The Amulet of the King: The Throne of Everfree

by Mark Garg von Herbalist

First published 6th of December, 2017

Apple Bloom and Pipsqueak traverse the Frozen North in their quest to destroy the Amulet. Shining Armor and his company get caught up in a power struggle for the Throne of Everfree.Two Towers/MLP crossover. Anthro characters

The Fellowship has been broken. What was once one band is now four groups of torn ponies trying to survive on separate roads in a world where the light dies day by day.

Apple Bloom and Pipsqueak travel alone in the Frozen North to destroy the Amulet of the King. But the Amulet's influence grows, and they must rely on every bit of help they can if they wish to survive the frozen hellscape.

Rainbow Dash and Flash travel through Equestria, searching for shelter and a place to heal their wounded allies. Their road is not easy one, for the armies of Sombra now prowl and hunt those who cannot defend themselves. And Rarity, Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle seek refuge in the Everfree Forest, unaware of the danger they just put themselves into.

Shining Armor and his company give chase to Trixie's war party to free Rarity, Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo, but they are soon caught up in the power struggle within the nation of Everfree. And while the factions wage war for control over the broken nation, a looming power in league with Sombra threatens to take it all for themselves and the Frozen North's growing war machine.

---

Sequel to The Fellowship of the Amulet
Based off of The Two Towers and other fictional works.
Rated Web 16 for strong violence, sexuality and language, all involving colorful ponies, dragons and other things.

Guests of the King

Malerabus sits in a dim room on a padded wooden chair, his golden eyes focused on a crackling fire in a fireplace with its stone covered in black. The wood dissolves bit by bit as the fire breaks it down like maggots on a corpse. Currently, he has hidden his true, choosing to use his favorite look of dark blue fur with a mane of green and white stripes. Admittedly, he likes this look better than his changeling form, but he knows if he lets that slip then he will have his head on a pike. If not by the changelings, then by the ponies he has infiltrated.

On his lap is a scroll with thick ink, and displayed on a mannequin is his leather armor, freshly cleaned so that the red base and gold collar shine in the glow of the fire. His dark belt and its pouches hang next to it, and next to him is his sheathed sword. Its golden handle has been polished, so some of the light of the fire reflects back on his face like a focused orb.

Sighing quietly, he looks at the scroll on his lap. It states a simple list that bodes ill news.

50 dead (including Commander Seckel Pear and Prince Buckle Davenport)
60 wounded
8 weeks of rations stolen, plus 36 swords, 20 spears, 18 bows and 160 arrows, 2 axes, and 1 hammer.
75 rebels were killed. 0 captured.
Marshall Stone Edge arrived at the scene with reinforcements, but arrived too late. However, we informed them of the direction of the surviving rebels and he and his company of 30 has set out against them. We are expecting his success and the return of the stolen weapons.
-Sincerely Lieutenant Curved Path

Malerabus rolls up the scroll and rubs his face. There he sits in silence, listening to the wood snap and pop from the flames eating it up, but after some seconds of stillness, his ear twitches from the sound of his door creaking open, followed by familiar soft steps.

A pair of slender hands wrap around his chest, and a warm breath comforts his ear as their damp mane brushes against his cheek. The guest smells like lavender, and it brings a smile to his face.

“You just got back from a long trip and still you work?” asks the guest, a mare with a silvery voice.

Malerabus turns his head so he can look at the mare. She is ten years his junior with a coat pale like fog, a charcoal mane, and bright blue eyes. She has a lean body that is easy on the eyes, and is covered by a thin white gown with delicate pears, vines and leafs on its cuffs and bottom.

“You should be asleep, Arian,” says Malerabus, still smiling.

“So should you, Tart,” says the mare, now standing in front of him with her arms across her chest.

“I have work to do. You do not.”

Arian looks at the scroll, and with a playful smile she pulls it out of his hand with no resistance from his part. She flicks it away, and presses her chest close to his muzzle when she climbs up on his lap. Malerabus' hands have a mind of their own when they trace her thighs and grip her flanks tight, and he has no problem lifting his head to meet his wife's eyes when she uses her finger to lift his chin up.

“If you are so inclined to work, why not work to please me, my lord?” says Arian.

“Will you pay me?” asks Malerabus.

Arian giggles and presses her lips and chest against his, and both their eyes close and they gently inhale, taking in each others scent. She gently pries his mouth open, and what little tension remains in him melts when her tongue slides in on top of his. There, their tongues gently rubbed against each other, and Malerabus opens his eyes just a crack to see that Arian's eyes are still closed in concentration. Her tongue explores his mouth, becoming more eager as the time passes, and her breathing changes from steady to shaky excitement. Her fingers dig into his shoulders, and he slides his hands underneath her gown and traces her damp fur up to the spindle cutie marks and gives her firm flanks a squeeze.

Arian squeals and giggles, and the two break way, flushed and grinning with heart beating as one.

“You've been lonely, haven't you?” teases Malerabus.

“Very,” pants Arian.

“Let's fix that, shall we.”

Knock. Knock. Knock.

And just like that, both smiles disappear.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Malerabus sighs and removes Arian from his lap despite her whines of protests, and he briskly approaches his door, shaking his head.

“Pretend you're not home,” says Arian.

“Everypony knows I'm back,” says Malerabus sharply, adding under his breath: “That'll be the last time I buy everypony a round of ale.”

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Malerabus yanks open his door, briefly blinding himself with the high sun, and with a deep frown and thin squint he looks at a green stallion with a long brown mane in front of him. He is definitely new by his crisp appearance. His scale armor shines in the sunlight, the burgundy tunic underneath is not discolored in any way and he tries to hide his shaking hand by clenching his hilt and balling his fist tight.

“Who are you?” says Malerabus.

“Kermes Oak, son of Burnt Oak, knight of the Throne Guard,” says the stallion quickly without a chance to breathe.

“Well, Kermit, there better be a good reason why you are knocking on my door.”

“Lord Tart Pear, I am sorry to disturb you, but your presence is requested by King Davenport.”

“Prove it.”

Kermes pulls out a scroll from a pouch on his belt and hands it to Malerabus. It shakes like a leaf in a storm, and with a deep sigh the disguised changeling takes it, reads it, then crumples it in his hand and throws it over his shoulder. Such an act leads to Kermes losing all color in his face, but the amount of cares he gives is an empty well, and he shows it by slamming the door in Kermes face.

One obtaining his sword and armor, and one quick argument later, Malerabus finds himself marching down Throne Hall, passing a wall with all the members of the Davenport family painted on it, minus Dilbert Davenport. Originally there was more diversity in the representation of royalty, but after the Davenport ascension the walls had been painted over in beige to remove the “lesser families” as Adirondack has called them. Now there are just Davenports. Not even a Pear or an Edge or an Oak is represented in the Hall.

Malerabus pushes open a pair of large red double doors with gold handles and a large circle with a dot in its center and a pair of curving lies with a spire in between them on top. The doors groan and creak, and he keeps his steps steady and his annoyance hidden as he approaches the frail figure of King Adirondack Davenport, who is flanked by guards wearing the same armor as Kermes.

The old coot is hunched on his large throne, made of wood and iron with bronze spokes jutting out like rays of the sun. His gray fur and white, wiry mane are clean and proper, and his bony hand clutches his polished cane. His sunken black eyes stare at Malerabus as he walks to the throne, and the white orb on his cane seems to have a faint green glow, bringing some light to reflect off of the jewel on his neck; which is a ruby with a sun inside a tree etched in gold.

Malerabus's eye twitches at the odd color, but keeps the rest of his composure intact, and when he is at the appropriate distance, he bows.

“You called, my King?” asks Malerabus.

“Yes, Lord Tart Pear, I did, and you should have come quicker,” says Adirondack.

“When earth ponies learn teleportation spells I will be the first to study it.”

Malerabus stands up and places his hands behind his back, noting how Kermes is standing next to the King with a much older stallion of dark gray fur, and a mane and mustache of gray and light gray stripes. Unlike the rest of the guards, the older stallion is wearing a blue ascot around his neck that matches his blue eyes, and the fur on his cheeks is untrimmed.

“Commander Burnt Oak, still setting a poor example for your troops, I see,” says Malerabus.

“Focus on your House, Pear,” says Burnt Oak.

“Enough,” says Adirondack. “Burnt Oak, you may take your guards out of the room. I have nothing to fear from him.”

Burnt Oak nods and waves his guards towards the door. Malerabus watches with a guarded demeanor as the quiet guards leave without a word, and when the room empties and the door shuts, Adirondack motions Malerabus closer, which he complies without complaint.

“Lord Tart Pear, I called you because I have a special guest coming, and as a token of our friendship and the unshakable bond between Houses Davenport and Pear I would like you and my daughter to sit by my side,” says Adirondack when he is but a pace away from the throne.

“I was under the impression that the matter was more severe than a dinner invitation,” says Malerabus.

“The special guests have made great speed getting here. A Lord from across the Great Divide is coming with intentions of opening trade,” says Adirondack. “I would like you to sit by my side as a symbol of our friendship, as well as making it easier for you to give your input on his character and the proposition.”

“I'm sure Arian would love to have dinner with you for once, and I would be more than happy to serve as your adviser again.”

“Good. And what of your visits to the Lulamoon Sanctuary?”

“Rocky start, but I believe an alliance is well within the works.”

“Excellent. An alliance with the Lulamoon Sanctuary will give us a greater advantage over these rebels, plus pave way for relations with the other Sanctuaries.”

“You are aware that Trixie and the other Sanctuaries have pledged their support to Sombra, correct?”

“Of course I am aware.”

The white orb flashes a pale green, and this time Malerabus knows he is not seeing things. He actually feels a bit offended of not being informed of this particular presence when he and Sombra made their pact.

“Sombra is a growing power, and I have my bloodline to look after,” says Adirondack. “He promises wealth and land and with his support I will have set the foundations for an unending dynasty. I had hoped that Blitz Hurricane would have joined me, but after that meeting in Armonia I'm sure that that stupid pegasus is blind to opportunities.”

Malerabus furrows his brow. “Forgive me for my ignorance, but if you are so eager to make peace with Sombra then why did you send Dilbert to join the Fellowship?”

“That quest is futile and Dilbert is worthless. He and the Fellowship should be dead by now leaving only Marque and Buckle, both are of superior quality and will do a fine job with my kingdom as well as giving me great children. Dilbert would find a way to birth a retard. Or worse, a coward.”

Malerabus' jaw sets. “So you sent one of your children to die for your own pleasure?”

“Don't put it like that. It is for the good of the Davenports. You would do the same, would you not?”

Malerabus inhales slowly and digs his fingers into his hands.

“I believe I understand your view,” says Malerabus.

“Good. Send word out to the Marshalls and Lords of the all the Houses -Great and Vassal- and tell them to assemble at Fort Glæmscrafu for an important meeting.”

“Of course.”

“And wear something nice to the party. I want you and Arian to shine for me. It will be at sunset and will surely go until sunrise.”

“Will do. Anything else, my King?”

“Tell Burnt Oak to execute my chef. He burnt my cake and I will not stand for incompetence. Now you may leave.”

“... As you wish.”

Malerabus does an about-face and marches out the door, keeping his tongue held and breathing subdued. When he is out of the throne room, he passes the guards without saying a word and disappears into the shuffling crowd outside.

At the darkest point of night, a long hall with a fully occupied table of four dozen guests and lots of food is brightly lit by chandeliers of many candles and a roaring fire contained in an elegant fire place. Guarding the room is a mix of the scaled armor of the Throne Guard, with Kermes and Burnt Oak flanking the King, and the red leather armor of the Davenport soldiers. Sitting at the far end, in the largest chair with swirling trees carved into it and thick cushion is Adirondack Davenport, and next to him, in a basic wooden chair and thin pad an dressed in a white tunic with a gold collar and cuffs is Malerabus, or, as the guests know him, Tart Pear, and he still has his sword with him. Next to the concealed changeling, wearing a long white dress with a red corset that hugs her sides and thighs, is Arian. She is talking to an old, soft-golden eyed ibex with a gray-brown fur and dark gray horns. She has to lean over the table a little bit to hear him, but they seem to be enjoying each other company.

However, while Arian and the guest are enjoying themselves, Adirondack is grimacing and poking his fork at a brittle, charcoal colored cake that cracks with each poke, and Malerabus is staring at plate of burnt lettuce.

“You didn't tell Burnt Oak to kill the chef. Now my cake is ruined,” says Adirondack.

“Must have slipped my mind,” says Malerabus. He picks up his lettuce and holds it up to his face, twisting its shriveled, blackened form. “Though, if he is the one that cooks lettuce then I will gladly kill him myself.”

“If you forget my orders the moment you walked out the door then your memory is worse than mine. Will you even remember this dinner?”

“Strong possibly, my King.”

Malerabus tosses his lettuce back on his plate and looks at the guests from across the waters of the Great Divide. All of them are ibexes with basic black and silver tunics. They did arrive with weapons and a sealed chest of “good will and shiny things” as the eldest of the group put it. Both were confiscated and brought to the guard tower. However, there is one particular guest that is serving as a bad omen. This particular guest is not only the biggest of the group, but he will not keep his eyes off of Adirondack, and if his helmet and general build is any indication, he is not a goat, but of equine descent. His dark armor of chainmail, pauldrons, silver flamed curiass, shin pads, boots and full faced helmet, plus the thick white furred cape held in place by a silver chain do a magnificent job of portraying him as an agent of death. Originally he had a massive, sleek obsidian blade with a bronze handle, but thankfully Burnt Oak managed to get the weapon away from him. However, the star of the party -the old goat named Star Diagramm- insisted that his bodyguard keeps the armor for the sake of everyone's stomach.

An eager hand tapping Malerabus' arm brings him out of focus, and he looks at Arian, who is grinning like a filly in sugar.

“Tart, Lord Star Diagramm owns a shipping business. Isn't that amazing?” says Arian.

