Rodrigo’s return to the waking world was not greeted by the sight of a desolate mountain pass and frigid winds, but instead by warmth and comfiness. He could still feel the weight of all the injuries accrued over the course of the battle, and he was sore, but they felt numb rather than painful. The stallion’s nostrils expanded, filling with a fresh herbal scent.

He was in bed, his form tucked neatly under the sheets as a fire warmed up the room close by. Right above him, he could hear the mountain winds howling, slipping through tiny gaps in the ceiling with a whistle as they went through the rafters, paired with the rustle of loose shingles on the roof.

The building looked ancient, and small. A quick look through the tiny window above his bed soon revealed that he still was in Roncevaux Pass: it was the tiny shepherd’s cottage he had seen when magic warped the land. The construction was sturdy, but only held a singular room in which his bed and the fireplace were.Both his armor and Durandal lay dismantled on a short table by the door, next to a set of tools covered in an oily canvas.

In the fireplace, a little cauldron had been left to simmer. Rodrigo tried to peer at its contents, but his body was quick to remind him why he was in bed in the first place. Adrenaline had kept him going for a while, but now the arrow injury in his hind leg was coming back with a vengeance.

He pried the bedsheets away with his forehoof. Yes, there it was. Tightly bandaged under layers of linen and smelling sharply of herbal unguents, the limb was kept solidly immobilized and folded against his hindquarters to avoid making the injury worse.

Question was: who did that?

In his little dream, Concord had strongly implied he’d received help, and there was that green hoof he’d seen on the edge of his vision before blacking out, but he’d rather meet his savior in person than keep wondering about him.

He didn’t have to wait long to see that particular wish granted.

Rodrigo twisted his head to the side, hearing someone unlatch the door.

It was a green Earth Pony stallion, making a theatrical entrance as the mountain winds yanked the door open with a bang of its hinges, the change in lighting so sudden Rodrigo had to raise a hoof over his eyes while the new arrival struggle to grab the knob in his teeth and shut the door, the wind doing its best to keep it open.

He did manage to shut it, slamming the iron lock shut with a grunt before he finally turned around.

Then he noticed Rodrigo was staring and his eyes widened.

Come to think of it, he was actually the first Earth Pony the Spaniard saw with his own eyes. Up until then, most equines he had seen were unicorns. There had been a relief team from that other planet in Madrid, but there were only unicorns and pegasi on the team, even though they claimed there were more ‘pony tribes’ than just that.

Well, there was his proof. The one standing by the door was green, with a single white stripe running along his spine from the base of his tail to the tip of his muzzle. His white mane was kept in a tidy braid, much like his short tail. Body-wise, he was just like the books described Earth Ponies: slightly taller than the other tribes with a stocky build. One knowledgeable in medieval equine types would have identified him as more of the rouncey type.

As it stood, he was decently muscular, and about as tall as Rodrigo if the unicorn cheated and counted his horn. Adorning his flanks was an intricate Cutie Mark: a Celtic triskelion layered over a large travel pack with tools attached to the sides.

Rodrigo studied his features. The stallion was bad at hiding his surprise upon seeing him awake. Large gray eyes – the same color as Rodrigo’s- beheld him beneath white bristly brows. As a last feature, he had a shaggy goatee on the underside of his muzzle, its color the same white as his mane. Again, a detail that matched Rodrigo’s features, oddly enough. Goatees and beards were possible among stallions, but rare.

He was also, like the Equestrians from the relief team Rodrigo remembered meeting in Madrid, naked. Seems like some-pony thought fur was enough for decency.

Rodrigo, like most former humans, didn’t.

“Encantado.” The Spaniard finally greeted after an awkward minute of looking at each other in silence.

Or attempted to rather. His voice, unsurprisingly, came out hoarse and dry, turning the words into an incomprehensible wheeze. If such a thing was possible, the stallion’s eyes widened more and he rushed over to him, dropping a bundle of plants by the door.

“I’m so sorry, let me get you some water!” The as-of-yet unnamed stallion said, his accent a weird mix of… French and German? Weird given he was speaking Spanish with perfect grammar. He grabbed a clay pitcher from underneath Rodrigo’s bed between his hooves and helped his… ‘patient’ drink to his heart’s content.

Try as he might, Rodrigo felt too tired to even attempt using telekinesis. His magic reserves were probably still exhausted and the bandages pressing around his head told the wound near his horn was all too real. Best not try that.

