid, letting out a groan.

“Problems?” Crimson smirked.

“Nothing, just… took me way too long to think of this.” An arm. The answer was an arm. He didn’t know how others did it, but the answer seemed obvious to him. It didn’t need to be obvious, but the more he thought of it, the more sense it made to him. An ethereal appendage. “Just… don’t throw it, hold it in the air. Like that, yes.”

Crimson complied and stepped back, curious as to what he would do.

There was probably easier ways to do what he was trying to do, but hey, it was an experiment. He pushed the magic out of his hand, trying to direct and limit the flow of the energy that wanted desperately to escape his grasp, bleeding into the cold air around him. Handy was reminded very much of holding onto the leash of a very large and enthusiastic dog, trying desperately to stop it from pulling him along. It was as much a physical effort as it was mental, and he grunted with the strain. He thought briefly that he must look very stupid from the outside but put the thought out of his mind. He didn’t need the distraction.

The aura in his hand waxed and waned with the strain, but he retained control and, slowly, invisibly, the magic snaked its way over the empty distance between him and the floating stone. When his magic touched the aura projected by Crimson, he let out a gasp of shock. At first it was like the shock of rolling out of bed and hitting a cold wooden floor. Crimson chuckled but slowly relinquished control of the stone as Handy’s magic slowly flowed around it, projecting the same silver aura onto it.

Crimson released and he held it there in the air. He stood there, amazed, so much so that he almost didn’t notice the fact he was losing control of it.

“Careful,” Crimson said. Handy hurried to finish the loop. He already had the stone in his magical grip, so he directed the magic back from it towards his fist. It was a task made significantly easier by the effort already put into creating the link in the first instance. The magic came back to hit him, and he felt his fist shake before the link finalised. And there it was, the magic flowing into him through the focus, back out again and into the invisible air towards the stone, and back again in a figure eight.

He eased and let the loop form naturally and realised, unlike the one between the focus and his heart, the one that he projected threatened to disappear entirely if he relaxed, no natural medium sustaining the force of magic in its projected pattern. Handy suddenly felt himself longing for unicorn blood, to use it to let him physically see the strings of magic and the thaumic winds. He wondered what his erstwhile creation would look like…

He shook the thought from his head and let the stone drop. Crimson looked very pleased.

“Well done, Master! You’ve understood the basics of the Conisuleps principle, and the gryt loop.”

“Yes, those are certainly words you are saying, Crimson.” Crimson rolled her eyes.

“What you did was the gryt loop–channelling the magic back and forth between the body and the focus. The Conisuleps principles involve using the willpower and the innate need of nature to fill a vacuum to draw magic into the body through a means of egress the wizard allows, and then projecting it out in the same manner. It creates another gryt loop by using the power and stability of the first as its base by projecting it onto an external point.”

“I… I actually think I understood most of that,” Handy said disbelievingly. The words were still foreign, but the concepts were now familiar. He considered that had he not gone through the pain and trouble of doing it himself, they would have remained foreign concepts even if he had of spent a year reading books on the subject. He found that he was out of breath, feeling sweat bead off his brow and into his eye, catching him by surprise. He suddenly felt very tired from the effort, but the exhaustion was only catching up to him now. “Although, I doubt I’ll be able to do it quick enough to catch something mid-air.”

Crimson nodded in understanding, lifting the stones and gathering them into her pouch. “You can let go of it now,” she said, this time with a knowing smile. Handy almost fell for it.

“Wait.”

“Yes?” she asked.

“...How do I let the gryt loop go safely?” She beamed at him, the correct question to ask as it turned out.

“The same way you stopped it from leaving. Simply prevent the magic from entering the focus from the outside while letting the magic leave you and enter into it.” Simple enough to say, hard enough to do. He did as she said and the loop soon closed. The magic left him, making him feel oddly empty without it. With nothing left to draw the magic into the stone, it couldn’t hold it on its own, and he felt it leave the stone and suffuse into the air once more.

“That's… actually quite a lot to process and go through. I can’t believe you unicorns can do all of that with literally a thought,” Handy said, genuinely impressed and seeing the little ponies in a new light entirely.

“It becomes like breathing,” Crimson explained. “Oh, and if you want to know the fast way to close the loop, you could just stop concentrating and drop the focus. The magic would have nothing to draw it in and nothing to keep the loop going, so it would just flow along its path and out of your hand in an instant.”

“...You could’ve just told me that.”

“Yes, but this way you now know how to close it willingly without dropping it. We unicorns can’t drop our horns, you know,” she said with a smug grin, sticking her tongue out at him slightly. She seemed to really enjoy these lessons, and Handy could not say he found the more relaxed Crimson disagreeable. He certainly preferred it to the more cowed and demure, borderline sociopath who was unreasonably afraid of his slightest disapproval.

“Fine, we’ll try this again some other time. I’d rather not spend the rest of today—”

“Night,” she corrected.

“Fuck me, really?” he asked, looking back up the stairs. Sure enough, it was dark out, the only meaningful light being provided by Crimson’s floating orbs of magic. Seemed like he ended up spending far more time than he thought. “Well, I’m tired of getting hit by stones. Goodnight, Crimson.”

“Goodnight, Master. Should I have a room prepared back in the city? It will be freezing tonight.”

“I’ll manage.” Handy was suddenly reminded of the paper he read earlier that day and the sour taste it left in his mouth. Crimson nodded and went back up the steps, the magical lights winking out of existence as she left. Handy turned the phone back on and prepared to follow her then stopped, shivering. His tunic was soaked through with sweat from the magical strain, and suddenly the prospect of walking up the steps to ground level seemed daunting to his tired legs, let alone the trek back to town.

Sure, he could go up and trek through the freezing night air during the dead of winter in a cold sweat and likely freeze to death, but fuck that noise. Handy only had the coffin built as a joke, just for the hell of it and to kill some time, but he started chewing his lip, considering... He looked back at the coffin, then back up the stairs, then back to the coffin.

“...Fuck it,” he decided, moving to settle the coffin back onto the ground. If it had one thing in its favour, it was insulated. Even with the air holes made for breathing taken into account, it should keep him warm, he had to admit.

It was comfy too.

--=--

He was woken by a scream.

It seemed a royal guard had been poking his way down to the cellar in search of him. The poor bastard was frightened out of his mind, the building site seeming abandoned, having come here early in the morning before any of the workers arrived. He had no doubt wandered his way down here and found a shiny new casket, all lacquered-black, silver metal-lining, and shining gold handles. He had opened it to find Handy lying there. In a bad habit Handy had yet to fully control, his eyes shone with a golden, wicked light when he opened them in the morning.