“Shipping?” asks Malerabus, his eyes now on Star.

Star nods. “Yes, sir. I specialize in the transportation of goods and sometimes people.”

“'What kind of goods?”

“Depends. I have contracts with blacksmiths, farmers, slavers, carpenters, even music-crafters, spicers and vineyards.”

Malerabus hums. “And how big is your fleet?”

“I started with one ship I bought from a washed out sailor and now I have twenty brigatines and have been named Lord of the Five Ports. Its not big, but it is in a great location with plenty of trade routes passing through it. Wealth flows in like a river. You and your lovely wife are more than welcome to visit and enjoy the view.”

Arian gasps eagerly and looks at her husband with a twinkle in her eyes. “Can we?”

Malerabus grunts. “Brigatines.” He looks at Arian. “He's got twenty brigatines.”

“Do you know what a brigatine is?” asks Star.

“Of course I know what a brigatine is! Everypony knows what a brigatine is.”

Arian giggles and squeezes his hand, bringing out a nasally exhale from him as he averts his eyes and drums his fingers on the table.

“Relax, Tart. You don't have to know everything,” says Arian. She looks at Star. “He has been very busy, as of late. Lots of work for the King plus getting House Pear back up to its former glory has tired him out. I know visiting your kingdom will ease his mind.”

Malerabus notices the bodyguard's finger twitch with Arian's words, and he looks down both sides of the room, not seeing anything strange. The guards are stiff as they should be, the Oaks are watching the room as they should be, but if he had fur and not an illusion spell then the strands on the back of his neck will be standing by now.

“Tart, tell Star about when you asked my father for my hand,” says Arian.

“Why?” asks Malerabus sourly.

“Because it is a funny story.”

“I'd rather not.”

“I'll do it, then. It was a dark and stormy night-”

“My youngest son is a merchant like you,” interrupts Adirondack.

Arian's smile drops and Malerabus sighs inwardly, thankful that the interruption came in, and Star leans over to look at the King, who is now holding a golden-jewel encrusted goblet.

“Or I should say was,” continues the King.

Now Malerabus' mood is souring again.

“What happened to your boy, if you do not mind me asking?” asks Star.

“He perished on a trip. Most unfortunate. But if you would like, I can get you and my two other boys connected. They are smart, wealthy, and have more intimate relationships with other merchants and ship masters. That is, if you impress me and my adviser with what you have to offer.”

To solidify his point, Adirondack points his hand at Malerabus, who smiles thinly and holds up a couple of fingers as a wave.

Star smiles and takes a sip of his drink. “Time will only tell, but I figured what I bring can help Everfree and make my people happy.”

“Very good," says Adirondack. "But please do not mistake me for being a heartless old man, for I am grateful that foreign entities such as you have recognized my greatness, and the greatness of House Davenport, but you understand that I cannot just make deals on the spot. They require a lot of study and negotiations.”

Star nods, and Malerabus scans the table again, noticing that the other goats are eating without so much as flicking an ear to the old King, or talking to the other guests. Even the ponies are ignoring the guests and keeping their words directed towards themselves. And Star's bodyguard still has not broken his eyes off of Adirondack and his plate remains virtually untouched. Now noticing this, it brings a frown to the King.

“That brute, he is your guard, correct?” asks Adirondack.

“He is,” replies Star.

“Why has he not eaten? Or taken off his helmet?”

The bodyguard leans towards Star and whispers in his ear, and the goat nods and smiles politely at Adirondack.

“Sir McBiggun means no disrespect, but he is not hungry,” says Star.

Malerabus raises a brow.

“And the helmet?” asks Adirondack.

“He does not want to spoil the appetites of the others. A very bad injury has made him less than appealing to look at. So he will eat alone.”

“Nonsense! He has nothing to fear from me. I have seen my fair share of unpleasant images and faces, as well as ordered a few of my own. Please, Sir McBiggun, show us your face. You have my word as King that none of us will recoil.”

The massive figure leans down and whispers into Star's ear, handing him a piece of paper, and the goat nods and looks at Adirondack.

“Great King Davenport, Sir McBiggun will gladly remove his helmet for you, but he also has a message he would like to share,” says Star.

Adirondack raises his hand and all the guests fall silent, and Malerabus' body stiffens as he discretely looks around the room, guided by a sick feeling in his gut that has gotten only worse as the minutes go by.

“Very well,” says Adirondack. “What is it that Sir McBiggun would like to say?”

Star gently unrolls the scroll and clears his throat.

“It is by the power invested in me, by the grace of Faust and the will of the people, that I, King Adirondack Davenport, sentence you, Prince Macintosh Apple, to death by fire. May Faust have mercy on your soul, for I shall not,” says Star.

Adirondack pales, and confused murmurs creep along the walls as the beast known as McBiggun removes his helmet to reveal a face of warped and burnt, cracking flesh, with strings of thin skin barely covering his cheeks. His mane is strings of orange, and his dead eyes gaze at Adirondack as he calmly sets his helmet on the table and reclines in his chair with his hands folded across his lap.

The crowd gasps in horror, Arian covers her mouth, recoiling from freight, and Malerabus becomes petrified, his thoughts spinning like a trapped rat in a wheel for what he is hoping is deception.

“Impossible,” gasps Adirondack. “Guards, kill them!”

Kermes suddenly presses a knife against the King's throat, and around them deer shimmer into view with blades against the ponies' necks -including Malerabus and Arian's- while the Throne Guard captures the Davenport Guards and forces them on their knees. The goats then get off their chairs and confiscate their weapons, and as this happens Adirondack's eyes flick around the room, shaking the table with his quivering.

“Commander Oak, what is the meaning of this!” demands Malerabus past Arian's whimpers.

Burnt Oak approaches Malerabus and takes his sword.

“You and the Unjust King killed my friend and mentor. I was just waiting for the perfect opportunity to take everything away from you,” says Burnt Oak.

“You were no friend with any Apple! I checked! You and your family were hobos! We gave you everything and this is how you repay us!?”

Burnt Oak slams Malerabus' head into the table, eliciting a grunt of pain from him and a shriek from Arian, and the disguised Changeling growls when the fingers dig and twist into his mane.

“You didn't check hard enough,” says Burnt Oak, his voice sharp like a fresh blade.

“You died in the fire! I saw you on that stake!” says Adirondack to Macintosh. “How is this possible?”

“Applejack?” asks Macintosh.

“What?”

Macintosh nods to one of the deer, and he slits the throat of his hostage and shoves them on to the table. The guest gurgles and holds his open neck as blood spreads over the table and drips to the floor, and amidst the terrified yells and begs, Adirondack pushes himself in his seat and looks at Malerabus.

“Tart, do something!” says Adirondack.

Malerabus is silent and still with the cold blade against his throat. His only movement is when Arian grabs his hand and his fingers intertwine with hers, and Adirondack is brought back to looking at Macintosh when the large pony bangs on the table.

“Applejack?” says Macintosh.

“She's with Dilbert. Safe at Horseshoe Bay,” says Adirondack, his voice shaking to near incomprehension.

Macintosh points to another deer, and he slits the throat of his captured guest.

“Applejack?” says Macintosh.

“I already told you where she is, you damn brute!” yells Adirondack.

Macintosh exhales, stands up, walks to Adirondack's side, then grabs his hand and nails it to the table with a knife he pulls from a back sheath. Adirondack howls in agony and Macintosh yanks his mane so that they are eye to eye and with a bloodthirsty growl, he asks: “Applejack?”

The Fellowship of Sprinkles

The high afternoon sun burns Shining Armor's scalp. All of his body feels like it is on fire and sweat soaks him, fusing his worn clothes to his aching body. He has to grab a rock and gasp for air, trying not to taste the salt that trickles down his face, and he brings his attention to Spike, envying the drake for not having sweat glands. Though, he does look as tired as Shining Armor. Then he looks at the two earth ponies of his party, and envy is replaced with annoyance.

Braeburn and Applejack are both winded, but they are not a sweaty mess like him, which when it comes to Applejack baffles Shining Armor since she is wearing a full suit of armor on top of her other gear. Minus the helmet, but she has it clipped to her pack, so it still counts in a way. To make matters worse, Braeburn is calmly standing on the crest of the hill, crossbow aimed down and eyes scanning an ever expanding field with large rocks sprouting from the ground. If Shining Armor did not have the burden of fatigue on him he would be screaming right now.

“How are you two not tired?” wheezes Shining Armor.

“Its an earth pony thing,” says Braeburn.

“Well, give me some of it.”

“Eh... No.”

Applejack walks next to Shining Armor and offers him her canteen. He gladly accepts and after wiping the lip off he takes a big gulp, wipes it off again and returns it to Applejack.

“How are you not tired?” asks Shining Armor after giving her a look over.

“Earth pony thing,” replies Applejack.

Shining Armor throws his hand up with a scoff and turns his focus to Braeburn.

“Do you see anything?” says Shining Armor.

Braeburn squints his eyes. “I don't see much. Just some smoke. It has to be coming from a big burn pile.”

Shining Armor forces himself away from the comfortable walk and staggers to Braeburn's side. He has to use the earth pony for support and squint his eyes to see the pale stream of smoke rising in the sky.

“Raid?” suggests Shining Armor.

“Maybe,” says Braeburn. “The Free Plains are heavily contested between the Loyalists and Davenports. No telling whose done what or what we'll find.”

“Great~”

“Do you guys hear that?” asks Spike.

Shining Armor and Braeburn fall silent and listen. It only takes a few seconds for Shining Armor to recognize the sound, and with wide eyes he motions the group into the cover of the rocks he was just next to.

“Riders! Take cover!” says Shining Armor.

Spike and Braeburn scramble to the rocks, and Shining Armor nearly shoves Applejack on top of Braeburn when he nudges her in the hideout. He then squeezes himself inside and presses his back against the rock.

Several seconds later the ground shakes from the thunder of dozens of sets of hoofs, and a blur of various shades of brown, black, and gray passes Shining Armor's group. They clutch their weapons tight and tensely watches the horses gallop by. The armor clanks and banners of a pair of reeling horses flanking a heart flutter in the wind. When the last horse passes, Shining Armor takes one look at his group, then departs, despite the hushed protests. When he is out in the open his horn glows and his sore throat regains its strength plus some.

“Riders of Everfree!” calls Shining Armor. “What news of your land!?”

The lead rider holds up a spear and directs the riders in a large circle that leads back to Shining Armor, and while the riders make their way back up, Spike, Applejack and Braeburn exit their hiding spot to stand by his side. After Shining Armor has his companions with them, he and his friends are blocked in by a circle of the Riders and they all put their hands up when diamond shaped spearheads are aimed towards them.

The horses are covered in dark green armor with gold trim, and clipped to the saddles of each one is a shield, full packs of rations, plus white boxes and small axes and short swords. The Rangers that ride them are protected by brown brigandines with discolored metal plates sewn into them, beneath their armor are dark brown gabesons, and their forearms and shins are protected by metal pads, and covering their backs are thick cloaks that have seen many years of mud and tear.

The leader of the group is given just enough space to pass, and the only significant difference between him and the others is a flaming sword pendant on his chest. That, and the black stallion with a light brown mane appears to be larger in build and have a face of a drake. Plus two different eyes. One purple, and the other gray and reptilian, which is the most unsettling feature of the strange hybrid.

“What business does a unicorn, a drake and two earth ponies have in the Free Plains? Speak quickly!” says the dracony.

“Hey, you're part drake! Why are you hostile?” asks Spike.

The dracony looks at Spike, and with a disappointed sigh he motions the spears up.

“Do you have any idea how long I have been wanting to say something like that?” asks the dracony.

Spike shakes his head.

“A very long time. We don't get many travelers in these parts. Only raiders, demons and the occasional hobo, and frankly they don't let you speak, so you start practicing what you're going to say when you do get a chance and yadda yadda yadda. As you can see, I still need some practice.”

Applejack and Braeburn exchange looks while Spike nods in understanding, and Shining Armor, being the mature pony that he is, looks at the dracony's horse instead of staring at the hybrid.

“What kind of demons do you have running around here?” says Shining Armor, still keeping his attention on the horse.

“Tell me your names and I will answer your question,” says the leader.

“I'm Shining Armor Sparkle, son of Night Light Sparkle, and these are my companions, Spike Eggchild, my assistant, and-” Shining Armor pauses for a moment, realizing who he is pointing to “-Jane and John Dough. My personal bakers.”

Applejack raises a brow, and Braeburn sighs and pinches his brow. The dracony, however, quietly studies each of the earth ponies, and after several seconds he dismounts his horse and gives it a gentle pat on its neck as he looks at Shining Armor.

“You did not have to lie. I know who they are,” says dracony. “I am Stone Edge, son of Sliver Streak, heir to House Edge and Marshall of the Free Plains. It is an honor and a relief to see yet another Apple free from the Davenports wrath. We have been worried for you ever since the Davenport Treason.”

In an instant, Applejack's unimpressed look breaks into a disgusted scowl, and her hands ball into tight fists.

“Worried?” says Applejack heavily.

“Yes. House Edge has always been on your side, Princess Applejack,” says Stone.

“Don't call me that! If y'all have always been on our side where were you when they cut off my pa's head, or raped my ma to death or burned my brother alive!?”

The Riders avert their eyes in shame, including Stone, and some of the horses shake their heads, snorting.

“You have to understand, Edge is a weak House and is near allies of the Davenports, who are much stronger, better funded and better trained than we are” says Stone, barely looking at Applejack. “Despite this, many would have gladly joined the Loyalists -including my soldiers- but my grandfather signed the pact between us and the Davenports without a family meeting. But the pact has not stopped those loyal to your family from helping the Loyalists in secret, and now my father runs the House and I promise you the tide is turning. We will remove the traitors in our House and you will have your throne, milady.”