Lukewarm liquid washed down his throat and soothed the dryness he felt down there. He couldn’t help but let out a relieved sigh after he set down the pitcher in front of him, deciding to stay belly down for now. His bandaged leg wouldn’t let him sit on his haunches comfortably.

“Gracias. I take it you’re the one who saved me?”

“Yes!” The stallion cheerfully replied, taking position by his bedside. “That’s my role. I brought you in and patched you up. You’ve been out for...” He rubbed a hoof against his little goatee. “One day, more or less? Guess you were really tired from the battle. You fought well.”

“I did, didn't I?”

“Eeyup.” He nodded repeatedly. “A true knight.”

“I’m no knight.” Rodrigo corrected.

“Nu-uh, you are! The Cutie Mark says it all.Plus if you weren’t, then my Master’s shade wouldn’t have let you duel it and claim the sword.”

“Your Master?” Rodrigo raised an eyebrow. “I’m sorry if I was rude but… who are you?”

“I’m Veillantif!” He smiled brightly. “I used to be Sir Roland’s destrier, but now that you claimed the sword I’m yours.”

And he said all that with a straight face. Rodrigo blinked once and opened his mouth. No that would probably be rude. He closed his mouth, shook his head vigorously and decided to rephrase it.

“Hold on there… you’re saying that you.”He jabbed a forehoof in the green stallion’s chest. “Used to stroll around with Roland on your back?”

“Eeyup.”

“The Paladin?”

“The First of Charlemagne’s Twelve!” He nodded eagerly, eyes closed with a proud smile. He’d traveled with the best and been a good mount!

“Over a thousand years ago?”

“Yep.” He nodded again, then stopped mid-motion, eyes opening wide. “Uh… espera, ¿qué?”

“So you don’t really know what’s going on.” Rodrigo stated calmly.

“W-wait, I do! Just... not the whole details it seems?” He chuckled, sheepishly rubbing a hoof over his neck.

“Oookay, I’m confused, you’re confused, so what if you start over from the beginning and we figure out what led up to this?” Rodrigo offered sympathetically.

He was still trying to fully comprehend the mess of things that had happened and the whole deal with Durandal, Integrity and Concord. It wasn’t like he could blame this stallion for not understanding what was happening.

“Well you know, I wasn’t always like this.” Veillantif waved a hoof at himself.

“Neither was I.”

“But you were human weren’t you? I was just a regular horse born in a stable near Aachen. Well, not really regular. I’m descended from Epona. Her great grandson, so there’s that.”

Rodrigo didn’t know who this Epona was, but questions could wait for later.

“I guess that didn’t make me quite the demigod of legend, but I still was rather healthy. Healthy enough to be bought by a noble and earn a reputation. I… I was too young and my memories from that time are a bit hazy, but I guess he couldn’t afford me so I was sold off to a larger noble house. Roland’s. He wasn’t a paladin yet at the time, and he didn’t have Durandal either...” His eyes drifted to the magic sword lying in its scabbard with Rodrigo’s damaged armor. “... but that’s when I earned my role as his trusty destrier, always by his side on whatever campaign and adventure he dragged us into. He got actual warhorses later, highborn breeds, but I remained his favorite. Always.” He smiled wistfully.

“Then there’s the end to it.”

Veillantif’s ears drooped and he sighed.

“Unfortunately. You know, I’m pretty sure Roland knew how it would end the moment we set foot in Spain, but we were riding with the Emperor. You can’t tell Charlemagne he shouldn’t put those villages to the torch, and Roland, everything he was, he owed it to Charlemagne. He was… a good man, trapped by his own allegiances.”

“What happened then?”

“You must have seen me – the old me, the shade on the battlefield- when he rode in, right? I had been with him for so long, and he knew how it would end, so he decided to set me free. But I didn’t leave. I stayed on the edge of the battle. I saw it with my own eyes. His real death I mean, not how you defeated his shade, which to be fair was rather impressive too. What killed the real Roland was when six Basque chiefs attacked him at once.” He shuddered. “I… Magic is bizarre sometimes. As he was dying he saw me, and I guess he couldn’t stand that I be captured anymore than he could picture his sword in enemy hands because next thing I know he stabs it in the ground and proclaims only a worthy adversary could claim us.”

“So you’ve been stuck for all that time?”