He was at first alarmed and then bemused at the sight of the armoured griffon panicking and bounding up the stairs, dropping his short spear in his hurry. Handy allowed himself a yawn and to pop the bones in his back and shoulders before getting up and out of the coffin. It was a damn sight better than a bedroll on the ground… or the boxes he used to lie in, but it needed work. God, he missed his bed. Handy absentmindedly grabbed the discarded spear as he made his way to where the guard had entered.

He pulled himself up into the daylight and squinted at the bright sun bearing down on him. After pulling his cloak closer to ward off the chill breeze, he strode out onto the fresh snow, his boots nearly disappearing in the pristine whiteness with each crunch, and spied the royal guard cowering behind the broken low wall that bordered his property. He blinked dumbly for a moment as his brain slowly woke up and, putting what he had learned to use, willed his eyes to stop glowing ominously.

“I trust you have a… thou hast a reason for waking me so early in the day?” Handy asked, seriously considering whether he wanted to continue keeping up the court tongue facade or not. He chucked the spear onto the snow before the wall. The guard seemed visibly more relieved now that Handy was not apparently going to eat him.

“Uh… I-I was sent ahead to... see if you were here.” Handy could not place his face, but he had light orange-brown feathers and a brown pelt. He was sure he would recognise him if he knew him previously. Must be a new guy or something.

“Well, thou hast found me,” Handy said, spreading his arms. “What is thy business?”

“The… The king wishes to see you.” The guard gingerly approached his fallen spear and snatched it from the ground.

“He does? What do you want this time…?” he said, muttering the last words to himself, his mood turning fouler. “Very well, I’ll come to the castle.”

“N-No need, Milord!” the soldier said hurriedly as Handy made to move for his tent to find cleaner clothes. Handy gave the bird a puzzled look. “The king is coming here. He is just over the rise, in fact.”

“Is he now?” Handy asked, straightening his tunic and pulling the cloak into a closed position. No need to look like a total scrub and show off his dirty clothes. “Well then, I guess I’ll do him the courtesy of meeting him halfway.”

“Y-Yes, of course. I’ll escort you,” the guard stammered, watching Handy pass by. He glanced back at the open hole in the ground that, when the manor was fully built, would be the entrance to its cellar. “If you, uh, don’t mind, Lord, I apologise for my reaction. I… I didn’t believe what they said about you was true.”

Handy smiled but did not turn around. “Most sensible people don’t,” he said, not confirming anything one way or another.

--=--

The royal caravan turned out to be just Joachim and several of his guards. None of his knights were present, however, which Handy thought was strange. And traveling on foot as well... The small contingent stopped when they saw Handy, and the guard crested the rise in the road not a dozen metres from his manor house. Handy raised his fist in acknowledgment, and they continued on towards him.

“Well, this should be good,” Handy muttered. The guard gave him an odd look as they approached. King Johan the Blackwing raised his claw in salute when they had gathered on the rise.

“Well met, Baron Haywatch,” Johan greeted. Handy give him a minute nod.

“Majesty,” he simply said. Johan looked over the countryside for a moment before speaking again.

“Leave us for the moment,” he ordered his guards. Only the new guy gave his king an uncertain look before complying, the rest used to the human and departed a polite distance. Johan walked past Handy towards the manor. “Walk with me, would you?”

Handy hesitated but followed as the pair moved back into the utter mess of the construction site. Johan glanced over the few tents pitched surrounding the building, all of which were currently empty for the moment. He stopped in the centre of the manor, in the midst of the wooden frames and piles of wooden panelling, and turned to face Handy.

“I… have come to apologise,” he said at last. Handy crossed his arms.

“Noooo,” he retorted mockingly, “really? All this way to apologise to little old me? Why, I’m flattered. All the way out here where no one can see you do it. That’s not condescending at all.”

“Handy, I’m not…” He sighed, rubbing his face. “Look, I know nothing I could say would—”

“Oh no, I wouldn’t say that,” Handy said with a smile. “I am renowned for my kind and forgiving nature. Water under the bridge, buried hatchets. Really, just those two little words were all that’s needed to heal any hurt between us. It's alllll taken care of.”

“Will you let me finish?” Johan deadpanned.

“No.” Johan groaned. He turned and walked a few paces before stopping.

“You were right, you know,” he admitted. “I should’ve done something else.”

“A bit late for that now, isn’t it?” Handy replied tersely. Johan nodded.

“Probably.” He turned. “I know nothing I can say or do would have you forgive me.” Handy said nothing and let the griffon continue. “So, I thought if we could not reconcile, then perhaps there could at least be peace between us?” Johan lifted his cloak and pulled out a long, silver, heater shield from underneath. It shone gloriously in the light of the sun, and Handy let out a surprised yelp as he lifted the cloak to cover his eyes. The glare died down as Johan shifted himself to stand in the shadow of one of the half-built walls. Handy lowered the cloak to look down at it.

It was there in all its familiar glory. The same knot-work pattern entwined a stylised hammer in silverwork on top of steel, marred somewhat by an ugly rent of new metal worked in to repair where the shield had completely buckled. Handy was honestly too surprised for words.

“Where did you—?” he managed, not looking up from the shield.

“It was all that was left of you when you disappeared from the tournament,” Joachim explained.

“You kept it?”

“What? Would you just dump the last thing left of your friend the day he ‘died’?” Johan asked with a smirk. “Of course I kept it. I hadn’t had it repaired until after the… unpleasantness in the castle. Honestly, I was so angry that I had forgotten about it.”

“Oh, you were angry?” Handy scoffed, his voice suddenly terse. Johan waved him off.

“Not at you, mind. Anyway, it's yours. I figured you’d want it back.”

Handy, slowly at first, took the proffered shield back from Joachim. He considered it for a moment, something tugging at the back of his mind. It wasn’t quite conscience but something like it, the small part of him that wanted to be the bigger man. He looked out into the birch wood forest to the south as he worked on quieting that niggling part of him down, and then looked back up at his first friend in this world.

“You have two choices,” Handy said to Joachim with finality. “I will only accept peace on one or the other condition.”

“And those are?” Joachim asked, eyes widening slightly in surprise. Evidently he had not been expecting to get more than one possible conclusion.

“You will bring me back in from the cold, publically. Rescind your expulsion of me in front of everyone. I don’t care what it costs you, I don’t care what lies you have to say. I don’t even care if the High King is still there to see you do it.”