“But I don't want the throne or anything to do with this country! There ain't nothing here worth saving!” says Applejack.

Braeburn puts his hand on Applejack's shoulder. “Applejack, calm down.”

Applejack roughly shrugs him off and would have been pacing if given the space, but all she can do is rotate in a tight circle, covering her mouth with her gloved hand and squeezing her teary eyes shut. The stallions and Spike watch her in silence, and with a depressed sigh Shining Armor glances at Stone, who has once again averted his eyes from her.

“Excuse her outburst. She has been through a lot, recently,” says Shining Armor.

Stone holds up his hand. “I understand her outburst. We all do.”

“I appreciate that, but I need to know something and I'm hoping you can help. We're tracking a war party from the Lulamoon Sanctuary. They captured some of our friends and were taking them back to Trixie. Have you seen them?” asks Shining Armor.

Stone hesitates. “We did encounter a Sanctuary party, but we killed everypony and burned their bodies during the night.”

Shining Armor pales. “Everypony?”

Stone nods and Spike butts his way to Shining Armor's side, nearly knocking him off of his feet.

“Did you see two foalings and a white unicorn mare?” asks Spike frantically.”I mean, you couldn't have missed them! They were completely different from the soldiers!”

“The foalings would look like children in your eyes,” says Shining Armor, desperation in his voice and his hand shaking when he emphasizes their height. “They were a little pegasus and unicorn.”

Stone shakes his head. “I'm sorry, it was a slaughter.” He climbs on his horse and nods to the smoke in the distance. “You can search the pile, but you won't like it what you'll find.”

Stone then snaps his fingers and orders his soldiers to give up their spare rations, and very quickly is Shining Armor's Fellowship gifted with extra water, food and medicine. Shining Armor hastily puts away the supplies, the shaking of his hands and breathing worsening.

“If you need me I will be at Edge Manor, or in the general area. Stay safe and watch for demons!” says Stone.

Shining Armor nods, and the Riders gallop away. Once they are over the hill and the stampede faded from their ears, Shining Armor adjusts the straps on his pack and takes a deep breath.

“Well, let's get to it,” he says.

The sun is now dipping over the mountains in the distance. The mountains are pitch black against the dimming orb, and the sky is painted as burnt orange with pockets of white in the darkened clouds. Even with the falling light the shock of Shining Armor's Fellowship can be seen and felt in the dropping temperature.

In front of them, a massive pile of smoldering, mangled bodies sits in front of a thick forest of dark, twisting trees with thick leafs. Limbs are twisted, flesh and bone are blackened and cracking, armor and weapons have melted and warped, and impaled on a pike is head whose eyes are wide and mouth is open with terror. The stench of burnt flesh and cooked materials is almost unbearable, and while the males tough it out, Applejack covers her nose and looks away, shuddering.

“Spike, light up some torches,” orders Shining Armor.

Spike nods, and each member of the group gives him a torch from their packs to light. Once each is holding a flame from Spike they carefully search the disturbing pile, using their weapons to sift through the mess that crumbles or splits with each touch.

After several minutes of tense searching, Applejack pauses, her axe caught on a piece of fabric. She gulps, puts her axe away and leans into the pile to pull out something, using her torch as a guide.

“Shining, Braeburn... look,” says Applejack.

Shining Armor stops sifting with his sword and hurries to Applejack, with Braeburn and Spike following close behind. All three become stiff when they see Applejack holding a child sized burnt cloak.

“Its one of their cloaks,” says Applejack, her eyes shimmering from tears.

Shining Armor tosses his torch on the pile, grabs the cloak and twists it in his hands, looking for any sign of it not being one of the Foaling cloaks as he hyperventilates and fights back tears. But the more he studies the fabric the more he recognizes the awful truth.

He was too late.

In a blink, Shining Armor kicks a nearby helmet and drops to his knees, screaming and burying his face in the cloak. He throws the cloak aside and slams his fists on the ground, grinding his teeth and shivering with tears flowing down his cheeks.

“Damn it!” cries Shining Armor.

Applejack kneels next to him and rubs his shoulder, and Spike looks down, sighing heavily and grinding his teeth. Braeburn also dips his head in mourning, and runs his dirty fingers through his mane.

“What do we do now?” asks Spike.

“Make a memorial for them, and then meet Rainbow's group at Ponyville,” says Shining Armor quietly. He sniffles and wipes his eyes. “That is, if Rainbow and the others don't die on the road.”

Spike nods, pulls out a knife and walks towards a tree, leaving Shining Armor to stare at the cold grass. However, as Spike walks, Braeburn's ears perk and his hand shoots out to the drake.

“Hold it! Don't move,” says Braeburn.

Spike stops in midstep, then backpedals, and Shining Armor and Applejack join Spike in staring at Braeburn as he takes a careful step forward and kneels down to pick up a cuff hidden by the trampled grass.

“One of them got out,” says Braeburn, showing the group the cuff.

Braeburn drops the cuff and scans the ground, and seconds later his ears perk and he pulls out another cuff, followed by a third one a short moment later.

“All three of them got out of their cuffs!” says Braeburn.

His eyes focus on the grass and his steps become slow and meticulous, and his torch wielding hand extended slightly and sweeping side to side like a scholar using a magnifying glass. Shining Armor jumps to his feet with excitement fueling him, but almost falls over from a dizzy feeling in his head, and after he regains his balance he and the other two rush to Braeburn's side.

“What else do you see?” asks Shining Armor.

“A lot of footprints and hoofprints,” says Braeburn. “But if my eyes ain't failing me then...” He kneels down and picks up a curling strand of indigo. “Rarity was here.”

He tilts his head and carefully steps around an area of grass that has been twisted and knotted with patches pulled out from the roots.

“There was a struggle,” says Braeburn. “I see a good amount of blood, a couple of teeth and torn fabric. It looks like it came from Rarity's white clothes.”

“Rarity busted her mouth?” asks Applejack worryingly.

“Looks like it, but I ain't certain. Whoever got hit, they got hit hard, though. Not fatal, but definitely painful.” Braeburn takes a large step and uses his torch to trace a path that only he can see. “The fight ended. Somepony crawled... then they ran.”

Braeburn stops, looks up and points to the thick, dark forest.

“They went in there,” says Braeburn.

“Well, that's just our luck,” says Spike with a frown.

Shining Armor draws his sword and marches towards the tree line.

“Okay, let's do this,” says Shining Armor.

A glowing white orb suddenly appears, and it breaks into a wispy cloud that weaves through the forest, humming in the wind. The cloud changes to a featureless figure that has strands breaking off and dissolving behind it, and when it goes behind a tree the light disappears, as does the humming, and everything becomes still and quiet.

The Fellowship stares at the forest, faces and bodies stiff, and with his face still displaying determination, Shining Armor sheathes his sword and speed walks away from the forest.

“On second thought, let's camp here for the night,” says Shining Armor. “We can use the rest.”

Applejack's eyes flick between Shining Armor and the pile of charred bodies, but says nothing, choosing instead to take a few very long steps back.

“What about our friends?” asks Spike uneasily.

“They're fine.”

“Is the badass exile scared of the ghost?” teases Braeburn.

“I don't do ghosts!” snaps Shining Armor.

“Oh, I can't wait to tell Sugar Tail about this. This is gold!”

There is a gust of wind that is sucked into the forest and the glowing orb returns, pulsating.

“Braeburn, be nice,” chides the wind in a feminine voice.

And just like that, Braeburn is standing behind Shining Armor.

“Camp actually sounds great,” says Braeburn.

The Fellowship of Rarity

In any normal situation Rarity Belle of Vassal House Belle would be appalled by being tossed on the ground like some worthless thot, but she has not had a normal situation since she left Armonia all those weeks -possibly months- back. Really, all she had been expecting was Blueblood attending a meeting about the Everfree conflict and plans for a ceasefire and creation of separate nations in the name of peace. What she got instead was being tossed into a quest to save the world from the resurrected Nightmare, and after witnessing the death of her companions and the brutality of the Nightmare she is now bound and tossed into a patch of muddy grass, staining her already damaged white and purple tunic and the deer cloak. So far the only good she has seen from this predicament is that the Foalings Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo are still with her and unspoiled. Mostly. The burden of fear and fatigue has an obvious presence on their dirty faces. But at least they are not dead or maimed.

While the Lulamoon Sanctuary soldiers stagger about in the chilled air, making camp by chopping off branches of a nearby tree line and unrolling bed rolls, Rarity crawls to the two Foalings.

“Are you two all right?” asks Rarity.

“Could be better,” says Scootaloo.

“Where are they taking us?” asks Sweetie Belle.

“Take a guess,” sneers Scootaloo.

“Girls, relax, I'll get us out of here,” says Rarity.

Scootaloo frowns at her. “How?”

Rarity peers around the camp, carefully observing the worn soldiers moving into their own circles around glowing camp fires. As the soldiers talk among themselves, the wind rocks the forest, bringing out moans and groans that sound like the distress call of animals. Not too far from Rarity's Fellowship, a unicorn stallion of with a light green coat and dark green mane sits on a log, carving something from a piece of wood using his knife and using his horn as a light. The glow allows Rarity to see a ring of keys hanging from his belt, and after studying the ring for a minute she smiles and looks at the two Foalings.

“I have an idea. Stay still,” says Rarity.

The Foalings nod and Rarity pushes herself up and walks towards the unicorn. It takes him a moment to realize that she is there, but when he does, he stops carving and stares at her, clutching his knife tighter.

“Can I help you?” asks the unicorn, whom Rarity is guessing is the acting Commander.

“I was only curious as to what you were carving,” says Rarity. She takes a closer look at it, noting the flowers and vines etched in the wood that has been carved to the shape of a knot. “It looks beautiful.”

“Thank you,” says the Commander. “This is nothing compared to what I used to do, though.”

“Oh?”

Rarity sits next to him, purposefully pressing her chest against his shoulder and putting on a smile to hide the discomfort when she stretches her bound hands past the limit. Though, the Commander is too busy blushing from the feeling of a soft chest squishing against his arm to notice her antics.

“Are you a woodsmith?” asks Rarity.

“Was,” says the Commander. “I had a shop, but I had to sell it after I was drafted into the Lulamoon Sanctuary Army... I don't even know why I am telling you this.”

Rarity's wrists and fingers burn and pinch as they wrestle with the keyring, but she keeps her smile up, and adds a deeper snuggle and bats her lashes at him.

“You are just a bit lonely,” says Rarity. “I can see it in you. Self isolation, something to occupy your mind, a sadness in your eyes. Quite tragic since I think you are handsome, and you appear strong for a unicorn. I would ask to feel your arms, but seeing as how I am tied up and at your mercy...”

The keys pop loose and fall into Rarity's sweaty palm, and the Commander stares at her, tapping his knife against his knee.

“Seeing as how you are my prisoner this conversation is both amusing and inappropriate,” says the Commander.

“Well, if you can do me a favor and tell Trixie to go easy on us I would greatly appreciate it,” says Rarity.

“I can try, but Trixie probably won't listen. She hasn't been the same since her long trip. She was always egotistical and a bit on the snobbish side, but it was amusing for we all knew it was mostly an act, but ever since she returned she's... well, she's changed. I cannot make any promises, but I can wish you luck.”

“That'll work just fine for me.” Rarity stands up and pecks the Commander on the cheek, bringing a hot flash to his face. “Get some rest. You look tired.”

“You too,” says the Commander.

After he says that, he looks away with scrunched brows, mouthing what he just said, and Rarity quickly sits next to the Foalings, who are staring at her with confusion scrunching their faces.

“Did you do something, or just flirt?” asks Scootaloo.

Rarity turns her key, slips it into her cuff and in one quick twist it pops loose.

“Slide behind me,” says Rarity.

The two do as she says, and after some struggle between watching the soldiers and blindly slipping the key into the cuffs, she has the Foalings free.

“Pretend to be cuffed, and when I give the signal, we run,” says Rarity.

“Run where?” asks Sweetie Belle. “There's just field and forest.”

“The forest. Plenty of places to hide in there.”

“Huh, you aren't so bad, after all,” says Scootaloo.

Rarity rolls her eyes. “Glad to have your seal of approval.”

“That wound is infected!” says one of the soldiers at a nearby campfire, an earth pony with an amber coat and a brown mane tied to a wolf-tail.

Rarity's Fellowship looks at the group and sees the wolf-tail soldier kneeling next to the soldier with the compounded arm, his bandage brown and black with blotches of red. The wounded soldier is also pale and sweaty, and the wolf-tail soldier glares at Rarity.

“Its her fault!” he says.

The Commander stops carving and warily looks at the wolf-tail soldier -as well as the resting crowd- as said soldier stands up to survey the crowd.

“This was supposed to be an easy mission, but we got slaughtered and for what? The wrong unicorn and a couple of Foalings! Her company killed our friends, our brothers, and we get nothing out of this! Am I the only one that is livid about this?” says the wolf-tail soldier.

The soldiers begin murmuring, some nodding and others shaking their heads, and the Commander stands up, sheathing his knife and approaching the distraught soldier.

“Wielder, I know you're upset, but we knew the risk and we have to accept that,” says the Commander.

“Really?” says the soldier, Wielder. “Easy to say for a loner who has no love for anypony besides his stupid wood. You're only up top because Crimson liked you for reasons not even Faust knows. And guess what? Crimson is dead, too. Aren't you mad about that?”

The Commander puts his hand on the hilt of his blade, speaking with an even tone. “Crimson knew the risks.”

“Well, we didn't! We were told it was an easy mission to grab a purple unicorn mare and a bunch of Foalings, but we grabbed the wrong mare!” Wielder points at Rarity. “We bled and died and got infected over the wrong mare!”

The Sanctuary soldiers start standing, cluster by cluster, nodding and voices getting louder in agreement or disagreement, and the Commander narrows his eyes and tightens his hold on his sword while Rarity's Fellowship eyes the crowd with a growing dread poisoning their thoughts.