“I… I guess? It doesn’t feel like it happened yesterday, but my concept of time is all twisted up. I remember floating in limbo for most of that time, but then there’s a huge wave of magic and it got confusing. Great-grandmother summoned me to her realm for a little while and she turned me into...” He waved a hoof over himself. “Said my role as a destrier would be different now, but that I would still be needed. It’s weird. I never ever spoke a word prior to that, but now I know four languages, I’m pretty sure I’m literate, and I know a lot of stuff I’m certain I never learned on my own. Weird right?”

Rodrigo blinked. Yeah. Weird. Sounds about right to call it that.“So… by claiming the sword?”

“You have claimed me as your destrier, yes!” He smiled widely. “I’m pretty sure now that means I’ll do most of what a squire would usually do, so I’ll always have your back and patch you up when needed! I hope I didn’t do a bad job? It was my first time sewing up a wound.”

If pony eyes could imitate saucers, right then was about as good an example as you’d get. Before his… ‘destrier’ had the time to protest, Rodrigo had already peeled most of the bandages around his hind leg with his teeth, disregarding any searing pain the limb was sending him in protest. And…

He had actually done a damn good job of it. The place where a broadhead arrow had gone through his armor and been jostled so much the wound was a right mess… looked in good shape and on its way to a full recovery. The flesh around the wound was a healthy color, safely protected from infection by some kind of herbal unguent that spread a sharp smell around the little cottage.

“Oh right, I guess I should change the bandages then? Nice Cutie Mark by the way, do you want to make it your heraldry?”

Rodrigo’s eyes went back to his flank… which up until then had been blank. And yes, he had met Equestrian relief teams. He knew the implication at his age. Now though? Replacing the gray fur that previously occupied this area of his body, was a heather shield superposed above a knightly lance.

“Well that’s new.”

“You probably earned it after the battle. Anyway, I found some nettles outside, so do you want some soup before I oil your sword and fix your armor?”

It was a bit harder than Artyom anticipated getting the locals to let him participate in their underground fighting ring. He didn’t have any gems on claw to wager after all, so it required a bit more finesse to get in all thanks to him looking mean and Alejandro hyping him up in Spanish.

He’d have to thank the Chief Officer later. The hyacinth macaw had stood up on a table, arms turned into wings for the extra flourish, and then boisterously proclaimed…

Well, it wasn’t like Artyom could understand a single word of Spanish, but judging by the reaction of the crowd and the interested looks the little pitch earned the blue dragon, it had its effect. Some Abyssinians were kneading the railing in front of him, and more than one D-dog bitch were flexing their muscles in anticipation.

Yet he didn’t just flare his wings and hop into the ring. There remained the matter of the wager. He couldn’t help but let out a plume of acrid black smoke from his nostrils when Alejandro told him to wait. He could see the gems on the referee's table! He wanted them for his hoard!

Uh… might want to keep those instincts in check. Last thing he wanted was to waste resources on a change of wardrobe because he got a growth spurt like Schmitt’s.

Just a few gems then?

Small ones for snacks, and a big one or two to hide under his bed couldn’t possibly hurt. Yeah that should suffice.

To Alej’s credit, it only took a minute and a slight intervention by Roberto before they actually got a deal. Not a very lucrative one, and no wager on the first match, but for every fight he won Artyom would get a small share of the betting pool.

The blue dragon smiled predatorily. Music to his ears. They passed him some jute wrappings and had Alejandro tell him the rules… which remained simple. No using claws or talons. No fire breath. No maiming, eye gouge or any such.

You’re out once you leave the ring, if you can’t get up after ten seconds, or if you’re pinned for the same time. As classic as it got. He repeated the rules to Alejandro who then nodded to the referee. Good to go.

After peeling off both flak jacket and safety shoes, he proceeded to take off the top of his coveralls and tied it around his waist, showing off the lighter shade of blue on the scales that covered his chest and stomach. Compact muscles rippled underneath as he stretched, rolling his shoulders and cracking his wing joints.

If that wasn’t enough to tell the locals the VDV beret wasn’t just for show...

Artyom hopped over the ropes and made for his corner of the ring. Below him, he could see the aquifer through the gratings, lit up with LED’s. Best not fall too hard on that, those were no training mats. Alejandro was already in his corner, and he vaguely heard the hyacinth macaw repeat the same point the two went over every time they sparred in Amandine’s gym.

