A white haze swelled around snow-glazed frost. Drifting snowflakes and brown tree trunks obscured all sight beyond a few dozen yards. Leaves of the trees swayed, depositing droplets of frozen white with each brush.

Freezing air clung to Gareth’s lungs, extracting a shudder from his chest. Stealth was key, keeping a careful grip on the bottom of the longbow slung over his shoulder. His eyes dipped to the ground, watching the placement of his padded boots.

The boots were part of his new winter attire commissioned by Cecilia. Now he looked every part of a royal on the hunt: wrapped head to toe in artistically crafted, Equestrian-woven fabrics, the silver and blue warded off the winds of winter and heated his core.

Gareth felt like he was swathed in bed linens. He smiled, running a gloved hand over his abdomen. If this is what ‘getting soft’ felt like, well, he could live with that.

A clump of snow thudded a few yards away. Tiny feet scuffled.

Gareth stopped. His ear twitched, waiting for more noise.

Nothing came.

Good. Lowering his stance, Gareth tightened the bow further against his back. Everything loose needed to be tightened. His hand dropped to the metal instruments on his belt, his dagger.

More small puffs and crunches came from a nearby tree.

Gareth’s teeth clenched; he would lose it at this rate, and chasing a small animal through the snow was not something he cared to deal with right now. Giving his belt one more tug, Gareth approached.

Stepping around a tree, a baby rabbit sat at the bottom of a snow bank. A long bramble wrapped over its hind leg, pulling it down no matter how the bunny struggled.

A sigh forced its way out of Gareth’s lungs.

The baby rabbit’s ear twitched, turning to Gareth’s direction. Its head wobbled up, pink nose flicking, fixing him with a sleepy stare.

Gareth crouched, running a pair of forefingers over its back and stopping at its hind leg. His hands joined and snapped off the bramble with an inaudible crick.

Trembling once, the baby rabbit pulled its injured hind leg back in. It drove a tiny divot in the snow, waddling towards him.

He scooped the warm lump out of the snow, dusting white flakes off its fur. Cupping it to his chest in both hands, he turned towards the rabbit warren it had just crawled out of.

Within minutes, the baby lay among its family. A blanket of fuzzy animals, curled up around their mother, father, and siblings at the base of a strong tree. It was warm. They all were.

That warmth didn’t leave Gareth’s heart. He brushed snow over the exit tunnel. Time to head back. Taking care to be quiet, he retraced his steps through the courtyard forest all the way back to the clearing where ‘his’ gazebo lay.

The gazebo’s oak-like wood remained as frozen as he had left it. A book of notes lay on the table, flickering over at the wind’s brush. Just beyond lay a frozen archery bale, several fresh arrows sagging out of the bale's bullseye.

Gareth sighed in relief. With that brief instance of excitement over, it was back to his notes. He unstrung his bow and lay it by a railing. Pulling up a bench and picking up a feathered quill, he loomed back over his notes. Now where was he…? Ah right, ‘Degloving’.

Rodent tails:
-Ponies have tendency to pick up rats by tail with mouth. Bad. Can cause serious injury to rat, and pony can contract illness. Encourage owners to handle by coaxing rodent onto upturned forehoof.

Gareth swirled the quill into an ink pot, adding a passage:

‘-If tail is injured, follow standard first aid. Shave around furred area. Clean with small ale. Apply honey to injury and wrap with bandages. Replace twice daily. Check rodent for signs of distress.’

Hoofsteps crunched from behind.

Gareth paused, running a thumb up and down the quill's spine. Those hooves were too small to be Cecilia's, and he thought he'd made it clear to the Guard that this part of the courtyard was off limits during winter. He tapped the tip of the quill on the side of the ink pot. Hmmm. No, let them be, they were probably just taking a shortcut. Gareth re-dipped the tip, ready to continue.

The hoofsteps ended at the base of the gazebo. A masculine throat cleared itself.

Annoyance twisted Gareth’s jaw. Breathing an angry sigh, he placed the still-dripping quill down and turned.

Swathed in heavy blankets, an emaciated, golden unicorn stared back. Strands from his dishevelled, sickly silver mane stuck to his neck, body, and face, while his bulging, sunken eyes traced up and down Gareth’s body. Noble Era looked the part for a unicorn that had just woken up after a year-long nap. His lips twitched, forming a few silent words before speaking in shaky English, “H-hello Gar-eth.”