“This is not good,”' says Sweetie Belle.

“Girls, get ready to run,” says Rarity.

Wielder throws his hands up and looks at the crowd for approval.

“How many of us died for nothing? How many of us got hurt for nothing? Got infected for nothing? Crisp will lose an arm for nothing! We need compensation!” yells Wielder.

The soldiers roar and shake their fists in agreement, and Wielder turns to the Commander.

“Do you agree that this was in vain and in need of compensation, Commander Woods, or do your eyes see nothing but unconditional loyalty?” says Wielder.

The Commander exhales. “We couldn't leave with nothing, you know that.”

“And you know that Trixie is not going to be happy with what we brought. Some humiliation of the Unicornian is in order. It will do us some good and will be much deserved punishment for what she and her company did to Crisp.”

Wielder steps forward and the Commander draws his sword and aims it at him, horn glowing and sword covered in a shimmer. This freezes Wielder's advancement, but it jolts many to his side while an equal sized group joins the Commander.

“You are out of line, Wielder!” says the Commander.

“Am I? Then what do you have to say about you and her flirting together? Did you have intentions to bed her? Or release her into the Wild?” says Wielder.

“Sit down.”

“Answer the question.”

“I will not tell you again. Sit or-”

The Commander suddenly jerks to the ground with a spear lodged in his ribs, and in that brief moment of the resulting confusion the ground shakes with thunder and horse riders masked by the darkness rush in like a storm of swords. Battle cries clash with desperate screams and barking orders, and the Sanctuary soldiers are ruthlessly cut down by blades, spears and arrows, or trampled by shrouded riders.

Blood flies and bodies crash, and Rarity throws off her cuffs, yelping and ducking to her hands and knees as a horse rider gallops past her to slash a head off a retreating Sanctuary soldier. She scrambles to her feet, heart and breathing racing to near suffocation, and she ushers the Foalings up, who have huddled together and are petrified.

“Run, girls!” orders Rarity.

The two stiffly get up and Rarity's Fellowship bolts to the line of thick, warped trees, all three weaving and ducking between the rampaging horse riders and the Sanctuary soldiers vainly defending themselves.

After reaching a small clearing that is free of the clashing forces, Rarity smiles and gets a new burst of energy in her legs that put her feet at barely touching the ground. Then something impacts her back and everything becomes a blur as she goes into a free fall and crashes to the ground.

Her head throbs, her ears ring, and she groans and tries to stand up, but her legs do not stand on their own, for a strong arm wraps around her neck and jerks her upright, choking the air out of her. Rarity gags and out of reflex she stomps her foot on the foot of her attacker and then elbow him in the ribs, bringing him to yelp and loosen his grip. Rarity manages to twist her way out from his grip, but can only catch a glimpse of him before he pounces on her again. This time she lands on her back with her view of the night sky blocked by Wielder's enraged face.

Rarity screams and pushes her hands and knee against him with all of her might, but he roughly swats her hands aside and grabs her collar, tearing the damaged fabric. She twists away from his face as he tugs, causing a band of her collar to tear off and buttons to fall, exposing part of her chest. Rarity's hands frantically dig into the grass, her face wet from her sobbing and throat sore from begging while she tries to crawl away from Wielder. It is no luck, though, for he is quick to change his grip to where he has a hold of her cloak's hood and drags her on her back across the grass, despite her screaming and kicking.

“You're coming with me, wench!” sneers Wielder.

Then a rock sails overhead and hits Wielder right in the jaw, sending teeth flying and him to the ground, holding his muzzle and screaming in pain. As he writhes on the ground with blood gushing past his hands, Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo rush to help Rarity on her feet. After Rarity stands the three once again run, but it does not take long for Sweeite Belle to scream from being tugged to the ground by an arrow impaling her cloak. Rarity skids to a stop, but before she can make another step Scootaloo is already unclipping the small unicorn's cloak and dragging her back to her feet.

“Come on, slowpoke!” says Scootaloo.

With Sweetie Belle by Scootaloo's side, the two are grabbed by Rarity and rushed into the forest without further trouble, save for having to dodge flying arrows and spears. Inside the forest, the white beams of the moon are broken, and the trees sway and creak, their noise muffling the slaughter outside.

“Keep going! Don't stop for anything!” says Rarity, barely able to speak from her panting.

That is when she hears wood snapping, and she turns around and sees Wielder running towards them, muzzle covered in blood and his sword drawn.

“Girls, hide!” orders Rarity.

The Foalings disappear into the trees after Rarity says this, and she grabs a log by a pile of wood and leafs and holds it like a club, shaking and whimpering as the crazed earth pony rushes her.

“I'm gonna kill your brats!” screams Wielder. He spits out a glob of blood and continues towards Rarity. “Then I'm gonna cut off your horn off and sell you to a whore-house!”

When Wielder is close enough Rarity swings her log at him, but he dodges it and punches her in the gut, expelling all the air out of her. She drops to her knees, coughing and wheezing for air, and out of the darkness Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo both shout a battle cry and try to tackle him.

Wielder stumbles and curses with the little bodies assaulting him, but he manages to pry off Scootaloo and throw her to the ground. Wielder then grabs Sweetie Bell by her neck and hoists her up. The small unicorn gags and tries to pull his fingers off her throat, but freezes with terrified tears reflecting in her eyes when he aims his sword at her gut.

Before Wielder can impale Sweetie Belle, Rarity leaps on his back and claws at his face, causing him to drop Sweetie Belle, and with a painful growl the soldier pushes himself into the pile of wood. The pile scratches and rips Rarity's cloak, and when he pulls away her hands release him and she falls to the ground, seething in pain. The pile stirs and Wielder turns back, face red with anger and blood, and with psychotic eyes being illuminated by the moon's reflected light he raises his sword.

“Actually, I'll just keep you and have others pay to use you, like the filthy giglot you are!” says Wielder.

He then swings his sword, and Rarity shrieks and dives out of way, causing the soldier to hit the bundle of timber. With the thwak of wood on metal comes a pair of bright glowing green eyes that suddenly open in the pile, accompanied by a very angry growl.

Wielder's eyes widen, and he steps back, pale and shaking as the pile of sticks and leafs unfold to form limbs with sharp roots curving into claws, the leafs stretching to eye brows and fluffing up like fur on its ribbed and sharp spined form and strands of vines wrapping around each other to form a tail. With the beast standing at its full height -and Wielder's sword still on its snout- it towers above the ponies and reveals its sharp, sap dripping fangs. It then pushes the sword out of its snout and lunges at Wielder.

Rarity turns and shields the Foalings and squeezes her eyes shut, all three whimpering and shaking as snarls and screams of fear and pain mesh with ripping flesh. The screaming quickly dies down after there is a thud, leaving just the noise of the ending slaughter outside, and several seconds later, a rumbling growl approaches them.

With her body shaking and freezing from sweat, Rarity peeks over her shoulder and sees the wolf-like creature staring at them, blood covering its claws and muzzles, and Wielder's destroyed body in a heap behind it.

“Nice doggy,” says Rarity, her hand slowly extending as she turns to face it, putting her back to the Foalings. “Nice... cute... leafy doggy.”

“What the heck is that?” asks Scootaloo.

“What are you doing in my forest?” asks the wolf harshly.

Rarity's mind breaks to a whole new level of panic that leaves her speechless and really wishing that she had the keys to the horn cuffs. The Foalings, she knows, holds the same sentiment if their gasps and tightening hands on her attire are any indication.

“Speak or remain silent in the dirt!” say the wolf.

“The tree's alive... Rarity, the tree's alive!” says Sweetie Belle.

“I am no tree. I am Yew, a timber-wolf of the forest!”

“A timber-wolf?” asks Scootaloo.

Rarity sucks in air, her voice suddenly returning. “Oh my. You're a tree shepherd. And here we are trespassing on your wonderful forest. I guess we will be going now. Sorry for bothering you. Come along girls.”

Rarity and the Foalings attempt to move towards the tree line, but Yew slides in front of them, growling and prowling closer, his green eyes glowing like balls of fire. With each heavy step he takes, Rarity's Fellowship takes a shaky step back, and the farther they go, the thinner the exit becomes for them.

“And where do you think you are going?” says Yew.

Rarity swallows. “Home.”

“After you came in here and attacked me and my friends you expect to return home?”

“We didn't attack you or any of your friends!” says Sweetie Belle. “...Did we?”

“I didn't see any tree mutts,” says Scootaloo.

Yew's throat rumbles and Rarity snaps to Scootaloo, hissing at her to be quiet, and then she smiles pleasantly at the timber-wolf.

“I can assure you we are very nice ponies who ran into some trouble, but you helped us and we are grateful and we will be leaving your beautiful forest. Have a good night,” says Rarity.

She grabs the Foalings shoulders and proceeds to escort them away from Yew, but the timber-wolf moves in front of them, leafs bristling and sharp, sappy fangs glowing with his eyes as he growls and prowls closer to them, forcing them back.

“There are no nice flesh beings,” says Yew. “Ponies, drakes, griffons, all of you come in here with your axes, your torches, your saws, slicing, smashing, chopping, cutting, burning, breaking, killing without remorse! I should rip your throats out and feed you to the forest! They can use a good dinner.”

“Oh, no no no, you don't have to do that!” says Rarity, squishing the Foalings into her with a protective embrace as the two smaller ponies smile nervously at Yew. “We are nice ponies, honest! I actually have a lovely tree at my abode.”

“What kind of tree?”

“... Green?”

Yew snarls. “Name?”

“What?”

“You didn't name your tree?”

“Oh my tree's name. Silly me. Its... Kieth.”

Yew lunges forward, causing all three mares to scream and stumble backwards to where they fall on their butts. Then they crawl backwards as Yew towers over them, his sappy, bloody slobber dripping to the ground and the trees groaning and creaking like a cheering audience.

“You know nothing of your tree!” snarls Yew. “It is trapped in whatever prison you set for it, not letting its roots, its strength grow, keeping it isolated like the cruel mistress you are! There is only one fate appropriate for slave masters!”

He then opens his mouth and moves in, and Rarity closes her eyes and turns her body to shield the Foalings from death, but rather than fangs ripping into her, a bright flash of light burns through her lids.

When the light subsides, she cracks an eye open, then her eyes open all the way and her ears perk, as do the Foalings, for in front of them is a mist with a peaceful glow that shifts into a featureless figure. The appearance brings Yew to back away, but leaves Rarity's Fellowship to gawk at the sight. Moments later, the featureless figure steps forward with the mist expanding to wings and with an extended hand and soothing voice that sounds all to familiar to Rarity, the mist speaks.

“That is enough, Yew. They are not your enemies.”

Yew takes another step back, growling quietly, and the misty figure turns to Rarity's Fellowship and waves.

“Hi, Rarity! Hi, girls! It's good to see you again!”

Rarity faints.

The Fellowship of Rainbow

Did she open her eyes?

She is sure she opened her eyes!

Rainbow Dash's hands dig into the cold damp ground, panicking whimpers escape her and her ears flick to every sound it can find. Voices, crunches, munches, beating heart. All sounds in the dark void. Her fingers tear into the ground, pulling out grass and mud. Are those tears on her face? Whose voices are those? Whose walking towards her?

A hand goes on her shoulder, and in a feral fit she lashes out, wings expanding and body twisting to push the unknown body aside while her hand aimlessly reaches for one of her swords.

But her sword is gone!

Her hand beats against her thigh, hitting nothing but armor. Her heart races and her mouth dries as her frantic search yields nothing, but then one blink brings her color.

Blurry colors, but colors nonetheless.

Another blink and she sees she is on top of Flash, her muddy hand pressed against his throat, and she blinks again, looking at the hazy figures of Fluttershy and Pinkie Pie, both of whom are staring at her and resting against a stone wall of a building that has mostly crumbled.

Rainbow Dash swallows and slides off of Flash, her trembling hand running through her damp, vibrant mane. She blinks again and squints her aching eyes to peer out the doorway to the fog covered landscape. She cannot see much, but she can definitely feel the cold dew clinging to her exposed fur and feathers, and with a shaky sigh she looks at Flash apologetically.

“Sorry. I don't know what that was about,” says Rainbow Dash.

“You were having a nightmare,” says Flash, now sitting up and rubbing his neck. “I guess I shouldn't have tried to wake you up.”

“Did I miss anything?”

“Pinkie tried to go on patrol, but she collapsed before she did a hundred steps.”

“What about Flutters?”

“She still hasn't spoken a word. The good news is her splint and bandages are fine, but the bad news is that we still have to carry her and Pinkie. ”

Rainbow Dash nods and goes out the door, scanning for anything in the haze. No luck.

“Hey, Dashie, come here for a second,” says Pinkie Pie.

“Why?” asks Rainbow Dash, looking over her shoulder.

“I just want to whisper something in your ear. Super secret stuff.”

Rolling her eyes, Rainbow Dash goes to Pinkie Pies side, but before she can say anything the Ranger grabs her jaw with one of her big earth pony hands and uses her other hand to force Rainbow Dash's eyelids further apart. Despite Rainbow Dash's protest and her vain attempts to pry the Ranger off of her, her head is still forced to turn this way and that with Pinkie Pie humming in thought. After some seconds, Rainbow Dash manages to pull herself away, rubbing her jaw and glaring at her partner while Flash stands behind her, hand on his sword's hilt, ready to strike.

“What the hell was that!?” says Rainbow Dash.

“Just what I thought,” says Pinkie Pie. “You're going to need a lot of carrots.”

With a grunt, Pinkie Pie grips the stone wall and pulls herself up, her hands and knees shaking, and she points into the fog.

“Glittersburg is about a five hour walk from here. It will have an inn, a market, and an apothecary,” says Pinkie Pie. “They also conveniently have carrots.”

“Can they fix you and Fluttershy?” asks Rainbow Dash.