Joachim opened his mouth to reply, but held his peace as he studied Handy’s face. He was quite serious. “And the other choice?” he asked quietly after a moment. Handy breathed once through his nose.

“I break your jaw, I take everything I have, and I leave the kingdom and you will do absolutely nothing about it,” he said at last. Joachim looked shocked at the suggestion. “Then there will be peace between us.”

“...Can we not be friends again?” he asked after a moment of silence. Handy didn’t reply immediately.

“I don’t know,” Handy admitted. “You betrayed me, Joachim. My only real friend in the world, and you threw me out in the cold after everything I did for you. I was content to sit and fume, out here in my little barony until something came of it, until I decided one way or the other. You, however, have brought things to a head.”

“But… you’d leave us like that?” Joachim asked, clearly hurt over the matter. Good.

“Yes.”

“Can’t you just forgive me? Just this once?”

Handy paused before answering. “Maybe one day, but right now, what I want is recompense.” Joachim looked down at the ground. Handy already knew which choice he was likely to make. Knowing Joachim as he did, that didn’t matter.

What mattered was that it hurt him, one way or the other.

“Fine,” Joachim said, likely doing the mental calculations in his head about the fallout of both options. “I’ll… I’ll take the pain of it. I’ll bring you back in from the cold.”

Handy, for his part, felt relieved. He’d do it if he had to, but leaving Gethrenia and going vagabond, and being a freeblade without a sovereign over his head meant he was… an opportunity for too many powers out there. He learned that lesson in Blackport.

“I suppose you’ll be wanting your status as Sword back too?” Handy shook his head.

“No. Frankly, that was too much authority,” Handy said, throwing Joachim a bone. “It saved my skin a time or two, yes, but it was precisely that status that made the… incidents in the pony kingdoms such a huge concern as they were.”

Joachim nodded and shifted his wings under his cloak. “There will be a delegation from Equestria tomorrow at the castle. The High King is still here as well.”

“It's been more than a week,” Handy pointed out.

“The High King has… discharged some rather important business into my care. His presence also helps sort out any lingering fears the rest of Griffonia has about that unpleasantness last month. He’ll be heading south to Firthengart next. Katherine’s presence here speeds that along too.”

“Fascinating,” Handy said, not missing being the centre of that diplomatic potluck affair. “So you’ll do it today?”

“In front of everyone, even the Equestrians. Will that suffice?” Johan asked, looking up at him. Handy nodded. “Then it is done.”

And with that, Joachim left the manor. Handy watched his friend leave, noting the quickness of his final words and his departure. He looked down at his newly returned shield and wondered if he should have been lighter in his demands.

Then the wind blew and the thoughts left with it, and he made his way back to his tent.

--=--

The last flurries of snow cleared the window as they broke through the vast pinewood forests that almost covered the entire valley that the two kingdoms shared, allowing Twilight her first good look at Gethrenia.

However, it was hard to get a good impression under the endless blankets of white snow pockmarked with small hamlets and towns. With endless tall mountains to the north and the vista to the south seeming to stretch onto an eternity of soft rolling hills and tufts of pinewoods until the view faded into the winter chill, it was hard not to feel a sense of vertigo from traveling so vast while so high on a comparatively steep mountain side.

An orange hoof shook her from her reverie, and the sound of the noisy train carriage came roaring back into focus.

“Huh, what?”

“Easy there, Twi. Bit for your thoughts, sugarcube?” Applejack smiled at her. She had moved up the train carriage to take a seat beside her while everything else was in various states of well-contained chaos.

“Oh nothing, just admiring the view, aheh.” Twilight smiled unconvincingly. Applejack frowned and gave a quick look over her withers at the rest of the carriage.

“You know you can talk about this, right? You’re still worried, aren’t you? About him?” she asked.

“What? No! No no, of course not, aheh-heh,” Twilight said while worrying away at her tail with a hoof. AJ cocked a brow at her, and she sighed. “Okay, maybe I am, but only because I need… I need to ask him something. Otherwise, I would have just avoided the issue altogether.”

“Twi, you don’t have to—”

“No, it's not about that.” She looked pointedly back down the train. Spike was in the next carriage checking over the other passengers. “It’s about Spike.”

“Spike?” Applejack asked, confused. “Oh! Is this about him being… sick?”

“I don’t know. It's complicated,” Twilight said, hugging her tail and looking visibly worried. Truthfully, they had all been a bit worried about Spike for the past few years. Applejack gave her friend a hug to reassure her.

“Look, no matter what happens, we’ll be there beside ya.”

“Quite right, darling,” Rarity said, walking over to them to get away from the ruckus going on further back in the carriage. Pinkie Pie had managed to get half the ponies on the train involved in a song and Rarity, in her typical fashion, had somehow wormed her way out of it unscathed. She fixed her mane with a hoof while adopting the seat across from the pair of them. “Whatever travails you undertake, we shan’t hesitate to follow behind you… so what are we talking about?”

“Twilight’s just fussing over the trip. I keep telling her she need not worry none,” AJ interrupted Twilight before she could talk. Twilight blinked but smiled her thanks at the change of subject.

“Oh, why ever for?” Rarity asked. “Darling, you mustn’t worry so much. I thought you were over all that? Everything will go exactly as planned, you’ll see.”

“Thanks, girls. You’d think I’d be used to all this by now but… I guess I’m not,” Twilight confided. “I mean, it’s a big responsibility.”

“How hard can it be? Didn’t Rainbow Dash and Pinkie visit Griffonstone a few years ago?” Rarity asked absentmindedly, pulling out a file and taking care to hone her hoof.

“I think that’s a different place entirely, Rares,” AJ said, screwing her face up in thought, then looking to Twilight. “Ain’t it?”

“Yes,” Twilight chuckled, “Griffonstone is out back west, south of the Crystal Empire.”

“Oh, well then. I’m sure it won’t be much different… right?” Twilight rolled her eyes and shook her head with a smile.

“You’ll be fine, Rarity. In fact, that’s kind of why I wanted you girls with me. This delegation is meant to further our ties with Griffonia, Gethrenia in particular. It’s to help strengthen cultural ties. That’s why we’re bringing so many experts, professionals, and VIPs for the trip.”

“They aren’t the same place?” Rarity asked. AJ chuckled.

“No, Rarity,” Twilight said. “It's complicated, but basically Griffonia is a bunch of kingdoms under one High King.”

“How odd,” she said with interest. “Oh well, I’m sure it’ll certainly be an educational experience whatever the matter. It certainly is a sight to behold so far.”

The three spent a few moments admiring the passing scenery while ignoring the constant racket Pinkie Pie was still raising. Rarity gave Applejack a glance before clearing her throat.