Keep your wings behind your back unless you’re using them to strike or actively want to be grappled. Watch the tail. Protect your core. Pay attention to each species’ reach – you’re not the biggest dragon-.

And use your endurance. The one thing to remember. He was a dragon. He was durable. The longer a match went, the more it favored him.

His first opponent was an Abyssinian. A short jittery ginger cat with white stripes all over. He was bouncing up and down on the ball of his paws the moment he stepped into his own corner of the ring, bearing a smug smile and throwing look up at some of his friends every so often.

A punk wanting to show off. Easy.

Artyom went into a guard stance and waited, unmoving. He didn’t move when the bell rang on the wagers table, nor when his opponent started circling and shifting stances energetically, punctuating each move with a little cry.

Is this guy fucking serious?

Well at least he knew he could end this quick, and he did. When his adversary finally stopped the energetic posturing and went in for an actual punch, he reacted. From an outside view, the dragon might as well have turned into a blue blur with ominous red eyes as he deftly leaned out of the punch and caught the cat’s paw between his claws.

Okay, so he’s not even a prescient.

Why an empath-type Abyssinian would even want to go and fight like that was beyond him. Maybe he thought himself good enough of an empath to read his mind and anticipate his moves. Reality didn’t see it like that.

Artyom was rather gleeful when, for a fraction of a second, he saw the feline’s blue eyes go from narrow slits to dumbfounded round pupils at the realization of his fuckup.

Then came the shoulder throw combo. One the dragon had practiced several times over with Alejandro. He tossed the feline over his shoulder, spun around and delivered a powerful tail strike – mindful not to stab him with the spikes- in his flank. He landed a distance away with a breathless grunt, the impact shaking the gratings that made up the ring, the wind driven out of him. But Artyom wasn’t done.

Legs, arms, tail, wings, dragons were rather gifted in the limbs department, and training with a BJJ aficionado in the form of Alej’ meant he had gotten plenty of experience in grappling. Three seconds later, his opponent was completely immobilized, a draconic tail wrapped around his midsection, wings keeping the shoulders in check and leaving Artyom with one claw to repeatedly punch him in the kidney.

He yielded two seconds in.

“Well that was quick.” Was Alejandro’s comment when he went back to his corner of the ring. “You good?”

“Yeah. I’m just keeping it brief. Don’t want to tip my claw too soon or blow it all on the first fight.” Artyom replied, surveying the crowd.

There had been some mild clapping and interested looks, but most of his attention went to the gamblers looking down at the ring from next to the bar, on the upper side of the underground chamber. Some were chatting discreetly, others making prognostics, trying to assess who would challenge the dragon next.

Because this was just the appetizer. No wager. Just a sample to make them salivate.

“Opinion, coach? You got a better ear over the crowd than I do.” Artyom joked.

Alejandro smiled conspiratorially. One of the parrot’s ears twitched slightly.

“You have their attention. Get their interest and the gems will start flowing pal.”

Artyom’s maw parted in a smile so wide his fangs glistened.

“Keep the hype flowing, I’ll make sure to deliver.”

“You got it pal.”

And as the Chief Officer launched himself in a loud tirade on the dragon that was now known throughout Georgia as the scourge of bandits that made the fiercest ex-con shiver in fright, a new opponent entered the ring. A male Diamond-dog, rather muscular.

He was one of those hairless xolo dogs, with bluish-gray skin that made him stand out starkly against his hairier companions. He was a farm hand, with a muddy t-shirt and thick cotton pants, though he went barefoot… or paw. Modern vernacular had yet to catch up with post-Event physiology.

And as a farm hand, he lumbered and punched with the sheer force of a life spent doing blue-collar jobs, made all the more powerful by the thick arms all D-dogs sported.

It didn’t take more than two hits blocked before Artyom decided dodging the lumbering brute was better. He was smaller, faster… and more durable too. A young dragon.

The fight lasted all of the three minutes it took for the Russian to wither him with kicks and punches before an opening in his guard allowed the dragon to deliver a nauseating kick in his belly. The dog went down on his knees and yielded after that, and Artyom helped him up to his paws before leading him to the edge of the ring.

On the wagers table, a small pile of snack-sized gems appeared. His earnings.

He raised a balled claw and roared a challenge to the crowd around the chamber. Send the next one, the night was still young.