“Don't worry about me. I'm oh to the kay, but the apothecary should be able to help Fluttershy. Maybe they have something to make her more receptive.” Pinkie Pie waves a hand in front of the stiff pegasus' face, but she shows no response save for twitching eyelids. “Yep. Definitely going to have to work on that.”

“I'm more concerned about the axe she took to her back and the arm she broke. Receptiveness can come later.”

“Suit yourself. But we are going to have to sell some stuff if we want to do anything over there.”

“We'll get to that point when we get to town.” Rainbow Dash looks at Flash. “Scout ahead and let me know what you find.”

Flash nods and disappears into the mist, and Rainbow Dash slumps against the wall, rubbing her hands down her face, not caring about the mud streaking her. Silence then moves in. No words from the mouths of ponies or calls of the Wild. The quietness really adds a layer of depression to an already dreary environment, and while Rainbow Dash puts on a calm demeanor, she keeps her back to her Fellowship so they do not see her wringing her hands together or blinking a lot. As she scans the fog to the best of her eyes, a sweet voice comes behind her.

Rainbow Dash looks over her shoulder and sees Pinkie Pie is sitting back against the wall, her hands limp on her lap, her head bowed and eyes closed as the melody leaves her lips.

Pinkie Pie's voice fades and Rainbow Dash sits down on the damp grass and looks out into the mist again, feeling some of the burden ease away and a smile gracing her face.

“I haven't sung that in a while,” says Pinkie Pie.

“You should sing it more often,” says Rainbow Dash.

Pinkie Pie cracks her eyes open and flashes a weak smile. “You want me to sing for you?”

Fluttershy's ear twitches and her lips dip to a small frown as she glances at the Ranger from the corner of her eye, and Rainbow Dash snorts and folds her arms across her chest.

“Even when you are close to death you find ways to make things weird,” says Rainbow Dash.

“I thrive off of weirdness, you know that. Unless you conveniently forgot, which I wouldn't mind,” says Pinkie Pie. She jabs a thumb at Fluttershy. “Though, I think she feels differently about my unconventional taste.”

Rainbow Dash waves the statement off. “Fluttershy doesn't care.”

Pinkie Pie sizes up Fluttershy. “She probably does, actually. She's giving me a nasty stink eye.” Pinkie Pie slides away from Fluttershy. “Like a really nasty one.”

“She took an axe to the back and broke her arm. She's just grouchy, like any sane pony would be.” Rainbow Dash goes to Fluttershy and wraps a blanket around her. “Keep on flying, Flutters. We'll get you fixed soon.”

Fluttershy uses her good hand to pull the blanket around her, and she eases herself to the ground, closes her eyes and loosely curls up with her tail held close to her. Seeing this, Rainbow Dash eases herself next to her and looks out into the fog. There, the three mares sit in cold silence for almost an hour before Flash returns. He ruffles his feathers to shake the dew off, and he steps inside the occupied structure, smiling.

“Good news, Pinkie Pie was right,” says Flash. “Glittersburg is close and has everything we need. Plus I didn't see any signs of danger. We should have an easy time getting there.”

Rainbow Dash nods and gently scoops up Fluttershy. “All right, let's get going then.”

When Rainbow's Fellowship arrives at Glittersburg it is no where near as epic as Rainbow Dash is used to with her arrivals. There is no display of strength with her being flanked Hurricane soldiers, no civilians rightfully cowering in fear or town lords stumbling over their words for an appropriate welcome. No, what happens with her arrival is her landing just fine with Fluttershy in her arms and Flash crash landing with Pinkie Pie in a pile of crates that draws only the dullest of gazes.

“Flash, really?” says Rainbow Dash harshly as her bodyguard leaps to his feet, mane and feathers ruined and face covered in mud. Pinkie Pie remains on the ground in a heap, covered in splinters.

“I'm sorry, but earth ponies are heavy. Especially when they carry an armory,” says Flash, staring hatefully at Pinkie Pie's Party Cannon, plus her hammer, bundle of blades, the long coat and her other supplies. “How do you carry all that anyway?”

Pinkie Pie, her face still in the rubble, holds up her pointer finger. “Earth pony thing.”

Flash grabs the Ranger's hand, pulls her up, and after he helps her stabilize she smiles and brushes herself off.

“Thanks. But if you're going to drop me, drop me somewhere soft next time,” says Pinkie Pie.

“...Right, I'll remember that,” says Flash.

Rainbow Dash adjusts her grip on Fluttershy. “So, where's the apothecary?”

Flash points to a building hidden in the fog. Its corners and steeple are lit by large lanterns, and glowing from flame in the steeple center is a cut out of a cross inside a heart. So, Rainbow's Fellowship makes their way to the structure, passing dark wood buildings, ponies with ragged clothes talking at stalls or shop windows, and guards wearing sheets of metal armed with bows and blades. Every pony they pass casts them a cautious look, but Rainbow Dash keeps walking while Pinkie Pie and Flash eye the observers carefully.

At one point Rainbow Dash sees what looks like a guard appear on one of the roofs, but mostly ignores him and kicks open the door to the apothecary, appropriately named: Heartbeat's Apothecary.

Inside is a lot cleaner and drier than outside. Sure there are muddy footprints on the first half, but beyond the sign that reads 'Please Remove Footwear' is a relatively clean floor. And next to the sign is a pale earth pony stallion wearing a long coat, a loose shirt and thick boots and gloves, plus a belt with small blades sheathed to it, all black. He is sitting in a chair with a sword next to him and has a stringy black mane that goes down to his neck and partially covers his eye.

“Remove you footwear,” says the stallion.

Rainbow Dash rolls her eyes, but reluctantly complies, even though it is a pain to undo the straps that connect her boot to her armored shin pads, and when she pulls off her sock she grimaces from seeing it hold the shape of her foot.

“Hello, Fellow Ranger, how's life?” says Pinkie Pie, having yet to take her boots off and taking a seat next to him.

The Fellow Ranger shrugs. “Can't complain. I'm taking a break from the Wild for a bit and got a job being a guard here. How about you? You look like you had a good day.”

“I had an excellent day! Did you happen to catch word from the Wild?”

The Fellow Ranger thinks for a moment. “Three things come to mind. Towns have gone dark, a Foaling has a hefty bounty on her head, and the Knights of the Five Circles lost a couple of their members about ten days ago. I can only imagine retribution is on their mind.”

Rainbow Dash listens carefully to the conversation and hears a slight nervousness in Pinkie's tone when she speaks.

“Do the Knights know who did it?” asks Pinkie Pie.

“I'm sure they have an idea,” says the Fellow Ranger.

“...Okie dokie.. Well, I'll be seeing you.”

The Fellow Ranger nods. “Be seeing you.”

Pinkie Pie hastily approaches Rainbow Dash and turns her so that their backs are to the Fellow Ranger.

“We weren't trailed were we?” whispers Pinkie Pie.

“No. But we'll still be leaving once you and Flutters get fixed,” says Rainbow Dash.

“I already said I'm fine.”

“Are you fine enough to fight a Five Circle Knight? Because last I checked you got your tail handed to you by one.”

Pinkie Pie jabs Rainbow Dash's chest. “That was a cheap shot! If he and I had squared off normally then I would've squished his head like a pumpkin!”

Rainbow Dash raises a brow. “Do you even know how to fight normally?”

“Yes!”

Rainbow Dash stares.

“Maybe.”

Rainbow Dash keeps staring.

“I've done it before.”

Rainbow Dash pats her shoulder. “Sure you have. Take your boots off.The sooner you and Flutters are fixed the sooner we get to Ponyville.”

Pinkie Pie makes an objective whine, but Rainbow Dash ignores her and goes to the front counter, hating the feeling of her feet being exposed. Once there she peeks over the counter and sees nobody anywhere. Huffing, she looks over her shoulder and sees Flash is guarding the door, Fluttershy huddled in the corner with the blanket wrapped tightly around her and Pinkie Pie has yet to take her boots off. That's annoying, but rather than wasting her time trying to get the Ranger to obey she bangs her hand on the counter.

“Hello!? Doctor needed!” shouts Rainbow Dash.

And that is when a yellow earth pony mare with a curled mane of blue and light blue wearing a simple, thick white dress and apron steps out. Though when she sees Rainbow Dash she freezes in her spot, her colors paling and ears drooping, and the pegasus frowns.

“Relax, I'm not here to pillage anything. I even took my boots off. But I need your help. A couple of my companions got hurt really bad and need some medicine,” says Rainbow Dash.

The mare looks at the Fellow Ranger, and when all he does is nod she turns tail and disappears from view.

“Hey!” Rainbow Dash has to stand on her toes to look further down the hall. “What gives!? Customers are waiting, you stupid mud pony!”

As soon as the words leave her mouth, she wince and looks over her shoulder half expecting to see glares. Thankfully she sees none, but the Fellow Ranger inspecting his knife is unnerving in its own way. A few seconds later, footsteps echo in the building and Rainbow Dash turns to see stepping up to the counter a unicorn stallion with a combed over brown mane, caramel coat and dark blue eyes wearing a white tunic and apron.

“There is no need to make a scene, regardless of who you are,” says the stallion.

“Well, your customer service is garbage,” says Rainbow Dash.

“Sorry for not living up to the expectations of pegasi royalty. Would you like me to prepare you a flower bath as an apology?”

“Not sure if you're being sarcastic or genuine.”

“I was being sarcastic. Now, what ails your companions?”

Rainbow Dash points to Fluttershy. “She took an axe to her back and broke her arm.” She points to Pinkie Pie, who still has not taken off her boots. “And she took an arrow to the shoulder and had her gut slashed.”

“Lies. I'm fine,” says Pinkie Pie.

“And what about you two?” asks the stallion, eyeing Rainbow and Flash.

“Absolutely nothing,” says Rainbow Dash.

“My arms are about to fall off,” says Flash.

“You'll live,” says the stallion. “As for you two, come with me.”

Fluttershy looks at Rainbow Dash, and after getting a nod she timidly approaches the unicorn, but when Rainbow Dash looks at Pinkie Pie all she sees is the front door closing and Flash taring at it with a surprised look. With a heavy sigh, she stomps outside and sees Pinkie Pie hurrying away from the apothecary with uneven steps. Though, that problem is fixed when she zips up to her and grabs the earth pony's coat collar.

“Hold it. Where are you going?” says Rainbow Dash sternly.

“To the beach. Wanna come?” says Pinkie Pie.

“No! You're going back inside to get fixed! I don't need anypony dying on me!”

Pinkie Pie continues walking, despite Rainbow Dash digging her feet into the cold mud and using her wings to give her some leverage.

“Pinkie, stop being a phallus!” says Rainbow Dash, gritting her teeth and growling from the strains in her arms.

“Can't be what I don't have,”'quips Pinkie Pie. “Plus, I said I'm fine so I'm fine and we can drop the cake and move on!”

Rainbow Dash releases Pinkie Pie, only to curve around her so that she is blocking her path and glaring at her. She has to look up to do it, and for onlookers, seeing a small, slim pegasus looking up at a tall, bulky earth pony is an amusing sight, but Rainbow Dash is far from amused. And her feet being exposed and covered in mud is not helping her mood.

“Fine? Do you realize that you can still barely walk and that when Shining Armor brought you to me it took you two days to stand up?” says Rainbow Dash.

“A day and a half, actually,” counters Pinkie Pie.

“I don't care! Tell me why you don't want to get fixed. Do you have a death wish?”

“Yes.”

“... What?”

“You heard me.” Pinkie Pie walks past Rainbow Dash towards a building with a mug shaped sign. “Be right back. I'm going to find some happiness real quick.”

“But we got to leave as soon as possible!”

Pinkie Pie ignores Rainbow Dash and slips inside the mug building, and the pegasus stares at the door, eye twitching, fists clenched and breathing heavy. After an explosive exhale she marches back to the apothecary, ignoring the stares of the guards, and when she is inside she leaves a trail of muddy footprints that leads up to the counter, where the yellow mare is. At the counter, Rainbow Dash slams her hand down and looks into the terror stricken mare's eyes.

“Bill me and tell me where I can find some carrots,” says Rainbow Dash.

Those words are the only ones on Pinkie Pie's mind as her finger traces the mug's rim. Froth has bubbled up and spilled over the side, too, leaving a small puddle around the mug's base. With her back hunched over, Pinkie Pie gulps down her drink -relishing the sweet taste of carrot and apple- and glances around the fire lit room. Dirty stallions and mares alike laugh and chatter with broad smiles. Utensils cling against plates, the aroma of fresh baked goods and warm soup and candles masks the body odor, and somewhere someone shouts out an order being complete.

Sighing, Pinkie Pie looks at her rock necklace and rubs the smooth stone with her fingers while her other hand rubs the faint scar along her neck. Tears build up, and she swallows a lump in her throat, hoping that it will grant her breath, but all it does is fill her with an empty coldness.

“A mare Ranger? That is something I hadn't seen before,” says a tired stallion.

Pinkie Pie breaks her eyes from the stone and looks at the stallion next to her. Earth pony, big in height and muscle, and judging from the scars on his hands and the faint discoloration on his fur Pinkie Pie is sure he is a stone-crafter.

“You seem to have been through a lot, too,”' says the stallion.

“You can say that... You look like you work a lot,” says Pinkie Pie, sizing him up.

“That I do.”

Pinkie Pie blinks the haze out of her eyes and with a well practiced wolfish smile she places her hand on top of his and twirls the string on her shirt.

“I'll tell you what,” says Pinkie Pie, “ you seem like a nice guy, so you buy and I'll make sure we're both distracted from the gloomy days for a few minutes. How's that sound?”

The stallion looks her over, and she bats her lashes and lightly pulls the string on her shirt so the top opens enough to show some cleavage. Seeing the pink bust below, the stallion taps the counter and lifts his hand up to the bartender.

“Tender, her tabs mine!” says the stallion.