“So, Applejack, darling. I know I’ve been away from Ponyville for longer stretches of time, but from what a little bird tells me, you’ve been harder and harder to get a hold of recently.”

“Uh, what?” AJ said, looking aside briefly. “What d’ya mean?”

“Come to think of it,” Twilight said, tapping her chin, “I couldn’t find you all week. It wasn’t until the day after I asked Big Macintosh to come along that I caught sight of you. Even Pinkie didn’t know where you were.”

“My, that IS strange,” Rarity teased, smiling gently. It was a nice smile, the kind a cat might wear, playing with its food. AJ’s eyes widened minutely.

“I’ve ah… just been busy.”

“On the farm?” Rarity pressed.

“Yes.”

“With the cider I suppose?”

“Uh… y-yeah,” AJ responded. Twilight blinked, not catching what was going on.

“For what, eight months now?” Rarity asked again. AJ was silent. “In the dead of winter?” Still no answer. “And your family doesn’t seem to know where you run off to, usually assuming you're off saving Equestria… without any of us.”

“...Seeds. Sorting seeds. For winter wrap up, gotta lot to do to prepare for spring, y’know? Aheh… heh...” Rarity’s eyes narrowed knowingly.

“So what’s his name?”

Applejack seemed to freeze at that.

“HI GIRLS!”

“Pinkie!” Applejack shouted with delight, seizing the surprised pink pony who half a moment before had popped up between her and Twilight. “Glad you’re here! Keep my seat warm for me, would you?”

Pinkie Pie blinked as Applejack sat her down on the seat and then promptly walked off back down the train “I gotta see how Big Mac is doing. He’s never been this far away from home an all. I-It’s a big adjustment, I’ll just ah… go talk to him. Yeah.”

“...Okie dokie! Bye, Applejack!” Pinkie Pie waved before sitting back down in the seat. “Soooo, how are you?”

“We’re fine, Pinkie. Isn’t that right, Twilight dear?” Rarity asked, pleased with her deduction. Twilight looked like she was still trying to process what had just happened.

“Huh? Oh. Yeah, we’re fine. How’s your family, Pinkie?”

“Oh, they’re great! Maud paid me a surprise visit!” Pinkie said cheerily.

“In Ponyville?” Twilight asked.

“Ya-huh!”

“I don’t remember her about town,” Twilight said. Rarity nodded.

“Yes, I don’t recall her about town either,” Rarity pitched in. Pinkie giggled.

“Oh, she arrived the night before we left, and she was really tired, so I decided to let her sleep in my bed while I spent all night cooking up a perfect Welcome-back-to-Ponyville-Party-Cake, but then I remembered I had to get ready to go with you tomorrow which at the time it was tomorrow but was actually a few days ago, boy this sure is a long train trip, isn’t it? But it never feels long when you don’t stop to think about it; it's almost as if we’re leaving Ponyville one minute, then we’re only on the train for a few seconds before we look out the window and we’re there! But anyway, that's why I had to go wake up Maud and explain to her that I couldn’t make her surprise Welcome-back-to-Ponyville-Party-Cake, and I had to make do with some good morning scones, and I REALLY hoped they would do, but she said it was fine since she didn’t have the time to stay long. She just wanted to see me one more time after coming back from Manehatten before she had to leave the country again. I asked her where she was going, and she said Griffonia, and I said what a coincidence! That’s where I was going too! She seemed surprised at that, I could tell, and I asked her if she wanted to go with us, and she said of course, so I’ve been spending most of the trip with her at the back of the carriage where she’s been talking to Fancy Pants, and oh, are we there yet!?”

Everypony blinked.

“She’s on the train?” Rarity asked. “Pinkie, you shouldn’t just invite anypony you feel like coming along with you. This is a very important trip.”

“Oh, then I shouldn’t have brought Angel Bunny along? I’m sorry if I did,” Fluttershy chirped, abashed at her faux pas. She had been silently listening in from across the aisle and had been so quiet that the others had forgotten she was there. “He’s been feeling just awful lately, and I can’t get him to sleep. I couldn’t find anypony who could foal sit for me, so I had to bring him along. Is that okay?”

Rarity suddenly felt very short on words, not wanting to admonish Fluttershy any further. It would be like kicking a puppy. She looked helplessly to Twilight.

“It’s fine, Fluttershy, Angel can come along too. Just… Just make sure he doesn’t get into any trouble.”

“Speaking of trouble…” Rarity said, spying Spike as he made his way into the carriage. The dragon was wearing a heavy scarf and a coat Rarity had made for him. He hadn’t been faring as well in winters as he used to. He’d been spending more and more time in the castle, and his scales seemed to be losing more lustre as months go by. “You… really think it’s a good idea to drag him out here with us?”

“I have to do something, Rarity,” Twilight said, turning to face him as he drew near. “Hi, Spike!”

“Hiya Twi, girls,” Spike said, rolling up the scroll he had been checking off. “Everything checks out. I went over the list twice. Everypony’s here… even Maud. I don’t remember her getting on,” Spike said, scratching his head. Pinkie chuckled.

“Oh silly me, I forgot to tell everypony she was coming along!”

“Ah, well, if it's alright with Twilight, then I guess it's fine,” Spike said, putting the scroll away in the pocket of his coat.

“Speaking of everypony, did you pass by Applejack by any chance?” Rarity enquired. Twilight rolled her eyes.

“Huh? Oh yeah, I passed her by, even said hello, but she seemed to be mumbling something to herself. Didn’t quite catch it.”

“A pity. Would have been disastrously good fun to get the whole story from her.”

“What story?”

“Nothing!” Rarity said, humming to herself. Spike shrugged.

“Oh, I have my just-in-case disaster-dispenser bag! Never leave home without it!” Pinkie beamed, pulling a pouch that seemed to be bursting at the seams with all manner of party paraphernalia. Twilight frowned suddenly and looked around.

“Speaking of disasters...” she said, getting up and leaning over the seat divider to scan the carriage. “Has anypony seen Rainbow Dash?”

“She was back in the other car with me most of the trip. Seemed to have been antsy about something. She flew out the window when we crossed the border,” Spike explained, pointing a thumb to the windows.

“She what?” Twilight asked.

“Oh, I do hope she’ll be okay. I mean, I heard the griffons can control their weather as well as we do, but their winters can get very bad, or so the birds tell me,” Fluttershy added. Everypony gave her a look before continuing.

“Did she say anything else?” Twilight asked.

“She said something about meeting up with you guys when you arrive,” Spike said.