Emotions with the names of ‘annoyance’, ‘disgust’, ‘pity’ and ‘sympathy’ swirled in Gareth’s chest. He pointed to the bench opposite the table, speaking in accented Equestrian, “Sit down.”

“T-thank you,” Noble Era breathed. Hobbling hoofsteps clopped up the gazebo’s stairs, collapsing into a bench. Magic jingled around Noble Era’s horn. White light tugged his blanket tighter. “Ho-how long has it been?”

“A year,” Gareth whispered. He reached to the silk scarf around his neck, pulled it down, and wrapped it around Noble Era’s. “Keep warm, keep hydrated, and keep quiet. Your muscles have wasted away, but that’s no excuse to wake the animals.”

Noble era blinked, brushing a forehoof over Gareth’s scarf. He stared, unabashed. “Y-you speak Equestrian?”

“I do,” Gareth said, sliding over his waterskin. “Now drink this. I’m surprised that Witch let you out of bed.”

Era cringed. “N-not exactly…”

Oh God, Gareth thought, eyes darting to the window of Doctor Legata’s office. He half expected her to explode out of it any moment now, breathing fire, casting the evil eye, continuing her undying mission to get her charge back to bed. Huh. Come to think of it, Legata always did seem to be a little more protective of Noble Era than most...

Era’s eyes drifted to the waterskin. Summoning more magic, he lifted it and took a few weak swallows. One, two, thr-- th-three. The light faded, strobing out, dropping the waterskin with a wet slap onto the table. Era shot Gareth an anguished look. “S-sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Gareth replied, snapping out of his thoughts and righting the now-soggy waterskin.

“What happened to Larms?”

“Tartarus,” Gareth answered, “As with most of the ringleaders. They'll be there for a decade… if they're good. And before you ask, yes, Cecilia is on the throne again."

“Good,” Era sighed in relief.

“...and I’m still the prince-consort.”

“…Oh.”

Gareth grinned.

Era cringed. “F-forgive me, I-I didn’t mean it like that.”

The grin on Gareth’s face dug wider. He reached over, giving Noble Era a magnanimous pat on the forehead head. “You are forgiven, my dear subject. It is good that you remember your place.”

The apology on Noble Era’s face evaporated. “Don’t push it, ‘prince-consort’. I’m still the representative of the Unicorns.”

“O-ho?”

Era’s golden ears flopped down. “I’m not, am I?”

“Correct,” Gareth replied. “That honour goes to Gleaming Horizon, while Styre is now representative of the Earth Ponies, oh, and Monochrome Sprint took over for the Pegasai."

“That’s… not my first choice. For any of them.”

Gareth shrugged. “A year ago I'd agree, but they've changed a lot," he said, standing. "We’ve all changed. Now come on Era, you need to go back to bed."

The blanket-swathed unicorn looked up. He didn’t move.

“Era?”

“Gar-eth… do you know the significance of my cutie mark?”

“No,” Gareth said, nor did he really care.

Era leaned in. “These pages on my flank are empty, ready to be filled. At first, I thought my special talent was to write about Princess Celestia. Then, when she left, I thought they were meant for me, but now?" Era took a breath, looking Gareth in the eye. "Gar-eth… would you allow me to write your life story?"

The words slapped Gareth to attention. He froze, eyes wandering about the peaceful snowy courtyard. Peaceful: that’s how he would describe his life right now. Even at Rockingham Castle, even with Cecilia by his side, he’d felt contention, grief, and violence. Here, he felt none of that. Perhaps Equestria was different. Or perhaps his new status shielded him from it. Or perhaps he’d simply found an inner peace he’d long sought. Perhaps.

“Gareth?”

No, Gareth didn’t want to remember, nor did he want others to know. His life in England was nasty, brutish and short. The chances of that life coming to infect Equestria… no, no, he refused to expose them to the risk. “No.”

“I see,” Era pursed his lips, averting his eyes. “I imagine that Gleaming Horizon would be the better choice of Autobiography—“

“No, Era, you misunderstand. Nopony should. Nopony will, ever.”