“Good man,” says Pinkie Pie, patting his arm and taking another gulp of her drink, eagerly awaiting the moment that will remove the pain for a few minutes. “Good man.”

With Flash guarding Fluttershy and Pinkie Pie being a pill, Rainbow Dash walks up to a block shaped building with a carrot painted on it with her muddy feet snug inside her boots. The building is spectacular in the way that it has not collapsed on itself, and when she reaches the window she finds yet another fantastic display of poor customer service.

“What do you want?” sneers an old fat mare whose blubber is rolling off the sides of her chair.

“I want some carrots,” says Rainbow Dash. She checks her money, dreading how little she has left. “Four of them, to be exact.”

She puts the four gold coins on the counter, and the fat hag leans back in her chair and yells down the hall.

“Oi, Bronze! Ya lazy git, I need four carrots!”

There is a cluster of chaotic noises in the back, including banging metal and breaking glass, followed by a storm of swears. A moment later when the stallion known as Bronze steps out carrying a bundle of four carrots, Rainbow's jaw drops from who she is seeing.

“Davenport?” says Rainbow Dash.

Bronze, also known as Dilbert Davenport, freezes, then blinks and sulks.

“Oh no.”

Oculus Inn

A stinging light mauls Apple Bloom's baggy eyes when she crawls out of a tight burrow. She squints her eyes at the light gray landscape that stretches far and wide, stopping at the base of towering pale mountains shrouded in fog. She looks to the side and sees the occasional warped plant of gray and brown, and she looks to the other side and sees the same thing.

Apple Bloom shivers and tugs her cloak tighter around herself, thankful for the warmth it is giving her, and she looks at the sky and frowns at the gray clouds blocking the sun. Rays of light still breach it, but what light goes through is weak while somehow managing to bring pain.

Sighing, Apple Bloom sits on a stump outside of her burrow and gently pulls out the Amulet of the King from her pouch. It feels heavier than it did the previous day, and shinier, too. Her thumb rub the smooth obsidian surface and her reflection stares back at her from the glassy surface of the ruby stone. As she rubs it, she noticing the pitch black lines on her marked hand. They outline her bones and stop shy of her knuckles.

She stops massaging the Amulet and looks at the lines. She feels nothing from staring at her hand. She wants to feel something, she wants to remember how she mutilated that beast that nearly drowned Applejack, but there is a void in her and all she can see is her victim propped off the ground with the numerous ice spires impaling him and his blood flowing into the water.

Apple Bloom closes her eyes and squeezes the Amulet tight in her hand. A freezing breeze tears into her ears, so she flips the hood over her head and hunches over, gripping the Amulet all the tighter. Her heart beats heavier, her lungs suck in blocks of ice, and her fur stands up from the cold breaching her cloak and thick clothing, bringing her to momentarily wish she was a pegasus. They always had thicker fur, despite being the thinnest of the pony races, so they would be able to handle this weather, which brings her to another wish.

Why her? Why couldn't it be Scootaloo that got stuck with this cursed object? That troublemaker is tougher than her tenfold, has nothing except for a stupid shack, and she also has no fear. She just does things!

But then again, is Scootaloo still an “is” or is she now a “was”? What happened to her? What happened to Sweetie Belle? To Spike? To Applejack? To everybody else? Did they survive? Or did they wind up like Twilight, Twist and Button?

“Questions, questions. So many questions,” says the Shadow Foaling.

Apple Bloom cracks her eyes open and barely lifts her head to look at the specter in front of her. Its grin is wide as always, and its tattered dress floats in the wind like cloth submerged in water.

“Are you tired, Apple Bloom? You can't be tired. How can you find me if you're tired?” asks the Shadow Foaling.

Apple Bloom blinks, and the Shadow Foaling is gone, and in its place is Pipsqueak bundled up and scanning the landscape. Apple Bloom blinks again, but the Shadow Foaling does not return, and when she looks at her hand, all she sees is the marking, but no black lines. This gives her heart a pause, and she holds her hand up to her eyes, turning it this way and that in search for any signs of the blackness.

“Are you feeling okay?” asks Pipsqueak. “You were in your own world for a while.”

Apple Bloom lowers her hand and shakes her head as she looks at the cracking ground.

“I haven't been feeling okay ever since I got this stupid Amulet,” says Apple Bloom.

Pipsqueak nods, approaches Apple Bloom and puts his hand on her shoulder, bringing her to look at him without lifting her head.

“We'll get through this. I promise,” says Pipsqueak. “Twilight would not have put this on you if she didn't think you could handle it.”

“What if Twilight made a mistake?” asks Apple Bloom.

“She wouldn't make a mistake about this.” Pipsqueak takes a step back and motions towards a cook set up, with the pot hanging above a small fire circled by stones. “Would you like some breakfast?”

Apple Bloom nods, smiling thinly, and Pipsqueak holds out his hand to her. She grips it tight and lets him pull her up. She doesn't know if the little guy has gotten stronger, or if she has gotten weaker, but her getting pulled up was easier for her companion than normally. She remembers how back in the peaceful days Pipsqueak would be given trouble for being small and frail and needing others to do most manual labor for him. How the times have changed.

Apple Bloom sits in front of the cooking station, swallowing drool as the scent of oatmeal and cinnamon fills her nose.

“Oatmeal? Really?” teases Apple Bloom.

Pipsqueak shrugs and scoops out a bowl for her. “I figured with the piles of snow around here it will be easy to clean. Just put the snow in the bot and watch it go from ice to boiling water and we clean it out that way.”

“Did you do this a lot?” asks Apple Bloom, thanking him when he gives her a bowl of oatmeal.

“No. This is the first time I've been on a quest to destroy an amulet with the power to end all life,” says Pipsqueak.

Apple Bloom giggles weakly. “You know what I mean.”

“I know. I was just trying to lighten the mood. I did do this camping a lot with Button...” Pipsqueak's voice trails off and he looks at his bowl, hands shaking and eyes misting over. “He hated oatmeal.”

Apple Bloom's smile fades and she looks down, still hungry, but not sure if she should be eating now.

“I'm sorry,” she says, blinking tears out of her eyes.

“For what?” asks Pipsqueak.

“For getting your friend killed.”

“Oh... I... I don't think you need to beat yourself up over what happened. You have enough on your shoulders and... well, we just have to move on. Destroying that Amulet will be more than enough to avenge him and the others, so let's focus on that, okay?”

Apple Bloom nods, and the two eat in silence.

After they finish eating, they wash out the dishes using the snow and towels, and after they finish washing they let the towels dry above the smoldering wood. Once those are dried they pack up and head down the plains, passing dead shrub, broken trees and piles of snow. Some of the trees look like skeletal bodies fused together, screaming faces and twisted limbs permanently prettified.

“That's unsettling,” says Pipsqueak.

Apple Bloom silently agrees, and they keep walking in silence for a few more hours before they come across a white brick building with a tower. Its roof is well kept with bright red shingles, a large stable is off to the side and smoke billows from a row of chimneys and light shines from the cracks of the shudders.

The two stop and look at each other, then at the building before them.

“Was that there before?” asks Pipsqueak.

“I don't remember seeing it there,” says Apple Bloom.

They look at each other again, then in wordless agreement they head to the building, steps in sync with each other, and once they approach the heavy wooden door they see a sign above it that reads: Oculus Inn.

They take a deep breath and Pipsqueak opens the door. Immediately, the two are greeted by a burst of warm air, great smells, and laughter and warm light. They peek inside and see a clean lobby that is not too crowded by happy travelers sitting at round tables with circles of candles, all wearing worn clothing and having their bags by their feet. Though, despite their ratty state, each traveler is relaxed, and there are a variety of them, too. From mares to stallions, and earth ponies to pegasi and unicorns, and even a couple of creatures that Apple Bloom has not seen before (such as an eagle-lion hybrid biped chatting with a pegasus), all of them are blessed with a carefree environment. Even the simply dressed waitresses dropping off the food at the tables carry smiles and walk lightly. And on a stage, with a glowing horn and surrounded by candles is a young black furred unicorn mare with a silver mane that goes down the length of her shoulder and covers one of her yellow eyes; she is wearing a sleeveless brown dress with a thick black padding that hugs her neck as a collar and covers her shoulders and thighs. Her dress has a V-cut that exposes part of her chest, plus an opening in front that partially displays the pants beneath it, and the dress goes down to her ankles. Strapped around her waist is a large belt, and covering the lower half of her legs is a large pair of black boots with silver buckles that lock the straps in place.

The dress really does hug the mare's figure in a way that Apple Bloom has no idea how it can possibly be comfortable, but if it is the job of the dress to invoke lust, then it is working if Pipsqueak's wide eyes and near drooling is any indication. The way the dress hugs the mare's ribs and emphasizes her chest and thighs, coupled with her swaying and admittedly wonderful voice, it is no secret as to how she is able to put Pipsqueak -and the nearby stallions- in a trance. Still, a nudge in the ribs is in order, so that's what Apple Bloom does, snapping Pipsqueak out of his trances.

“Ow. What?” says Pipsqueak.

“Let's find the boss and figure out what this place is,” says Apple Bloom.

“Or we can ask her,” says Pipsqueak, jabbing his thumb to the singing mare.

Apple Bloom frowns. “Or we can ask somepony else.”

“She looks like she's been here for a while.”

“We ain't here to flirt.”

“I'm not going to flirt! I don't even know how to do that!”

Apple Bloom rolls her eyes and walks ahead, searching for any sign of anybody she can talk to other than the singing mare whose melody is very hard to ignore.

Apple Bloom keeps walking with Pipsqueak in tow, but she can see the unicorn watching them, and she smiles with lidded eyes and keeps singing.

Apple Bloom scrunches her face and stops by an empty table and looks around some more. Pipsqueak has taken a seat at the empty table and watches the singer with a dopey smile, and Apple Bloom waves him off and spots a unicorn stallion nearby, leaning against the wall and turning a coin between his fingers. He is older than the mare, has burgundy fur with a combed brown mane and gray eyes. He is wearing a purple tunic with gold cuffs and brown boots, and next to him is a slender sword with a golden handle sheathed in a black case that has a golden tip. His horn is glowing, too, but that is because he is using his magic to stir a steaming cup of tea.

“You need something, little one?” asks the stallion.

His voice is smooth and stern, and the suddenness of it gives Apple Bloom a start, but after she calms herself down she cautiously approaches him.

“Are you the owner of this place?” asks Apple Bloom.

“I am,” he says.

“Oh, that's good. I hate to be problematic, but I was wondering if you can sell me and my friend supplies.”

“That depends. What supplies do you need?”

“Food and medicine. We're on a long trip and need as much as we can carry.”

“Where are your parents?”

“We ain't kids. We're foalings.”

The stallion stops the coin in his hand. “Foalings? Now that's interesting. You look like you can use more than food and medicine. You look like you can use rest. I will gladly give you a room free of charge for three nights to help make your trip easier.”

“Oh no, you don't have to do that.”

“I insist, Miss....?”

“Honeycrisp...”

“Honeycrisp?”

Apple Bloom nods.

“Ms. Honeycrisp, I will help you as much as I can,” says the stallion. “A good friend of mine is actually coming in three days to deliver supplies and I know he will give you a ride of great distance.”

“That's mighty kind of you, Mister.”

The stallion smirks. “You may call me Oculus, and that mare that you envy, is Thelxiepeia. You have nothing to fear from her. She is mine and I am hers, and we have no intention of changing that. Please sit and enjoy the comforts. I will get you sorted out.”

Apple Bloom thanks him and sits next to Pipsqueak. He is still entranced by the mare, but Apple Bloom decides not to say anything. They are here to relax and resupply, and if him watching the mare brings him to a state of comfort than so be it.

Apple Bloom looks around the room, watching the patrons laugh and chat and eat, but the more she watches them, the more uneasy she becomes. She does not know what it is, but they seem off. They appear to be stuck in a pattern. Talking the same, eating the same, lifting their glasses the same. Even the waitresses are moving in a set pattern.

She swallows and grabs Pipsqueak's shoulder. “I think we should go.”

“Why?” asks Pipsqueak. “Its warm here and the music is nice. I bet they have good food, too.”

“I don't like it. Something ain't right.”

“Hello!” says a sweet voice.

Apple Bloom's fingers dig into the table, and with a cautious frown she looks at the speaker, who just happens to be the singer, Thelxiepeia. Pipsqueak, however, is the exact opposite with his broad smile and glittering eyes.

“Oh, hi! You got a pretty voice,” says Pipsqueak.

Apple Bloom turns her frown to him, her ears now splayed back and her hands barely held back from grabbing him and dragging him out the door.

“Thank you,” giggles Thelxiepeia. She gently scratches the thin layer of scruffy fur on Pipsqueak's cheek. “You have such an adorable accent. Where are you from?”

“Green-”

“Nowhere,” interrupts Apple Bloom. “We're from nowhere and were actually getting ready to leave.”

Apple Bloom's eyes flick past Thelxiepeia and sees the patrons are still stuck in their puppet motions, and she looks at the mare when she speaks with a purr in her voice, her finger now tracing Pipsqueak's jaw and her eyes on Apple Bloom.

“Leaving? But you just got here,” says Thelxiepeia. “I saw you walk in. Cold, tired, hungry. You two are far from home aren't you?”

“Very far,” says Pipsqueak.

“But we're going, anyway,” says Apple Bloom.

“I also saw you talking to my husband, and I am sure he already told you who I am,” says Thelxiepeia. “But you and your friend may call me Tia. Everypony else does. And we take care of everypony that walks in here, like one big family.”