“Arrive? Meet up? Good heavens, you don’t suppose she’s flying on ahead, do you?” Rarity asked.

“I hope not; she doesn’t even know Gethrenia! You can’t just follow the train tracks and hope you arrive at the right city!” Twilight exclaimed.

“I gave her a map,” Spike offered. Twilight facehoofed. “What?”

“Ugh, this is bad,” Twilight said. “I hope she doesn’t do anything reckless.”

“Darling, please,” Rarity said, holding a hoof to her chest. “Rainbow Dash has always been a… little hot-headed, I will admit, but there is nopony more reliable. She is here representing the Equestrian Wonderbolts as a captain. She wouldn’t do anything to jeopardise the mission.”

Twilight gave her a level look.

“So you’re saying she wouldn’t try to do something to show up the creep who thought it'd be funny to play with my emotions and scare me back in Canterlot?” Twilight asked simply. Rarity opened her mouth, thought for a minute, and closed it again.

“...Right. This is bad.”

Pinkie Pie blew a party horn.

--=--

Handy was having a good day.

“Twenty gold crowns and not a copper more.”

Or so he kept telling himself.

“Look, buddy, I run a business here, alrigh’? Not a charity. Forty.”

“That is robbery and you know it.”

He had been telling himself it so much that, for a time, he had begun to believe it.

“Don’t care, it's winter. Supply and demand—you got the gold, I got the grain. You don’t, I don’t. It may as well not be here.”

“Don’t be so tight-fisted; I’m already offering to pay you double per bag.”

In truth, ever since he had strong-armed Joachim into choosing between disgrace and humiliation to resolve their differences he had a bad taste in his mouth.

“You want free grain?” the large, charcoal-feathered griffon asked across the counter. The street bustled with life behind Handy as he stood there bargaining for the food he had promised to supply his serfs and tenants for the winter. “Go to the granary stores in the middle of town and get your daily rations like everygriffon else. Me? I run a private enterprise. I buy other griffons’ surplus, then I sell at a profit.”

“There’s supply and demand and then there is price gouging. Twenty five,” Handy offered. The griffon shook his head.

“Sorry, chief.” Handy almost decided to strong-arm this particular griffon. At least that way he wouldn’t have felt the slightest bit of guilt for vampirically bitch-slapping this asshole with his impulse vision. The second he thought to try it, the will sort of died within him. He was tired. He let out a sigh and handed over two bags full of gold.

“Here, eighty up front, and I’ll return with the rest.”

“Nope, that’s two bags. You get the money, I’ll give ya the rest.” Handy narrowed his eyes dangerously at him.

“I am Baron Handy Haywatch. Maybe you’ve heard of me? I’m good for the money.”

“I don’t care who or what you are. Alls I care is the money and the heres and now. In th’ end, that’s all that matters in the world.” Handy suddenly wondered if it was worth it to abide by his longstanding promise to Johan and not bite any of the griffons in the kingdom while he reigned. Luckily for this piece of shit, he felt he still owed the bird at least that much. He swiped the two bags from the counter and then whistled for his employees to lift out the two bags and place them on the cart Klipwing was hitched to. Poor sap had caught Handy on his way to sort out his barony and got drafted.

“Alright, come on, Klip, we got a ways to go,” Handy said.

“Uhm, but isn't that—”

“All the gold I had on me, yeah. I have more. Fortunately, I’m pretty sure the rest of these guys will take my word as good as my gold,” Handy explained as he led on, Klipwing following behind and pulling the cart along. Handy struggled for a bit, finding his footing in the dirty slush that had covered the road, the foot traffic already heavy this early in the morning. He made a turn to head onto a main thoroughfare and onto a more solid, cobblestone road heading towards one of the bridges over the Opaltear River, idly inspecting the loose cobblestone he had picked up an hour before. That was when he ran into the first solid reminder that today was not a good day.

“Ah well, if it isn’t my good fortune! Baron Handy in the flesh!” Handy slowed to a stop and felt his teeth grind reflexively. It was not so much the words as the tone. He turned and adopted a neutral smile.

“Marquis Desunt,” Handy said after a brief moment trying to pin a name to the face. He had no interaction with the griffon before but knew him from court. Judging by his tone of voice and the expression he bore, Handy hated him immediately. “A pleasure.”

“I am sure.” The griffon had golden-brown feathers with light yellow eyeshadow surrounding pale blue pupils and, frankly, a rather ostentatious winter outfit. Handy had his prime suspect for the newspaper smear job. “What brings you back to Skymount?”

Handy paused at that. “I never left. In fact, I live—”

“No no, I meant here, in town. You know, in public?” he asked, his voice and tone presenting all the signs of genuine earnest. The toadies behind him sniggered. Handy briefly wandered just how much pull this little shit thought he had to think he could get away with starting this with Handy of all nobles. Handy decided to put it to the test.

Smiling, he took two steps closer to the marquis. “Why, whatever do you mean, Marquis?” Handy asked, his voice ever so mild and conversational. Klipwing looked on warily. “I see nothing wrong with a brisk walk about town.”

“Oh, I was just concerned about your well-being, you know, after your uhm, circumstances came to light?” Desunt lowered his voice as if he were a friend trying to assuage him that everything was alright. He didn’t move, so Handy walked right on up to him, close enough that the toadies behind him backed up a step.

‘Ah, so not that well connected then,’ he thought. He gave the marquis a smile.

“Truly?” Handy asked, loud enough to be heard. “I have no idea what circumstances of which you speak. I’m merely out here procuring supplies.”

“Supplies?”

“Yes, for my workers, you see. I’m rather hands on... or well, that would be claws on in your case, wouldn’t it? I simply couldn’t leave them to the work on my property alone. Especially in winter.”

“I didn’t know you had a liking for peasant labour, my lord baron,” Desunt replied, genuine surprise in his voice, but the smiles of his toadies betrayed it. “I had figured you for a more discerning and reserved gentlegriff. Perhaps I was mistaken?”

“Oh, very much so,” Handy said in agreement, taking the thunder back. “I am of the opinion that a man ought to know every brick set for his house and every labour it took to build it. Surely you can appreciate ensuring your money's worth and that everything is going according to plan. I mean, I would assume so—your family is rather renowned for their shrewd accounting after all...”

The little slip caused Desunt’s eyes to widen at the implication. Handy’s smile never wavered. It always paid to pay attention at court; you never knew when the odd rumour could be useful one day. It took him a moment to recall what he knew about the name Desunt before he could use that particular little scandal involving disinheritance as a weapon. He had no idea if it was true or not, but that was irrelevant. In a game of insinuation, he who blinked, lost.