“It’s booooring.” Andy complained in Polish, the little chick sagging in her chair, pencil clattering on the floor below. “Why can’t I go play?” She half-pleaded, turning glistening eyes towards Micha across the table.

Her adoptive mother bit back a sigh and forced herself to look at her sternly. Darn kid just knew how cute she could make her pouty face to get herself out of trouble. She’d used it on Vadim already to get away from her studies because she knew how mellow he could be at times.

Well too bad young lady, you’d best learn it doesn’t work all the time.

Not like she wasn’t affected herself, but Micha could weather the cuteness onslaught.

“You must finish your work Andy, math is important.”

“But it’s all numbers, numbers and no play!” She pointed at her plush dolphin set on a shelf by the door. “I wanna go play with Sammy!”

“Andy sweetie, it’s not because there is no school on the ship that you don’t have to study.” Micha pushed on her own chair – the planning for the next fire drill was only due next week- and went around the table to look at the chick’s sheet. “Daddy and I – did she really unironically refer to Vadim as ‘daddy’?- did a lot of effort so you still learn. You like reading with daddy, no?”

“Yeeesss...” Andy looked down at her sheet.

Basics really. Additions, subtractions, multiplication and division. Andy was just a chick after all.

“Well it can’t always be story time to learn, can it? Sometimes it’s a bit boring, but you’ll see it’s very important when you’re my age.”

Really, however mellow he could be, Vadim was damn good at teaching her. Subtle too. He somehow managed to both teach her reading and writing skills by having her hold a journal, but he also repeatedly sneaked lessons in the stories. Basic history. Biology. Sometimes stuff kids her age shouldn’t be able to fully grasp, but he could coax the best out of her. And she loved every second of it.

Unlike Micha, sadly enough. It looked like she didn’t have the teaching fiber in her.

“But playing?”

“Playing?” Micha smiled. “Oh sweetie, do you want to know something cool? Kids that go to school, they have it boring.”

“Really mommy?”

“Really really.” The older griffon bent down to be head level with the chick, ignoring her budding headache. “When they go to school, they’re stuck. They stay the whole day. But you? If you work good, if you do it fast without a mistake, then you’re not stuck. You can go play.”

“I can? I can?!” Andy fluttered her wings eagerly.

“But only once it’s all done.” Her mother raised a talon sagely. “Then maybe you can go help Rahul with the cooking. Nguyen-”

“Kittycat!” Andy interrupted.

“Yes, Nguyen the Kittycat.” She laughed. “He’s… in bed.” Still injured, but he’d make a full recovery eventually. “So Rahul, he could use your help, no? But for that, and if you want to play, you need to do your math.”

That seemed to do the trick. There wasn’t any ill-will behind Andy’s behavior, just a bored kid faced with a boring lesson. Micha could relate. The little chick quickly retrieved her fallen pencil and resumed her work, sometimes interrupting her mother’s work to ask a question, which she was all too eager to help with by providing those quick mental calculation tricks you usually learn at school.

How her adoptive child would compare in the long run to other kids, she didn’t know. It wasn’t like there was any standardized education system anymore on the planet, just stray teachers willing to show parents the ropes in how to homeschool. Those were the kind of guidelines Micha and Vadim were following, provided by that fella ‘Mister Pauline’ in Brittany. She had her coordinates on claw.

All in all, it went decently well. Andy did her part before practically shoving her completed math under her mother’s beak with a proud look on her own. And she corrected it, and the chick had done a good job with the lesson.

The only issue was her headache had gotten worse and it made it hard to focus. She had to catch herself a few times because her attention kept slipping. Still, she finished checking and filed Andy’s math in a little cabinet in a corner of the office.

Gotta track her progress and whatnot.

“You did good Andy, that’s all for today. Wanna go play?”

The happy squawk of a cheerful griffon chick was her reply. She smiled, tugging at the collar of her coveralls with a talon. Nomex and griffon fur in the tropical heat of Mexico… that’s just a poor combination. Maybe she should wear her hunting clothes more? Those were always lighter if… more revealing. Comfortable as she was with having mated with Vadim, the Pole still used to be a dude before the Event.

That said… she loved the looks her mate gave her whenever she put on those tighter-fitting midriff-revealing hunting clothes. He wasn’t too bad himself. Vadim really packed it compactly in the muscle department, but he trained, and she liked their foreplay, always surprising her with what lay beneath the fur… she caught herself purring at the thought.