A smiling waitress then approaches their table and drops off a couple of bowls of thick, hot soup filled with potatoes, carrots and noodles and green bits. It smells good, unfortunately, and it brings Apple Bloom's mouth the water. Though, she restrains herself, even though Pipsqueak does not. He gorges himself like a slob, leaving food to splatter on the table, and Apple Bloom's eyes flick to her sword, Angurvadal, noting the blue glow coming from its sheath. Her eyes then drift up to Tia's, and while she is still smiling, Apple Bloom sees the malice in her exposed eye. A very hungry look of a starving beast patiently waiting for their prey to lose their guard stares back at her.

Apple Bloom's hands shake, her throat becomes dry and stuffy, and every beat of her heart pushes out droplets of sweat that coats her neck and forehead as she attempts to discretely draw her blade.

“What's wrong, Honeycrisp?” asks Tia.

Pipsqueak suddenly collapses and flops to the floor, and Tia smirks as she leans in her chair.

“You look tense,” continues Tia.

Apple Bloom tightens her grip on her handle, but stiffens when a cold blade presses against her throat.

“I'll be taking your sword, Honeycrisp,” says Oculus.

Apple Bloom reluctantly undoes the sword-belt, and Angurvadal falls to the floor with a clank. She keeps her glare on Tia, and the unicorn giggles and picks up Pipsqueak with ease, putting him over her shoulder and holding his pack in her free hand.

“Oh, don't look at me like that. I'm just doing my job,” says Tia.

Angurvadal is levitated into Oculus's hand, and he inspects it halfheartedly, nodding approvingly with what he sees before he clips it around his waist.

“You have a nice bounty on your head,” says Oculus.

“So, ya'll just a pair of bounty hunters?” asks Apple Bloom sourly.

“No. We are above those ruffians. But I will give you a hint as to who we are. You ran into a couple of our friends at Nieghagra Falls and killed them in a very brutal way.”

Apple Bloom's eyes widen, and all the air flees her when she looks at Oculus.

“Don't worry, I won't kill you,” says Oculus. “You and your friend will remain here in our custody until my friend picks you up. He is dying to meet you since you have given him a lot of trouble. And just so you know not to run...”

Oculus's horn stops glowing and the pleasant environment dissolves to a cold, gray room with frozen cobwebs, broken tables, tattered cloth and melted candles. Hanging from the ceiling is a chandelier of weak candles that barely caste a shadow, and frigid wind blows through the cracks in the wall. Sitting at the tables are some of the patrons, but their skin is shriveled, their mouths are open and their eyes are black pools. Ice has fused them to their seats, seas of dark red surround them, and patches of flesh have been cut out of them, exposing cracking and splintering bone.

Apple Bloom's tears freeze to her face and she brings her hands to her mouth, whimpering and shivering as the coldness sinks its claws into her. All while Tia smiles and Oculus kneels next to Apple Bloom and floods her ear with his hot breath.

“Make no mistake. This is my domain. There is no Light, here. Only the Nightmare.”

Author's Notes:

Blitz-blitz-blitz

I literally wrote this whole thing in a span of five hours over a couple of days. I figured you waited long enough, but hopefully you enjoyed this chapter and fingers crossed that the next chapters will be better.

Sprinkles: Reunion

“He has seen better days,” says Spike.

“Eeyup,” says Braeburn.

Applejack hums and nods, and Shining Armor presses his hand against his boxy muzzle, frowning with his ears limp.

“Faust, that is nasty,” says Shining Armor, doing everything he can to keep his breakfast down.

The group has not broken their eyes from a mangled stallion wearing the Lulamoon Sanctuary uniform. A dark red pool of semi-dried blood is illuminated by the morning light, and has seeped into the mulch and splattered on the bark. His limbs are twisted with flesh ripped apart, bones poke out, his chest and stomach clawed to Hell, and his eyes and mouth wide with terror.

After several seconds, Braeburn kneels next to the corpse and checks his jaw, nodding. “Welp, I think this fellow was the one who got his teeth knocked out.”

“So Rarity and the others might be okay?” asks Spike.

“Hard to say.” Braeburn looks into the forest, his eyes focused as they scan the many trees. “We will have to go further, but this fellow looked like he was mauled by a good sized beast. It is a safe bet to say that he chased our girls, but something got him and if they weren't fast enough it would have gotten them, too.”

“Do you see any tracks?” asks Shining Armor.

Braeburn slides away from the corpse and inspects the ground. He hums curiously and carefully approaches a patch of ground, his fingers pressing into something that no one can see.

“Well, there was something here, but I ain't ever seen any tracks like these before,” says Braeburn. He stays low to the ground, carefully feeling the ground and scanning more of the area. “Whatever it was, it was stalking its prey... and... weird.”

“Weird?” asks Shining Armor.

“I see the prints of our girls, but they ain't running. They actually look like they walked away,” says Braeburn. He then looks at a log and after a brief pause he moves closer to it and runs his fingers along a pair of dark streaks covering the old wood. “There was also something here. Magical burn from what I can tell.”

“What if they were abducted?” asks Spike.

The group looks at him, and he shrugs.

“I'm just saying, me and Twilight heard stories where ponies would venture out and then disappear after seeing some strange lights,” says Spike.

Shining Armor rolls his eyes. “That's just hobo talk. Its baseless.”

“I guess you would know,” says Braeburn.

“What's that supposed to mean?”

Braeburn merely smirks and pats him on the shoulder before walking ahead, leaving Shining Armor to ponder the deep, cryptic words of his companion. Though, he quickly decides against thinking too hard about it and walks after the stallion with the other two following close behind. As they walk, they can only rely on Braeburn's meticulous steps to guide them through the forest of dark, twisting trees, damp mulch and bushes that oddly look like mangled bodies covered in plants. One particular bush looks like a stretched pony with their thin fingers clawing at their wide open maw. That one sends a sharp, icy shiver up Shining Armor's spine.

“I don't like this,” says Applejack.

“Me neither,” says Shining Armor. “Any signs of our mares?”

Braeburn shakes his head, and then his ears suddenly perk and he holds up his hand, bringing the group to a stop.

“Ya'll hear that?” asks Braeburn.

Shining Armor strains his ears, but all he hears is bugs, the groaning of wood and a gentle breeze flowing through the leafs. He and Applejack exchange confused yet worried looks while Spike sniffs. The drake sniffs again and nods at Braeburn, gripping the handle of his sword tight.

“I can smell something,” says Spike. Spike sniffs the air again. “It actually smells familiar, but different.”

Braeburn furrows his brow. “That makes no sense.”

“What should we do?” asks Applejack.

“Stay on guard,” orders Shining Armor, his eyes scanning the area. “It could be anything. Condemned, beasts, or A FREAKIN' GHOST!”

The sudden change in tone brings the group to jump and when they see a bright white whispy orb flying towards them, Braeburn swears and shoots a bolt at it. The bolt is incinerated in midair by purple flames, and Applejack throws one of her smaller axes at it, but it is encased in light and shatters. As this happens, Shining Armor raises his Blessed Blade, but it too is encased in a glow until the weapon becomes red hot, forcing him to drop it. Shining Armor growls in pain and clutches his hand, and the orb explodes into a display of purple and white light that blinds everybody.

Shining Armor stumbles around, hands failing to grab anything, and he ends up bumping into a solid wall of metal that crumbles with him to the ground, releasing a surprised yelp with him. Somewhere in the sea of colorful blobs clouding his vision, Shining Armor sees Braeburn stumbling around... and ends with him tripping over the unicorn and falling flat on his back on the other side of him.

Shining Armor seethes and presses his palms on the cold metal surface, and after some seconds of colorful blindness, his vision returns and he finds himself on top of Applejack. Thankfully his hands are not on her chest, but they are on her stomach and she is looking at him with her freckled cheeks burning red.

“Wow. Overreact much,” says Spike, calmly standing over the pile of ponies, shaking his head.

Shining Armor quickly pushes himself up and pulls Applejack to her feet while Braeburn struggles to stand, having to use a log to help himself up.

“What in the world was that?” says Braeburn.

“Why hasn't the ghost killed us yet?” asks Shining Armor, trembling from the pain of his throbbing, burnt hand.

“Because it doesn't want to, obviously,” says Spike. “Though the flash was a bit much.”

Shining Armor glares at the drake, but he and the others turn their attention to the whispy orb when it speaks.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt any of you!” says the orb, carrying the voice of a comforting female. “But in my defense, you started it.”

“Says the creepy floating dead thing,” says Shining Armor. “What do you want, anyway?”

“You are tracking a mare of Unicornia and two foalings, right?”

“Where are they!” says Shining Armor, using his magic to levitate his sword into his good hand.

“They are safe with the Shepherds of the Forest.”

“Just give us a straight answer. Where are they and who are you?”

“Do you not recognize my voice?”

The light fades and one by one eyes widen and jaws drop from the sight. Standing in front of them is mare dressed in a white tunic that goes down to her thighs; wrapped around her waist and crossing over her chest and shoulders like a “V” are purple bands, and with her white pants is a pair of knee high, white strapped boots.

“Or have I been gone longer than I thought?” asks Twilight Sparkle.

A pair of large purple wings unfurl from behind her back and she smiles and waves awkwardly at the flabbergasted group.

“Hi, everypon-Eh-ack!”

And just like that, she is trapped in a bone crushing hug from Shining Armor that keeps her arms and new wings pinned and her feet dangling in the air. The other three rush to the pair, but refrain from embracing her since Shining Armor is taking up all the space and crying into her shoulder.

“Shining, y-you can let go,” says Twilight, short of breath.

After a few seconds, Shining Armor reluctantly releases Twilight and steps back, smiling and wiping tears of joy from his reddened eyes as she staggers and presses her palm against a tree for support, sucking in much needed air. Only for Spike to leap into her for a hug a second later.

Twilight stumbles and chuckles as she awkwardly pats Spike with her free hand while looking at Shining Armor's group.

“I thought I smelled you, but you smell a little different. New perfume?” says Spike.

Twilight chuckles. “I went through some changes... It's good to be back, though. It's good to see your faces again.”

Spike steps away from Twilight and holds her at arm's length, keeping his grip tight and smiling and blinking tears out of his eyes.

“What took you so long, anyway?” asks Spike.

“Being resurrected is not as fast as you would think,” says Twilight. She places her hand on Spike's cheek and smiles reassuringly. “But I'm back. And I won't be leaving until my job is done.”

Shining Armor's smile fades. “What job?”

Twilight looks at Shining Armor. “The defeat of Sombra.”

Spike's smile fades, too, and Applejack and Braeburn stare at her with worry as Twilight pulls away from Spike, rubbing her hands nervously.

“I'm sorry. I know it is something you didn't want to hear, but you have to know. Faust made it clear that my stay here is only temporary,” says Twilight.

Shining Armor turns away, running his fingers through his hair and breathing heavily, and Spike looks down, swallowing and blinking mist out of his eyes.

“You actually spoke with Faust?” asks Braeburn.

“I did,” says Twilight.

“Did she say anything else besides your borrowed time?”

Twilight nods. “She did.” She looks at Applejack. “The Apples are not done, yet. Everfree needs you. It needs the both of you.”

Braeburn raises his brows, nodding approvingly, but Applejack scowls and her softened eyes become brittle. Seeing this, Spike, Braeburn and Twilight look at her with concern.

“Applejack? Are you okay?” asks Twilight, stepping closer.

“I'm fine,” says Applejack coldly.

Shining Armor glances at Applejack from over his shoulder, now pouring some of his alcohol from his canteen on his hand, and then quietly looks at Twilight. The other two remain silent, as well.

“You don't look fine. What's wrong?” asks Twilight.

“She doesn't want anything to do with Everfree. Can't say I blame her,” says Shining Armor, wrapping his hand in a bandage while doing so.

Twilight looks at Shining Armor, then at Applejack, both of whom are giving her hard stares while Spike and Braeburn's eyes flick between the parties.

“But Everfree is your responsibility,” says Twilight to Applejack. “Your bloodline is tied to the throne! You can't abandon it!”

“Everfree don't want me or any Apples,” says Applejack, her eyes tearing up. “It's obvious.”

“Now, hold on a moment,” says Braeburn firmly. “You have an army that is fighting for you.”

“They ain't fighting for me or you! They're fighting to take control of Everfree! The Davenports just gave them a reason to act. It don't got anything to do with loyalty or our family. They are using me and you as props.”

“Now you're just being dense. If you've seen what I've seen-”

“Don't start with that!” screams Applejack, jolting the group. Applejack steps back, hands clenched, body shaking and breathing heavy as tears stream down her face. Her lips tremble and she takes another step back, shaking her head. “Don't start...”

Then she turns and storms off, shaking her head and disappearing into the forest, leaving the group to stare at her in a state of shock. Once she is out of sight, Spike sighs and shakes his head.

“That's great,” says Spike.

With a deep breath, Shining Armor takes a sip of his alcohol canteen and walks after Applejack, much to the surprise of the others.

“I'll be back,” says Shining Armor.

He doesn't wait for any responses. Rather he quickly goes after Applejack, grumbling to himself and taking another sip of his drink. Thankfully Applejack did not get too far and has taken a seat on a gnarled root, but there is still that bug of annoyance that is worming around inside him. They really do not have time to deal with these kinds of antics, and if her sudden outbursts are going to be a problem then he does not know how he will handle it. Maybe have her and Twilight do a girl bonding? Mares like doing those types of activities.

Musing aside, Shining Armor stands next to Applejack, putting on his best patient look as he stares own at her, watching her hunched over and wringing her long blonde hair as she looks aimlessly into the forest.

“I'm sorry,” says Applejack.

“For what?” says Shining Armor.

“For slowing you down. I know you want to get to Ponyville and find the others, but... I can't go back.” She swallows and dips her head, her shaking hands gripping her skull. “I can't do it.”

Shining Armor's spike of annoyance diminishes, and with it, his facade. He looks at his canteen as if it hods the right words, but all he sees is the black pit of the container's lip. He raises it, pauses, then takes another sip and sits next to Applejack, looking at the trees, wishing he had a vocabulary he could use. He looks at her, but she does not look at him. She still shakes, despite her armor and axe offering her protection, so he puts his hand on her shoulder and gives it a lightly squeeze.