Unfortunately for both of them, the game was about to be interrupted.

“What is that, a rainbow?” Klipwing looked up, hearing other griffons talk. Sure enough, there did seem to be a rainbow arcing its way across the sky.

“Can’t be, in this weather?” a fishmonger asked. Klipwing squinted his eyes up at it, fixing the spectacles balanced on his beak. He took a quick glance back at where his employer was arguing with some random noble before turning back to the strange sight.

And then it stopped in midair. Klipwing blinked.

“What in damnation?” he asked himself.

“Is the weather company having a laugh?” another griffon asked, a tutting housewife grumbling as she passed him. The rainbow started up again, streaking through the sky.

Heading towards the city.

Heading directly towards where they were standing.

“Um, M-Milord!?” Klipwing managed.

“Not now, Klipwing, I am busy,” Handy said, waving a hand back at him. He suddenly grabbed Desunt by the collar of his ridiculous robes and hefted him into the middle of the street and, as it turned out, out of the line of fire.

“My lord, I think you should—” He didn’t get to finish.

Handy’s world disappeared from under him. He was only really conscious of the fact that he had collided with the cobblestone road extremely hard and fast. Also, he had come to a stop roughly five feet from where he had been standing amidst the shattered remains of some poor bastard’s market stand. He was busy blinking up at the snow-covered tarp that now covered his face, wondering why all of his everything hurt.

“What…” he managed through laboured breathing. “What even…?”

“Well, well, not so tough after all,” a haughty, scratchy voice taunted him. He struggled to tug one arm up from the broken wood of the stall, and pulled the tarp from his face. There, hovering in the street, proud as you like, was a pony. A pegasus.

A fucking ridiculous pegasus. Literally the most garish and insulting pegasus he had ever seen in all of his days in this damnable world.

Its hair was rainbow-coloured. Why the fuck was its hair rainbow-coloured? Was the world not already colourful enough? Oh no, you just had to go and dye your fucking hair like the attention whore you undoubtedly were!

“Well, gonna get up, creep?”

Handy slowly rose from where he had fallen, his left hand still gripping the loose cobblestone he had picked up earlier. Something stung his side badly, but he ignored it. Oh no, there was something much more aggravating hovering right in front of him. The pony simply hung in the air, held aloft by her wings. She wore a long trailing coat of brown felt which had some kind of markings in the upper breast near the neck that Handy couldn’t make it out.

“I am afraid... you… have me at a disadvantage,” Handy said, as calm as he was able. He reached under his cloak, spun the loop of his hammer around, and let it slide out into his grip. “I usually know who it is that feels like they have a right to drop in on me unannounced. I was in the middle of a conversation.”

Handy gestured to the still shocked Desunt who was slowly processing the fact that he had been standing right in the line of fire not a second before. The pony gave him a quick glance to the side, and Handy took the presented opportunity. He swung his left arm from under his cloak and pointed the now glowing stone at the shingles of the nearest roof to the pony, releasing the magic.

It was a sloppy shot, more of a shotgun effect than the precise blast he was hoping, but the invisible wave of energy had the desired result nonetheless. The shingles on the roof burst and shot out in various directions, causing the griffons on the street who hadn’t already cleared out after the pony’s dynamic entry to cry in alarm. The pony, gratifyingly, let out a yelp of pain as her wing was hit in at least three places and she slammed into the ground, hard.

“Now, if you would be so kind, ma’am,” Handy said, drawing out his war hammer and walking towards the pony who was just getting back to her hooves. “Care to tell me your name?”

The pony snorted and gave him a cocky grin, standing up to her full, four-legged height. To her credit, she shook her injured wing and folded it neatly to her side.

“I’m Rainbow Dash and you—!” She pointed directly at Handy, “—have a lot to answer for, pal!”

“Oh really!?” Handy snarled, letting the anger into his voice, slowly whittling away every inhibition and logical reason to have him calm down. Nope, fuck that, someone fucking skydived into his life to specifically ruin his day, so he felt perfectly obligated to ruin their shit. “And how do you figure that, Miss Dash?”

She didn’t back up. In fact, she actually took several steps forward as Handy reached back under his cloak to try to undo the straps of the shield on his back. It was probably what had saved him from being too hurt in the initial exchange.

“Because you hurt my friend, and I will not rest until you make things up to her! Does the name Twilight Sparkle ring any bells!?” she accused. Handy paused; he could faintly recall the name from somewhere in the back of his memories, and it was just loud enough of a bell to cut through his slowly building fog of anger. He hurt her? Handy certainly couldn’t recall that. If it was someone he wanted hurt, he could recall their name rather easily. Handy did not let go of grudges easily after all. She was probably some collateral damage from whatever bullshit he had been up to the past few months. It wasn’t important enough to get in the way of this little matter.

“I’m afraid not,” Handy said, slowing in his pace, thinking. A thought occurred to him as he spied the marquis still off to the side, and he let a smile grace his face. “Frankly my dear, I don’t think we’re going have time to discuss the matter.”

“Oh no, we’re settling this right now. You ain’t so tough. Yeah, I know all about you, Handy!” the pegasus yelled, spreading her wings and, to his surprise, actually taking to the air again. He frowned. “I know all of your tricks. I talk to a lot of guards in my line of work. You’re going to apologise to Twilight, to her face, for what you did, or else I’m going to beat it out of you.”

“...Acquainted with Equestria’s royal guard, are you?” Handy asked, his tone neutral. “Such a shame then. Terrible shame.”

“What’s a shame?” Rainbow Dash asked, almost up to his face. Handy had to resist the urge to just slap her stupid, smug, blue face from the air. It was not easy.

“Because, Rainbow Dash—”

“CAPTAIN Dash to you, scuzzball.”

“...Captain,” Handy corrected and let his frown shrink just a tad. “It’s a shame because this is not Equestria.”

“Yeah, obviously. And!?” she demanded.

“You see, this is Gethrenia, and the guards here? They’re on my side.” She briefly looked confused. Before she could question him further, Handy shouted, “GUARDS! SEIZE HER!”

“Huh!?” Rainbow Dash had just got the word out before a quartet of armoured Gethrenian royal guards dropped to land beside her, grabbing her by the forelimbs. “W-Wait!”

“Oh, I don’t think they will, Captain Dash.” Handy slowly shook his head as a few more guards arrived. It turned out that when you left a terribly obvious rainbow streak in the air behind you, diving into the middle of a city and causing a racket, you tended to draw the unfavourable attention of local law enforcement. “You see, I don’t think you fully realize what you’ve done.”