Noble Era’s gaze snapped back, confused.

“Cecilia chose to hide the mirror and my origin. I don’t want to give ponies a reason to go looking for England,” Gareth said.

“And what if your people come through?”

“They can’t,” Gareth replied. “Cecilia and Gleaming Horizon deactivated the mirror, and then hid it below Canterlot. For all my people know, I'm dead. No one will come looking. The only thing left to do is make sure nopony HERE goes looking for it."

“What if I just don’t write about the mirror?”

A sharp retort died on Gareth’s lips. He rubbed his hands together, trying to come up with an adequate answer. “There's… there are many worthier people to write about. In the end, you were right, I'm little more than Cecilia's attack dog. Only now I've learnt to roll over and play fetch."

Era narrowed his eyes. A gust of wind flickered through Gareth’s notes. Era stood, legs shaking underneath, scanning the pages below. “One of your ‘tricks’?”

Gareth ha’rumped, crossing his arms. “Cecilia decreed that animals may return to Canterlot castle. The ones in the courtyard are under my protection; I need to keep them well.”

“And these notes?” Era pointed out a diagram of a rabbit.

“What, this?” Gareth picked up the collection, dropping a stone atop them as a paperweight. “They’re notes on animal treatments. Gleaming Horizon encouraged me to write in Equestrian, helps keep me sharp."

Era’s weak brows rose into his mane. He looked closer, marveling. “Your calligraphy is beautiful… and with so many pages! May I borrow your notes for the night?"

Gareth frowned. So that’s his angle. “You may, but if you're hoping to glean information about me from it, then you're wasting your time."
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Era replied, smiling.

Uh-huh.

Tiny claws skittered over wood, up the railings and onto the tabletop. A sleek bundle of brown fur looked up to Gareth. The chunks missing from his right ear identified him as being Rat. He stood up on his hind legs, waving claws around. “Grey Spear, Grey Spear! Princess Celestia is waiting for chrick squeaker squeaken--” Rat’s language turned to indiscernible squeaks to Gareth’s ears.

Gareth’s frowned, lifting a hand. “Slow down Rat, I’m still learning animal. Take a deep breath and tell me what’s wrong.”

Unheeding, Rat just got lowered, jabbing two claws towards the courtyard exit. “Celestia, Celestia! Hearth’s Warming EVE!"

Wha? Gareth scratched his beard, thinking. Was he meant to be somewhere…?

“Remember, Gareth, come before nightfall,” Celestia’s muzzle pressed into Gareth’s neck. “I have a surprise for you.”

Gareth’s lower lip curled into his mouth. Oh God, it had been sundown for at least a good hour by now. Celestia was going to kill him.
Era looked up from the notes. “What’s wrong?”

Gareth unwound his jaw. With a gloved hand, he scooped up Rat and dropped him onto his shoulder. “I’m late for something,” he replied.
A flick of paper. Noble Era brushed through Gareth’s notes, nodding. “Well, please, don’t let me keep you. Your stilted grammar will take some time to pick through.”

Panic shifted into annoyance, Gareth fixed Era with a frown. Era was going to freeze himself to death out here, but he just didn’t have time to drag him back to Legata’s quarters. There was only one recourse to take. He walked over to his bow, strung it, and nocked an arrow. Taking a moment to spot it, he took aim at the window to Doctor Legata’s office.

Shrre-eek

SNAP!

The arrow whistled through the air, twistling harmlessly off the glass pane. An outraged shout came from within, leading to several loud stomps. The pane slapped open and Doctor Legata emerged, eyes bulging, mouth billowing white breath. After a moment of wild looking, her furious eyes settled on Gareth.

Gareth thumbed at Noble Era.

Legata’s gaze slid off, her full fury igniting upon seeing Era’s face. Somehow, Era’s golden face grew even paler.

Grinning, Gareth turned and clapped a hand on Era’s shoulder. “Take all the time you need.”

Grey grit and white snow mixed between the cobblestones of Canterlot’s business district. The buildings grew with each passing day, expanding outward and upwards. Green, thistle ornaments hung over frosted scaffolds and fire-lit windows. Seasonal festivities were in full force, as were the freezing winds that brushed over Gareth’s face.