“I know I am going to sound like a jerk with whatever I say, so take my word. I won't let anything happen to you in Ponyville,” says Shining Armor.

Applejack looks at him, her wet emerald eyes trying to focus on his light blue eyes. But while her's is desperate to seek an anchor, his is fearful of one, and she looks away, shaking her head.

“I kinda have a hard time believing you,” she says.

“I carried you out of the Ammolite Mines,” says Shining Armor, his voice heavy as stone and his eyes just the same. “And I squished a pegasus into a cube when he nearly killed Pinkie Pie. I think I deserve something.”

Applejack is silent, and Shining Armor stands up, taking a long gulp of his drink before wiping his mouth and holding out his hand to her.

“Let's go. We got a job to do and as long as we stick together none of us are going to let the Davenports hurt you,” says Shining Armor.

Applejack looks at Shining Armor, her wet eyes shining in the dark, and then with a heavy swallow and shakes she extends her hand to him and lets him pull her up. They then start their trek back to the group.

“Is there a good healer in Ponyville?” asks Shining Armor.

“Last I checked there was. Unless Adirondack had her executed,” says Applejack.

“Hopefully not, because this-” Shining Armor holds up his bandaged hand “-is already getting annoying and Twilight has never been good with medical spells.”

“Ain't she Celestia's student?”

“She was, but she always failed her medical spells.”

“Oh.”

When they reach the group, Twilight is talking to the other two, who have decided to lean against trees for support.

“-Yew is kind of heard hearted, but he won't hurt them,” says Twilight. “They will be safe as long as they remain in his den.”

“So, can we come pick them up then?” asks Spike.

“No. They need to back to Foalington and Unicornia where it is safe, and Yew promised to do that. We have work to do, though, about Sombra and the Amulet. Which I've been meaning to ask...” Twilight looks at Shining Armor and Applejack since they are now next to her. “Where's the rest of the Fellowship? Where's Pinkie? Where's Apple Bloom?”

Shining Armor lowers his eyes as he rubs his hand. “Blueblood fell, and we got separated from the others.”

“What happened?” gasps Twilight.

“We got ambushed when we were at Neighagra Falls. Blueblood died defending Pinkie Pie, but she was still injured very badly, as well as Fluttershy, and Trixie's soldiers took Rarity, Sweetie and Scootaloo. We came here to look for them while Rainbow and Flash treated the others. We're supposed to meet them in Ponyville once we rescued Rarity and the others since it is closest to Trixie's Sanctuary.”

By this point Twilight's ears have drooped, and her colors have paled and she is rubbing her hands together, nibbling her lips.

“But where's Apple Bloom?” asks Twilight.

Shining Armor looks down. “I had to let her go for her own safety. Pipsqueak is with her, though.”

Twilight's jaw drops, and her body trembles with a hint of smoke rising from her. “Pipsqueak is with her? Pipsqueak, who is small for a foaling, is leading Apple Bloom -who has the most dangerous artifact ever crafted- through the Frozen North to a dormant volcano that is literally the gateway to Tartarus?” Twilight's mane, wings and tail erupt into flames and she grabs Shining's jacket. “What were you thinking!? You had one job and you blew it!”

“I had no choice! I had to do it!” Shining Armor grabs Twilight's wrists and struggles to look into her eyes, speaking humbly with the stench of burnt fabric hurting his nose. “Please understand, I had to let her go.”

Twilight searches his face, and when she looks at the others and sees their concerned faces, she sighs and steps back, lowering her eyes and leaving a pair of burnt prints on her brother's jacket.

“That choice made it more difficult for her. I hope Pipsqueak is able to protect her, for all of our sakes,” says Twilight.

“Pipsqueak's not going to let anything happen to Apple Bloom,” says Spike. “He loves her too much. You could see it everyday.”

Twilight scoffs. “Its going to take more than love to defeat Sombra.”

“We can talk about this later, but ya said Rarity and the foalings are safe, so that's good, but we still gotta get to Ponyville to meet up with Sugar Tail and the others. Hopefully they'll be healed enough to continue with us. I'd hate to leave them behind,” says Braeburn.

Twilight blinks. “I'm sorry, but who's Sugar Tail?”

Braeburn smirks. “The colorful one.”

“... Did I get a nickname?”

“... Do you want one?”

“... Kinda...”

“How's Purple Power sound?”

Twilight exhales and rubs her temple. “Never mind. Just gather around, everypony, I have an easy way to get us to Ponyville.”

Malerabus sighs quietly, but his chains clink loudly as he shifts in his position, which is wrists chained to one of the many pillars of the throne room. Unfortunately, he is sharing said pillar with Adirondack, and the two have been put under the watchful eyes of a pair of goats while the rest are either eating and using the table as a chair or weapon's bench, or with the help of Burnt Oak's soldiers forcing servants to bring in cases of gold, jewelry and other items made from precious metals. Some have even brought clothes in.

Another case that has brought in is personally opened by Star, and after rummaging through it he inspects a golden goblet with gems dotting its base. He grunts, gives it to one of the servants being held hostage and then waves her off.

“Go buy some makeup,” he says.

At first the mare is frozen, but when one of the Throne Guards begins to drag her out, she hurriedly walks on her own.

Another crate that is brought in and opened has absolutely nothing of value, save for bundles of paper wrapped in twine with numbers and the seal of the Davenports stamped on it. With that disappointment, Star closes it hard and meets the glare of Adirondack with a bemused look.

“Where is the rest of the valuables?” asks Star.

“Wouldn't you like to know?” sneers Adirondack.

“Yes. That is why I asked.”

“The rest of their wealth is at Fort Glæmscrafu,” says Burnt Oak, carefully giving out valuables to other servants, much to the annoyance of the occupying goats.

“Where is this fort you speak of?” asks Star.

“Mount Tall Tale of the Smokey Mountains,” replies Burnt Oak. “There's going to be an event where all of the Houses of Everfree, including the Vassals, will be there. It will be heavily fortified, but there is a secret passage in the back we can use to get in. We won't be able to swarm in, but if we can trickle in quietly we will be able to take it.”

“Going to that Fort will mean your death, so if you value your lives you best leave. I'll even give you a day's head start,” says Adirondack.

Star rolls his eyes and approaches Macintosh, who is quietly sitting on the throne, eyes locked straight ahead with his helmet on his lap and his sword next to him. Arian is sitting next to him on the floor, wrists bound with chains and a metal muzzle clamped around her face. Her face is stained with tears and her bloodshot eyes have trouble focusing on Malerabus.

“What are your orders?” asks Star.

Malerabus furrows his brows and strains his ears to hear what Macintosh is saying, but all he hears is a raspy whisper and Star muttering. When their conversation ends, the goat nods and goes to Burnt Oak.

“Assemble your soldiers. We'll leave at morning's light,” says Star.

Burnt Oak hesitates, then nods and leaves, ordering the Throne Guards and the servants to leave. Once the throne room is emptied of their presence, the door is slammed shut by a pair of goats, and Malerabus forces a chuckle, bringing Adirondack, Arian, Star and a few of the goats to give him questionable looks. Macintosh, however, remains staring at the door.

“So, all this is about money? I am honestly speechless,” says Malerabus.

“For me and my company it is about money,” says Star. “For McBiggun it is more personal.”

“And what is your plan after you get this money? Do you honestly expect to just walk away after robbing one of the richest families in Euestria?”

Macintosh says nothing, and Malerabus growls and shakes his chains.

“Okay, Lord Edge, are you going to at least spare anypony when you are done satisfying your greed?”

Macintosh shakes his head, bringing a horrified whimper and shudder from Arian.

“At least spare my daughter. She is innocent!” says Adirondack, desperation rising in his voice. “Or, better yet, you can have her. You know as King I can revoke any marriage and if you let me and my daughter live you can have her hand and the Davenports and Apples will be united! Just like the good times! Besides, it was all Tart Pear's idea for the Davenports to ascend.”

Malerabus glares at Adirondack, and Arian stares at her father, wide eyed and shaking her head swiftly, however, Macintosh remains quiet. The only sign of thought is his finger tapping the arm of the throne. But after some seconds, his finger stops and he shakes his head.

Arian's muffled cries rush towards the ears of the stallion and she tries to pull away, but the chain is locked good and tight into the floor, leading to only a ruckus of clanking metal.

“What will take for you to let me and my daughter live?” asks Adirondack.

Macintosh wheezes and his hard eyes become wet like stones in a stream as his hand digs into the arms of the throne.

“Unless you can reverse time, I think you are in a beyond hopeless situation,” says Star. He then glances at Malerabus. “Tart Pear, do you have anything to say? Perhaps you got a silver tongue to sway McBiggun.”

“Considering that he is Macintosh Apple, I think it would help his mood if you called him by his real name,” says Malerabus. “But names aside, if you think you can just kill me and get away with it, you will be sadly mistaken. My death will lead to the complete eradication of the Apple Bloodline, the razing of Five Ports and any place any of you ever visited. Your friends, your family, your friends' family, we will kill them all if you take my life, so I suggest you let me go lest you want more blood in the waters.”

Star stares at Malerabus, his hand lightly tapping the hilt of his sword, and Macintosh keeps his eyes locked on the door. As for the rest of the Forsaken Sons, they do not hold the calm looks of their leaders. No, they glances at each other nervously with some trying to cover their anxiety with a smile, and after several seconds of silence, Star sniffs and wipes his nose.

“That was impressive,” he says. “But in case you haven't realized, we carry the name 'Forsaken Sons' for a reason. So, you can raze and spill all the blood you'd like, but I will not lose any sleep over it. Macintosh, what are your orders?”

Macintosh exhales, his breath shaky and weak, and he motions Star by his side. Once the old goat is next to him, he leans over and whispers in his ear. Star listens intently, nodding after every few faint, scratchy words, and when Macintosh is done speaking, he steps back.

“Of course.” Star turns to a pair of goats who are sitting on bench, doing nothing important. “You two, take the mare to Macintosh's room. Not a scratch or hair out of place.”

The two nod and hastily approach Arian.

“What are you doing?” says Malerabus. “Don't you dare touch her!”

Then there is a blinding bright light.

Twilight opens her eyes and casually brushes herself off while the rest of the group sways and staggers on the decorated wooden floor, trying to keep themselves up.

“See? Easy,” says Twilight. As soon as she finishes, a circle of spears, arrows and blades suddenly point at them, forcing the Fellowship into a circle with their hands raised, squishing her in the middle in the process. “Oh.”

“Who dares enter this palace uninvited?” booms an old goat at the far end of the throne room, standing next to the largest stallion Twilight has ever seen, whose burnt figure clad in dark armor and holding the wide eyed look of the guards surrounding her party.

“I am Twilight Sparkle, servant of Faust the Creator, and I have come with my company to bring the true heir to Everfree to her rightful place,” says Twilight, grunting as she wiggles for room.

The goats and brute stare at the group, and Shining Armor flexes his hand, which prompts Spike to shake his head.

“There is only one heir to the Everfree throne, and he has already reclaimed it,” says the old goat while the brute stands up to go next to him, sheathing his weapon.

“Impossible. He was burned alive,” says Twilight.

Her horn glows, and in a flash she and Applejack disappear, then reappear in front of the throne, but while Twilight stands firm, Applejack's eyes roll and has to use Twilight's shoulder to keep steady, and she pushes herself against the alicorn and grips her axe when deer suddenly appear from thin air, brandishing curved blades aimed at the two mares.

“This is Applejack of House Apple,” says Twilight defiantly, jabbing her thumb at said mare. “She is the real heiress to the throne, not whoever that is, and if you deny what is hers any longer then I will throw all of you out!”

The old goat sneers and grabs the hilt of his sword. “You speak lies, alicorn. Applejack is far from these lands.”

“She's right here!” Twilight puts her hand on Applejack's shoulder. “How dense are you?”

“How thick is your hide?”

The spears inch closer towards the group, and Spike's eyes jump between the spearhead aimed at his heart and Twilight. “Uh, Twilight, can you please stop antagonizing whoever these guys are?”

“But he's being block-headed!”

“No offense to your negotiation skills, but ya ain't exactly surrounded by spears,” says Braeburn.

“And if they hurt any of you I will incinerate everyone here!”

The brute of a pony then growls and stomps forward, shoving the old goat out of the way and coming to a stop in front of Twilight, covering her and Applejack in a nightly shadow with a darkness on his face that gives his emerald eyes a ghostly glow. This leads to Twilight's defiance breaking, and with drooped ears she guides Applejack behind her, having to tilt her head to look at the stallion's near skeletal face and odd eyes.

“Though, honestly, I'd rather not settle this violently,” says Twilight while Applejack peeks around her shoulder.

“Wait,” says Applejack suddenly.

Twilight looks at Applejack, and panic bites her when the heiress carefully steps towards the stallion. The two stare at each other, both searching their faces with tears building in their eyes and their lips and bodies trembling. Then Applejack breaks down into sobs and leaps into the scarred stallion, and he wraps her tight in a hug and falls to his knees with her, crying into her shoulder and stroking the back of her head. Applejack's sobs turn to chokes and laughter, and she shakes in his embrace while everyone in the throne room stares at the scene, too perplexed for words. Except for a certain earth pony that Twilight remembers seeing when she was trapped in Trixie's dungeon. The two look at each other, and the familiar pony quickly averts his eyes.

“You're alive,” sniffles Applejack. “I can't believe you're alive.”

“What am I seeing, here?” asks Twilight, her eyes still on the one she knows as Tart Pear.

Without pulling away from the large pony, Applejack looks at Twilight, smiling and face soaked with tears. “Twilight... This is my older brother, Big Macintosh. He is the heir to the Throne of Everfree.”

Author's Notes:

So this was on my computer for a very long time and I completely forgot I had it.