“W-What did I do!?” Her voice wavered but still held that cock-sure tone that pissed him right off.

“Defamation for one thing. I have never done anything to this Twilight Sparkle of yours. I refuse to apologise for a perceived slight,” Handy said simply.

“Why you—!”

“Second, reckless endangerment. I’m sorry, Captain Dash, but do you realise how many innocent, law-abiding griffons you just put at risk with your showy display? I can’t abide by recklessness. Hmm, and I’m pretty sure the law will be quite strict on the matter.”

“But—!”

“Thirdly, criminal negligence. You would have struck the good marquis on the head had I not moved him out of the way.” Handy gestured to Desunt.

“That’s… That’s right, you did,” the griffon acknowledged, now giving the pegasus an evil look.

“But I never— I mean I wasn’t— I was aiming for you!” Rainbow Dash clarified, struggling in the guards’ grasp, who were polite enough to keep her held there while Handy publically gave the cocky pony a dressing down while the gathering crowd looked on, murmuring their displeasure at the pony.

“Fourthly, assault and battery with intention to commit grievous bodily harm,” Handy rattled off.

“Hey, you shot those things at my wing!” she protested.

“Self-defence,” he said casually. “After all, I had just been kicked across the street. Oh, which reminds me.” He turned around and gave the destroyed stall a thoughtful look. “Property damage.”

“I wuh—!” she sputtered, turning angrily at the roof Handy shot up. “You did that too!”

“And I’m willing to pay full damages. Are you prepared to compensate this fine gentleman for the loss to his livelihood?” Handy asked, looking at the rotund griffon who had run the fish stall.

“Uh, I uh, sure! I just… don’t have the bits on me.” Some of Rainbow Dash’s earlier fire was failing now that the slowly dawning reality of her situation became apparent.

“And to make it much worse, this would have been bad enough had you done this to just an ordinary subject of the Kingdom of Gethrenia,” Handy shook his head mournfully, “but I invoke that you have conspired to assail and assault a royal knight of King Johan the Blackwing. Also, you endangered the life of a marquis on top of that.”

“You can’t do this! The princesses will make sure you’ll be in big trouble for this!” she shouted.

“Princesses?” he asked, gasping dramatically. “Why, Captain Dash, are you saying you are representing the princesses of the fine nation of Equestria in an official capacity? Here? Doing such things?”

“Yes! Wait, wha— I mean No! I mean—”

“So you are not here in an official capacity, but you possess the rank of captain? Are you perhaps… a spy? An assassin perchance?” Handy accused, and the crowd helpfully gasped. Rainbow looked distraught.

“No! I am not representing the princesses! This is all on me; Equestria had nothing to do with this!”

“Well, that is certainly good to know, considering the worst crime out of all you have committed thus far,” Handy continued, placing his hammer back in its hoop and crossing his arms.

“Wh-What I do?” she asked cautiously as she struggled in the grip of the guards. Handy closed his eyes and shook his head.

“Resisting arrest. Take her away, boys.”

“Wait! You don’t understand! Stop! This is all a misunderstanding! Look, I didn’t mean to break any laws! I have nothing against you guys! My best friend is a griffooooon!” Rainbow Dash’s voice faded off as the guards marched her past the crowd and took to the air with their charge between them. Handy strolled over to the marquis.

“I trust we can put that unpleasantness behind us like grown adults?” Handy leaned over as he asked. Dusent frowned at him but said nothing, simply turning and left. Handy let him go—the damage was done. He returned to Klipwing’s side.

“Uhm, my lord, is everything—?”

“Everything’s fine, Klipwing,” Handy said, waving off his concern.

“Sir, you’re bleeding,” he said, pointing to a dark splotch on his tunic. Handy looked down and pulled away the torn part of his tunic. A sizeable chunk of wood splinter had pierced his skin.

“It’s nothing. I’ll get it seen to in a bit. Come on, we have a bit more work to do.”

“Are you sure it's wise to do that? What if what she said is true and she knew the princesses?”

“I don’t care. Whoever she is, I’m sure a night or two in a cold dungeon will cool her temper somewhat while the bureaucrats try to verify her credentials, if she even has any.”

“And if she does?” Klipwing asked.

“Then it’ll all be over tomorrow. There’s a delegation from Equestria arriving to see the king. If not, then no skin off my back. Either way, I’m sleeping well tonight.” The truth was, he was feeling a bit better after the debacle.

The same could not be said for the pony in chains.

Comments

[HoneyBadgerr]

Heh, Rainbow.
derpicdn.net/img/2014/12/27/793542/thumb.jpg

edit : what chapter was is that Twilight and Handy had their incident? I'm having a hard time remembering what happened.

[Handyman]

7116871 Way back at chapter 13.

[White Glint]

That was great. So Handy now has basic use of magic, and Rainbow Dash is in jail. That ending really cracked me up.

[Doggi]

How typical. Dash is a bigot.

[Syroc]

Oh Rainbow. When you fail, you do so on truly awesome proportions.

[Shocks]

The amount of win in this chapter.

...Holy fuck.

Take my money Handyman.

[JBL]

7116989 It has been more than a year in the making.

[Sonic Luna]

7116963 Loved how it had a slow build up. where she slowly comes to realize just how badly she shot herself and her friends in the foot.

[MonolithiuM]

Handy gestured to the still shocked Decunt who was slowly processing the fact that he had been standing right in the line of fire not a second before.

>Decunt

[Handyman]

7117012 le sigh....

Fixed.

[HatePlow]

This chapter was amazing and you should feel amazing.

[Syroc]

7117011 Personally, I loved the part where Handy just dropped the "we're not in Equestria" line, and the immediate followup. I had to physically restrain myself from laughing.

[Shocks]

7117002 Seriously tho, c'est magnifique.

And this?

“You see, this is Gethrenia, and the guards here? They’re on my side.” She briefly looked confused. Before she could question him further, Handy shouted, “GUARDS! SEIZE HER!”

I never thought Handy would ever say something like that and it was amazing when he did.

But alas, I am Shocks, and I wouldn't be me if I didn't say something witty about this latest chapter.

So, Handy sleeps in a coffin now, when will he start replacing his w's with v's and saying ya in place of your?

[DeltaOsprey]

Let the mocking of Rainbow Dash begin.
s3.amazonaws.com/rapgenius/1378095315_laughter.gif

[Rutter]

I just finished reading this, and it is by far my favorite story on FiMFiction. You know what's even better?- IT'S NOT DEAD! Every. Single. amazing fic is either cancelled or on hiatus, but this one is still going; and it's the best fic on this entire website.