Gareth suppressed a shiver and fixed his cloak higher. His boots crunched through the cold streets, weaving through his equestrian subjects standing at half his size.

The numbers swelled further towards the centre of the district. Ponies chattered between packing carts and wagons, filling the air; which direction they were going, what lands looked safest, what fields looked lushest. Many disagreed on the direction, but their starting point would all start at first sight of the melting snow. In spring, Canterlot would experience an exodus unlike anything Equestria had ever seen before.

The burn of frost on his nose and sweet scent of burning wood hearkened back to Gareth’s childhood. He smiled. He couldn’t have been much older than some of these foals when he began traveling with his father. Those journeys, fraught with beauty and terror… he neither envied nor pitied them, satisfied with the knowing that he and Cecilia had done all they could to prepare them for the roads ahead.

Rat poked out of the folds of Gareth’s cloak. He chittered something, too fast for Gareth to catch, to a passing stallion in a top hat. Wait, not the stallion, but to the white cat perched atop the stallion’s withered head.

The flat-faced cat gave Rat a calculating glare. His paws kneaded into the rich stallion’s petticoat, tail twitching left and right. Yet, the tom made no move, disappearing along with its owner into the crowd.

Gareth smiled, stroking a finger over Rat’s back. That was the third pony today he’d seen toting around a pet. Such a sudden enthusiasm for pets was enough to make a gamekeeper blush. He didn’t blush, of course, Gareth was far too stoic and manly to ever consider showing such emotion in—

Something bounced off Gareth’s legs, something soft. A startled, feminine squeak came from a stunned, green pegasus.

Grunting once, Gareth stood firm. Rat wriggled through the coat’s neck, trying to get a better look.

The green mare jolted back, blinking up at Gareth. She was young, with a wavy, white mane. Her mouth flopped open, wings tangling over themselves to fold back up. “Y-your highness!” She bowed low. “Forgive me, I-I didn’t-- I mean—“

Oh. Gareth lifted a palm. “It’s alright, it happens a lot. Please, just call me ‘Grey Spear’.”

“Oh my, I couldn’t!” The mare squeaked, blushing. She blinked, leaning back in with a gossip-hungry expression. “W-wait, d-does this really happen a lot?”

The phantom pain of numerous ponies barging into Gareth’s legs rushed back. Perhaps his next fashion accessory ought to be a metal codpiece. It would only take one inattentive unicorn and… he decided to not continue that line of thought. “In… crowded places it does,” Gareth decided. “Forgive me for the bother, but do you happen to work or live around here?”

“Oh?” The mare’s face brightened. “I-I do, your highness. How may I help?”

“I need directions to a, uh, ‘Three-Tribes hall’.”

“Is that all? It’s over there!” She brushed a hoof to a massive, stone structure. Three stories tall and fifty yards wide, the building grew out of Canterlot’s walls.

Ah. Heat burned Gareth’s cheeks. Of course, he’d seen the hall numerous times on his walks around Canterlot, but he never knew what it was called. “Thank you, ma’am,” Gareth replied.

She beamed back. “The pleasure is all mine! Oh, u-um,” shrinking in on herself, she opened her mouth again. “Are you going to see Princess Celestia there? Wh-what’s she really like? I-is she as wonderful as everyone says?”

“Well, she’s—“

Rat let out an annoyed squeak. He crawled out onto Gareth’s shoulder, fixing the mare with a scowl. “This prince Grey Spear! Respect! Show respect!” He squeaked.

The mare’s eyes turned blank, uncomprehending. “Uh, i-is that a rat? Is it your pet?”

“Yes,” Gareth said, giving Rat a sympathetic glance. Of course the truth was more complicated than that, but he doubted this mare would understan—

“What kind of pet does princess Celestia have?”

Gareth’s train of thought ground to a halt. “She… doesn’t have a pet.”

“Oh, but she must!” The mare insisted. “My mare-friends say that a good pet reflects their owner! The princess ought to own something as truly magnificent and immortal as she, like a phoenix!”

Something immortal…

The wooden doors to Three-Tribes Hall stood half as tall as the building it was attached to. A sea of eager mares and stallions clutching tickets and tightening winter hoods and jackets stood before them. They pushed their way through the gargantuan set of doors opened by a yard-wide crack, draining a thin line of ponies into the hall.