Vadim and Micha’s quarters, made up of two Officer-sized cabins, consisted of the office she was just leaving adjacent to a tiny living room with a couch and TV… and some forgotten toys courtesy of Andy. Those occupied roughly half of the deck space renovated for the couple and their adoptive kid.

The other half, linked to the living room with a little door next to the couch, led to a little passageway with doors to the bathroom, the parents’ room and the smaller kid’s room in which she let Andy go and enjoy her free time. Micha’s gaze lingered on the decorations as the chick practically dove into her toy box, wondering how many kids she and Vadim would have and the eternal question for a griffon: egg or pregnancy?

She wasn’t even sure herself.

Hold on a second…

Headache? Check.

Soreness? Check.

Short attention span? Check.

Baby thoughts and perving over her mate? Check.

Feeling hot even though the A/C is on full blast? Check. Vadim was only supposed to help Angelo fix it later in the afternoon.

It was only concerns about now worrying Andy too much that prevented her from bolting out of the room and slamming the door. As calmly as she could (which at the moment wasn’t saying much), she padded over to the bathroom and basically fell down on her belly in front of the bin. The smell emanating from it confirmed more of her doubts.

See, she’d been feeling rather enthusiastic after the end of the battle and had proceeded to basically drag Vadim by his tail into the marital bedroom the moment he was back and cleared of medical duties for a night the likes of which the two seldom had.

Still, they used protection. The principle was easy to understand: unprotected sex for griffons leads to estrus. She’d only experienced it once, and keeping her talons off her mate way back then had been hard enough.

The aftermath of the night prior lay in the bin, still thoroughly coated in both her own secretions and Vadim’s semen.

One of the condoms though, as she picked it in her talons, bore a distinct tear along its length.

That was about when she felt the first trickle in her nether regions as an aching heat started to build up there.

“Kurwa.” The word left her beak in an irritated squawk.

She… needed to keep away from Vadim. No. Want to mate. Need the mate. Must make chicks. Gah, and there were the instincts, filling her mind with images, wondering how it may feel to carry eggs, a clutch of chicks. What would they-

“Goddammit no!” She growled to herself under her breath.

Great. Now she was rubbing herself against the floor like a cat in heat and was cradling the broken condom against her nether regions.

She had an inkling her previous managing to ride out her heat was more owed to luck than actual willpower. Maybe Tanya and Boris accidentally conceiving two eggs shortly after mating wasn’t all that surprising.

Gotta stay away from Vadim. Get help. Help… Aleksei! Maybe the fertility cleric could help her. She didn’t even need to cancel the estrus. Just… a quick contraception cantrip would do. In a daze, Micha hobbled into her bedroom, though only after rubbing her sides against every piece of furniture from there to the bathroom.

She almost blinked blearily at the interphone on her nightstand. She was squeezing a pillow between her thighs then. That warmth in her nether regions was getting unbearable… and the pillowcase most likely ruined.

Bedsheets too. She was kneading the mattress with her claws out. Darn it.

So where would Aleksei be now? She was uh… right! Vehicle bay. Her talons clicked against the buttons and composed the number. Then the line beeped. And it beeped. For all of two minutes.

In another plane of existence entirely, a large mare goddess looked down into her scrying pond with a small smile. For good or for ill, Amandine’s sailors were something Epona was observing with increasing frequency. Mostly because her first cleric in this age sailed alongside them – and that was one slow-burn gambit in its own right-, but also because there was something genuinely interesting in their wandering around the world.

Though… Maybe these sailors were a bit too good at contraception and the whole concept of safe sex. Only one couple had slipped and procreated by accident, and the rest were just having at it.

She couldn’t even blame her cleric for that. Few of her shipmates came to Aleksei asking for magic contraception.

Still, Epona was one to think there’s a purpose to sex beyond mindless fun. So when those two griffons Aleksei was friends with did a minor mistake… well, it could use a little nudge in the right direction. Nothing much. Just delay the interphone call long enough that Aleksei would be gone by the time the call went through.

“Sorry Micha, you missed her by a minute. She should be back tomorrow in the morning. Recce mission, understand? No nothing big, they’re just getting farming equipment. Yeah, have a nice day.” Greet’s voice came with an apologetic tone over the phone.