[JBL]

7117012 Huh, I thought I had changed that back.

[Asheram]

... Hehehehehe.
Oooh, I love this. Dashie is alright in small amounts, but it's so satisfying to see her cooling her temper while in chains.

[Asheram]

Physical assault by an Element of Harmony.
Sorry, and also being a personal friend of Princess Twilight, an Equestrian guard captain and a councilpony on the Council of Friendship.
This is a lovely little act of war, isn't it?
Congrats, Dashie. You have officially fucked up worse than Blueblood.
Edit: Council of Friendship

[HoneyBadgerr]

7116917 dang, that seems like forever ago.. So much has gone on since then.

[Majk]

Ahhh Handy, masterful trolling. Looks like Rainbow horse is out for a bit.

[Adjier]

Lol. Handy sure can handle his business.

Stupid rainbow horse, not knowing anything about political ramifications. Twilight's gonna be pissed. Her work on repairing ties just got a hell of a lot harder.

I'm super excited to see the backlash from this, for once; this isn't Handy's fault. I hope he tears them apart.

[Seeking Dusk]

It's times like these that emphasize the fact that while Handy might not have appreciated the extra duties that came with his title, he didn't slack off on them and was actually pretty good at doing the political and legal dance. In contrast you have Dash, who's planning extends to 'attack X person, demand apology, keep attacking until apology is gained.'

[fluffyunicorns]

Will rainbow horse resist the arrest more and will the guard need to use necessary force, will some oranges fall to the ground and misteriously bounce to her face or will she fall from stairs? Patiently waiting in next episode.

[Sonic Luna]

7117136 I bet that the king will use this to get handy back in the court in some way that it Benefits him

[Raistlin]

7117136

Forget Twilight. I cannot wait to see Tia´s reaction to Dash´s epic level screw.

derpicdn.net/img/view/2014/8/28/709704__safe_solo_princess+celestia_animated_looking+at+you_grin_angry_gritted+teeth_glare_insane.gif

[The Tyrannical]

Handy several chapters ago: "I'm becoming a vampire and I really despise that fact"
Handy in this chapter: " C O F F I N B O Y S "

And, like...
Handy is just standing there for long periods of time without much happening and Crimson is watching him the whole time that he's concentrating? Does she ever get bored?

(Really liked the chapter btw. I love seeing Handy kick some ass.)

[DRaily]

Fire extinguishing spells Handy, fire extinguishing spells.

But still, Handy is way better person than I am as he keeps resisting the temptation to reach his full potential and become what he one day could.

Right now as permanent powers he has ability to sense life, ability to change other creatures perception of him, influence minds and I think being and moving without making a sound?
Did I miss anything?
Yet he could still be so much more...

[Asheram]

7117219 Oh, he'll Beg Handy to come back into court.
Unprovoked assault by a guard captain who is also wielding part of Equestrias version of a superweapon? Oh, the reparations makes me almost salivate. I wager that if Dashie wasn't an Element of Harmony then Celestia would even entertain the thought of selling her off to Handy as a serf, all in order to get out of this.

[MonolithiuM]

7117014 Alas, poor Decunt. Thou shalt be missed in thine most hilariously named personage.

You've got to admit though, it was quite fitting.

[Asheram]

7117228 Fast healing, temporary power-ups by drinking certain types of blood.

[Sonic Luna]

7117237 that's a hilarious image. Rainbow as handy serf. Handy probably won't accept unless forced.

[fluffyunicorns]

7117228 I think he should drink alicorn blood. It would be good to trade the charges against RD for some of Twillight's blood.

[Asheram]

7117285 Not a pound of flesh, but a pint of blood.

[Ales]

A good lesson for Dash, I hope she learn it XD

[JBL]

7117225 You underestimate Crimson's devotion to her master.

[Ver0Nightmare]

I am all about this chapter!
Why am I getting such a huge amount of enjoyment from RD royally fucking up? Bravo!

[BronyofMeddlers]

*Laughing ass off* Oh Rainbow Dash-- you messed up big time! And I can't wait for both Twilight and Celestia reactions to this!

[Danger Noodle]

7116917

Way back at chapter 13.

Was it really that long ago? Good god!

I don't regret a single word I've read.

[Slayerseba]

Fuck I wanted to see another debate between Handy and Twilight. Alas it is not to be tonight.

[Roran Dreamon]

Handyman...I love you...-r work! Yes! I love your work! Totally did not just say that I love you! Yes!...Er love your work!

[Shocks]

Oh yes, Handy has a lot to answer for when it comes to Twilight.

For you see, he stole something from her.

Something irreplaceable, and unbelievably precious.

For he stole...her heart.

[The Orthodox Priesthood]

My best friend is a griffooooon!

Rainbow Dash was a good horse, she dindu nuffin wrong.

But 'fo realsies, great chapter. Loving the paladin/warlock thing as well as the fact that magic use is actually explored in more detail than "ain't gotta 'splain shit."

[Booster Spice]

I really think Handy should get a mechanism on his coffin to raise it to the verticle. Troule is I currently can only think of two scenes which come to mind, Klytus in Flash Gordon in flight to the city of the Hawkmen, or Megabyte at Enzos birthday show.

If Handy can feel the magic when throwing rocks, will he need serious shades when Maud starts tossing pebbles, as long as Pinkie aint tossing cookies?

Dash done serious goofed. Handy could screw her over Discord ways to puddingand then the rest of the crew turn up.

Such Chaos, Such Humble, So Delicious.

[The Tyrannical]

7117351
She's certainly devoted to chucking rocks at him with a smile on her face.

[The Tyrannical]

7117533
Can't wait to write my new Handy x Twilight Sparkle shipfic titled Twilight Needs a Hand

Sandyman pls endorse

[Shocks]

7117593 Oooh, I like the title.

I call my StellarxHandy fic, The Luck of the Irish.

7117558

Dash done serious goofed. Handy could screw her over Discord ways to puddingand then the rest of the crew turn up.

Such Chaos, Such Humble, So Delicious.

Wat.

[Handyman]

7117593 No

7117605 That was the name of your Luna fic. Get it right, Shocks.

[Shocks]

7117609 Meh, Stellar is better ship. Switched titles.

I call Luna's Picking her Shamrock.

[Handyman]

7117620 Eh.

[Shocks]

7117638 Like I said, switched titles.

Besides, The luck of the Irish fit more ironically for Stellar's fic considering its mostly just raw, primal fucking rather than Luna's which tends to follow a bit more a story kind of feel.