Gareth pursed his lips. He could wade through the crowd and barge his way in, but he wouldn’t dare risk it with that many unicorns in the crowd. Oh, and it would be impolite. That too.

A tiny claw tugged on the chin of Gareth’s beard. Rat pointed around the side of the building.

Being impossible to glare at from this angle, Gareth did the next best thing and swatted the claw away. Still, Rat had a point. He curled around the crowd. Perhaps they could find a servant’s entrance?

Not halfway around the side, a door slammed open.

A twitch shocked Gareth’s body. He turned side-on to the door, resting a calm hand on his belt-dagger.

A furious, puffed-up fop stood in the doorframe, billowing white smoke from his nostrils. His face twisted in sharp contrast to the whimsical attire slapped onto his body. The caramel pants and brown jacket bristled with fine stitch and gold embroidery. A chestnut shaped hat perched atop his head, held in place only by a pair of twitching, red ears. Yellow eyes locked with Gareth’s. The fop blinked.

Gareth returned the confused frown with one of his own. Wait a minute, he recognised that stunned-cow expression!

Styre let out a growl of muted rage. He threw his forelegs wide, giving Gareth a ‘and where the hell have YOU been?’ look.
Gareth did his best to choke back screaming laughter.

Rat did not, letting out a howling chortle. Styre’s left eye twitched.

Oh wow. Gareth had forgotten that Styre had a ‘role’ in this little event. He mimed writing something in his palm as an answer.

An unimpressed grimace twisted Styre’s features. He stormed over to Gareth, stuffing two forehooves into the small of Gareth’s back and pushing him inside.

Those digging hooves hurt, but Gareth wasn’t going to show it. He pushed back, taking a few laborious steps on over to the hall, letting the stallion struggle against him.

The chill of the wind and the babbling of the crowd died the moment Styre closed the door. Soft murmurings and rehearsed lines echoed down the torch-lit halls. Styre gestured Gareth to follow. Wooden floorboards creaked underhoof. Rat’s ears perked up, chittering to himself in Gareth’s ear.

Nostalgia served up old memories. Gareth never enjoyed going to plays. They were all too ‘preachy’ for his tastes. Maybe it was because people like Gareth never fared too well in them. Or maybe—wait, Styre was glaring.

Styre gave another angry beckon, leading to back stage.

Oh wow.

Elaborate, vibrant costumes. Genuine snow, sparkling with preserving magic. A mechanical pulley system, yanking backdrops on and off stage. Actors murmuring between each other, reciting lines, going through motions.

Gareth found himself smiling. Everything looked so vivid, so fantastic. Could Canterlot really afford such extravagance? He looked around for Styre, where did he—

"Hello, Gar-eth," a far-off voice said.

Huh? Gareth looked down. Oh! "Butter Pie!"

He could barely recognised her with all the makeup on. Shadow around her eyes, golden bangles encrusting her hooves, her pink curly hair straightened and pulled into a plait. The one unfortunate choice was her tight blue dress, which, well, accentuated a growing feature of hers.
Was that…? Gareth cocked a brow and placed a hand on his stomach.

Butter Pie blinked, mimicking him. A blushing smile ensued. She nodded.

Gareth's other brow joined the first. She was pregnant! A giddy grin burnt his cheeks.

Rat’s warm, fuzzy body squirmed from underneath Gareth's lapel, letting out a few quick chirps.

She blushed, bowing her head. "Y-yes, I suppose that's true."

Gareth frowned. Rat was speaking too fast again. "Sorry, what did he say?"

"Oh!" Butter Pie's eyes shot open. "He was just saying that… as a father too, Styre must be excited as well."

Huh. "That's a good point, where the hell is Styre? Why didn't he tell me when I first saw—"

A forehoof hooked onto Gareth's arm. Butter Pie wore a pleading look on her face. "Please, Gareth. I want to tell him myself," she whispered.

Gareth's floating eyebrows came back down. He grimaced, but nodded. Well, that explained why Styre wasn't bouncing off the walls. Butter Pie was a baker; maybe he just thought she was growing a bit husky? "Alright," he whispered back. "Just… don't strain yourself. Okay?"
"Gar-eth!" Styre shouted from beside a flight of stairs. Butter Pie stood by one of the curtains backstage, smiling, and gesturing for her husband to follow.