Micha bit back a frustrated scream and slammed the interphone back in its place. One. Fucking. Minute.

Her hind legs squeezed around the now soaked pillow. This was going to be a long day.

Part one. But it takes two to tango and griffons only ever love their mate. However… Epona could see him with the scrying pond. Somewhere lower in the bowels of Amandine, overhauling the ventilation.

Another little nudge would do.

Olfactory factors are all too often underestimated.

In that aspect? The male griffon typically doesn’t suffer from estrus the same way his mate would… but scent is such a big thing. A single whiff can get them riled up like no one’s business, and if anything the moment their nostrils catch that alluring scent, and with how powerful their instincts can get…

In reasonable circumstances Micha would have just told Vadim to avoid her for the rest of the day and they would have stood a chance.

With Epona at play and having caught an interest in the couple…

Poor Vadim had been working on the ventilation when, thanks to divine intervention, the scent of Micha just so happened to filter all the way through to him. The effects were clear. First he started daydreaming about his mate.

Then he found himself with the most raging hard-on he’d had in a week.

And the rest of the symptoms came in. Faster heartbeat. Short attention span. Feeling so hot he was tempted to just rip off his coveralls, tail lashing from side to side.

He’d been working with Angelo at the time, but the minotaur, though he noticed, didn’t put the pieces together quick enough. By the time he did, Vadim had already slipped away, lured by the sweet scent of his hen in heat.

Epona smiled. With how they were caring for their adopted chick, it wasn’t like these two couldn’t handle a few kids more.

In Starswirl’s tower, the mechanical arms of his device clicked and clanged as they drew the requisite spell matrices. Progress had been made, and now was the time to put it to the test. In the middle of the slab, standing awkwardly as the arms contorted around her to draw with chalk and spread salts wherever needed, was Miles, naked.

Not that it was much of a problem with ponies, but you tell that to a former human. Her armor and camouflaged poncho lay in a pile next to the staircase.

“Are you sure this is going to work?” She inquired.

“If by that you mean ‘better than the last attempts’, then yes.” Starswirl looked up from his grimoire after selecting an array of scanning and measurement spells.

“So what’s different this time?” Starlight asked him.

Yes, there was a bit of an… audience in a fashion. Rockhoof had come to see, mostly because if he managed to make the spell last long enough then that would make flying carriages viable to travel over Broceliande. Emeric was there too, her fellow lieutenant present both out of curiosity and concern for her.

Trixie and Starlight were there too, both in the process of researching the Carnac lined stones and what they might need to do to repair them.

And lastly, Meadow had come with Martin. Both sat on their haunches next to Rockhoof, Meadow quietly telling her adoptive son about how some plants could be turned into effective antiseptics.

“The difference resides in how the spell is woven. A normal hex would be in one ‘piece’ with the duration and other specificity interwoven into it. Since your human magic and Equestrian magic conflict and disrupt it, that has been replaced with a prefix that should ahem… scramble both is the simplest way to put it.” Starswirl explained. “It’s like putting a fuse on the spell matrix that you weave yourself. The core of it doesn’t change much and remains mostly the same, but instead of putting more magic into it to have it last longer, you need to lengthen the prefix spell matrix. As time goes on, both your magics will unravel the prefix until it’s worn out and the core matrix is hit. Then, the hex dissolves itself and the effects fade.”

“In theory?” Miles quirked her head.

“In theory, yes. At least it’s a method I know can be relatively easily done on the field and shouldn’t require ritual circles.”

“So why am I standing in the middle of your slab?”

“That would be because I can’t cast twelve different spells at once.” He told her. “The hex is one thing, but I also need my scans to know if it worked as I expected. If it does do that, then I should have a means of making a more permanent version to keep you a stallion, understand?”

Miles was silent for a few seconds, looking over her own body, shaggy purple fur and all. For once that she went around naked, her thundercloud Cutie Mark was laid bare for the world to see. She fluffed up her wings, trying to hide herself a bit behind the primaries.

“Yeah. Is it ready?”

The last brass arm came down and drew a salt circle around her before dropping three gems at hundred-and-twenty degrees intervals each.

“Now it is.” Starswirl’s stare turned more serious.

She nodded sharply. He activated the spell.

The atmosphere in the room flared up at once with a feeling of electricity that made her fur stand on end as all the ritual circles beneath her came aglow with various shades of the rainbow, some particles even floating up in the air as the reagents started channeling the magic.