Gareth gave Styre a knowing look.

Styre blinked.

“Off you go,” Gareth said, smirking.

Without another word, Styre brushed past, seeking his wife.

"Hey, Rat?" Gareth said, curling around his fuzzy friend and depositing him on a nearby bench, “This is where we part.”

Rat gave a look of mock dejection before giving Gareth a cheeky thumbs up. He ran down the table’s leg, rushing over to the curtains.

Eavesdropping little scamp, Gareth thought. Still, he’d love to be there as well. Joy gushed in Gareth’s heart for the young couple. To have a child so soon… it forced your eyes forwards instead of dwelling on the past. Such a silly, simple, dangerous thing. A beautiful thing.

He’d never have such a thing with Cecilia.

The stage turned dull, muted. Styre yelled in delight, pulling his wife into a hug. He spoke, but the words didn’t reach Gareth’s ears. Actors turned, assailing the happy couple with cheer and well-wishes.

Gareth’s joy turned sour. He turned his back and mounted the staircase. The last thing he wanted was for Styre to see the bitter envy on his face.

Wooden steps creaked underfoot. The stairs wound up and around the side of the stage, turning a corner, and into a hall. Simple furnishings turned gold. Gilded ponies embossed the walls, racing down the corners to the pair of double doors at the end. A pair of spear-wielding Royal Guards stood in attendance, staring off into the distance.

Gareth slowed. He cleared his throat.

Feathers split into the air. They snapped to attention, readying their spears. “Your highness!” The guards stereoed.

“Tired?” Gareth asked. He knew that most ponies could just make him out these days, especially with these Equestrian-made clothes. They didn’t have an excuse.

“No, sir!” They parted to one side, pushing the double doors open. A luxurious white-gold couch, standing as high as Gareth was tall, overlooked the stage. A single, white horn hovered up from the middle of the couch.

Sweat prickled along Gareth’s skin. He gnawed at his lower lip, trying to find something suave to say. But nothing came to mind. Resigning himself to his fate, Gareth stepped inside. Please don’t be mad, please don’t be mad, please don’t be—

Cecilia reclined in the middle of the couch, dressed in all her finery. She didn’t turn to Gareth’s approach, instead staring out to the empty stage and gradually-filling seats below.

Gareth cringed. Oh yeah, she was mad. He inched onto his part of the couch. The cold part. He worked his jaw and glanced over to her, trying to read her face.

She looked beautiful. Her regal, ivory dress, cut with frills at her lowerlegs and flanks. Her ethereally waving hair seemed different, pulled down into a waterfall around her neck instead of the wind over her back. Cecilia’s eyes drifted towards him.

Gareth smiled, hoping she’d smile back.

Her eyes snapped away, focusing on stage with an exaggerated scowl.

Oh, so that’s how it is. Gareth turned and got himself comfortable.

The white couch felt like satin and smelled of roses. It stood a foot off the ground, higher leg-clearance than any normal pony would need. The same could be said for much of its features; a higher backrest, armrests at the far corners, and some very generous legroom.

“It’s a nice chair,” Gareth admitted, trying to break the silence.

Cecilia nodded.

Gareth’s heart panged. Oh yeah. He’d screwed up, bad. Perhaps a bit of misdirection might help? “Sorry I got caught up,” he said. “Noble Era woke up from his coma. We had a chat.”

“Good.” She continued to stare.

Gareth crossed his arms.

Cecilia stole another glance. She twitched away.

“So,” Gareth began, “Hearth's Warming Eve. You know, Gleaming Horizon told me the story last night. Three pony tribes joining together on the eve of the winter solstice. Very festive. The thing that gets me is all the other things I’m seeing; ponies hanging floral wreaths, candied canes that look like barber-surgeon poles, those silly pine trees that uncle was so fond of decorating, and now, a morality play.”

She kept her gaze up. Her eyes squeezed together, turning to him with an apologetic smile. “Was I that transparent?”

The knot in Gareth’s stomach loosened. “We’ve got a few more years until the portal opens,” he said. “We have plenty of time to put off our feelings of undue paranoia.”

“I’m sorry, Gareth.” A begrudging giggled forced its way out of her mouth. “I just… I wanted to make you feel at home.”

Gareth quirked a brow. “I am home.”

“You know what I mean,” she said. “Now that Equestria is stable again, it needs a new official holiday to help blow off some steam. When I saw the suggestion of Hearth's Warming Eve, I remembered Christmas in England… and I remembered you enjoying it.”

Really? He certainly remembered enjoying the hog hunt part of Christmas. Cecilia asked him to come back after he’d succeeded, apparently expecting to have a wild hog in tow. Well, he did. With the hog’s head on a silver platter.

She fainted.

In hindsight, Gareth really ought to have better explained what they were hunting the pig for. Wait, crap, Cecilia’s still talking—
“What I’m trying to say is that you’ve changed for Equestria,” she lifted a forehoof, “And so have I. I just think that it’s time that both Equestria and I make some changes for you.”

Is THAT what this is about? He chuckled. “Cecilia… I appreciate this, but it’s okay! I’m okay. You’re still the woman I fell in love with, and if that ever changes, you’ll be the first to know.” Gareth scooted in, favoring her with a smile. “We’ve gotten a lot better at talking with each other, Cecilia, so I think we’ve both earnt a little trust.”

She squinted at him. “Oh really? Then perhaps you can tell me about that mysterious, two-legged, spear instructor the Royal Guards have acquired?”

A bead of sweat rolled down Gareth’s cheek. He gave a nervous smile. “Well, uh, h-he sounds handsome?”

“Gareth,” Cecilia warned.

“I-It’s a mercy, really. Have you seen their spear drills? It’s embarrassing!”

“Mm-hm.”

Red stage curtains drew back along a metal bar. The mocked-up interior of a wooden house stood centre stage. A young colt walked up, beginning the opening narration.

Gareth flicked a smile towards Cecilia.

Cecilia smiled back. She reached forward and pulled his shoulders down to rest on her withers. The sweet smell of roses mixed in with the natural musk and warmth radiating from her body. “Merry Christmas,” she whispered.

“Happy Hearth's Warming.”

They stayed that way for a while. Gareth spent as much time staring at Cecilia as he did at the stage. No wonder, he thought, the play wasn’t exactly brilliance. Monochrome Sprint talked over the other actors’ lines, Gleaming Horizon spoke so softly she may as well been mute, and Styre… well, he acted like a stallion who’d just been told that he was going to be a father.

Gareth chuckled. Okay, maybe it didn’t hurt so much now.

“Do you like it?” Cecilia whispered in a scene change.

“The actual actors are great,” Gareth said. “But whoever chose those three as leads ought to be fired.”

She buttoned her lips, blushing.

“Oh Cecilia…”

A shaky smile snaked across her mouth. “Well, then it’s good that I’ve got something else in store for you today.”

“Hmm? What is it? A new headpiece?”

“Goodness, no. Besides, you broke the last one!”

Gareth lifted a corrective index finger. “Ah-ah! Only mostly broken. Besides, it looks better without the gems.”

She scoffed, flicking her flowing mane. “No, I have something more… active in mind.”

Active? “What is it? A sword, a bow? Rock-climbing lessons?” He sat up and leaned in. “A tournament held in my honour?”

Cecilia gave him a flat look. “Gareth, this isn’t a gift you can break.”

It was Gareth’s turn to scoff. “I beg to differ! I’d love to oversee an Equestrian battle Royale! Winner can fight me in the ring! If they beat me, then they can fight you.”

“Gareth, I’m not throwing you a tournament OR a Battle Royale.”

“Aww.”

“But I think you’ll like it just the same,” Cecilia murmured, leaning in. The heat of her breath tickled Gareth’s face. A flash of her human form appeared in Cecilia’s eyes. “As it turns out… dream magic is a technique with many applications …”

Author's Notes:

With that, Gareth's story is over, and the Epilogue awaits.

Over 500 years in the future, Princess Twilight Sparkle steps back through the Crystal Mirror with so much more than the Element of Friendship. What were those creatures? And... what if they'd been to Equestria before?

She needed to find out.