It shone so much she had to close her eyes and lose track of the room around her. Then there was a lurch, a strange one, as if something violently tugged at her whole being but she remained firmly in place.

And that was it. Miles opened his eyes to survey the room. A burnt smell mixed with the lingering scent of spell reagents and ozone permeated his nostrils, but beyond the burned out ritual circles around him, everything was alright. Starswirl had shifted to Merlin form, the old human wizard busy flicking through his grimoire and nodding appreciatively at the data his spells had collected.

The others were staring at him with round eyes. Finally, he looked down.

As a mare, Miles had already been pretty tall. Now, it looked like that had increased some more, making him a rather lanky pegasus stallion, still with his shaggy purple fur that had now lengthened into feathering around his fetlocks. His wings had gained a moderate amount of wingspan to compensate for the growth, making the proportion remain mostly the same, and even his tail was much the same.

His muzzle however had gained the angular traits stallions usually bore, and his flanks didn’t widen into a mare-ish rump anymore, being more taut and lightly muscled, as would be expected of a pegasus. His mane was a bit shorter too, which only served to further highlight how spikey the ivory hair could be.

Good progress already. The transformation lasted long enough that he could inspect the results.

Disregarding those around him, he bent his head and looked between his hind legs. His heart filled with relief. There it was. Okay it wasn’t really the human deal, what with being tucked in a sheath, but he’d rather have that and the balls behind between his legs than a slit and a pair of teats.

Mare sex was fun, but he was male at heart.

“It worked! It finally worked!” He jumped up in the air with his wings spread and pumped a forehoof, hearing some mild clapping (well, clop-ping, everyone made do with hooves) around the room.

“That it did. Satisfied?” Merlin asked, confidently folding his arms across his chest.

“Y-yes! Absolutely!” Miles landed.

“Excellent. Now...” The wizard leaned on his enormous grimoire. “For the more serious aspect of this change. The way I set the prefix, the spell should hold up for three days. Keep an eye on the clock, because we need to know how much of a difference there is between theory and reality.”

“It can last longer than that?”

Merlin shook his head.

“I’d be surprised if it did. In all likelihood and with what my first scans spotted, it probably will be shorter than that. A few hours, a whole day, I can’t tell just yet. But once you turn back into a mare, come to me and I’ll set you up with something better.”

“Alright mister Merlin! See you in a while!” Miles mock-saluted with his wing before he dashed out of the room, grabbing his now too-small set of armor in passing.

“Well, there’s one good thing done.” Merlin smiled, slamming his grimoire shut before shifting back to pony form. “Now if the spell holds even a third of the length it should, then it means I can give your subordinates wings, Rockhoof. And that’s our logistics solved.”

And while most of the occupants in the room were left to plan how to deploy flying carriages around Broceliande, send an expedition to Carnac or plainly teach a fawn magic… Emeric sat on his haunches in a corner, an unreadable look on his muzzle. The bronze-furred unicorn just wasn’t sure what to make of his emotions at the moment.

Weird to see a mare you’ve slept and heard moan turn into a stallion and rejoice about it.

With a sigh, he stood up and shook himself like a wet dog. He’d have all the time he wanted to mull it over. Miles was the lieutenant to manage patrols and venture into the forest. He was the tech ell-tee managing the fortifications. Except for training the guards and ensuring the villagers were alright, he was mostly left to his own devices in his office in the castle’s attic with the radio station.

Still… that was Miles’ choice. If she… er, he preferred to be a stallion, who was he to complain? Plenty of mares left to date. Plenty of does, too. Ponies had no issue reproducing with Everfree Deer, a fact more understood than mentioned.

Author's Notes:

Alright so... I guess now I can write off the First Law of Gender Bending as somewhat subverted. It's a powerful trope, you can't just upturn it like that, gotta take steps.

On another front entirely... Hope you folks like Veillantif. Him being born in Aachen makes him more likely to wind up in the hands of Charlemagne's Paladins since that's where the emperor had his capital if I remember right. The ties to Epona... well, can't have a divinity not scheme from the shadows and place her assets where they'll have the most influence.

Have her progeny as squire/destrier to the Knight Errant would be one way to go about it, no?

Oh and of course... she's a fertility goddess. Sorry griffons, that one was bound to happen eventually either way.