“I never expected griffons to be this lame,” sighed Smolder as she glided down toward the enormous skywood tree that was the city of Griffonstone. “I mean, seriously? Nothing you’ve told me about this ‘championship’ is actually cool!”

“You know what, Smolder?” Gallus grumbled beside her, trying to keep his feathers from knotting in annoyance. “You didn’t have to come!”

“Tell that to Dean Starlight!” Smolder shot back, doing a few loops until she was flying upside down below him and staring him in the eye. “Especially when she gets an order from the Princess Twilight about the importance of ‘the cultural and historical significance’ of this Featherheart Championship!”

She rolled her eyes at those last few words. Gallus couldn’t really blame her, but he still glared down at his friend, keeping his tired wings locked into a gliding position. “You’ve been complaining half the trip, Smolder.”

“And you’ve been complaining the other half, Gallus,” Smolder said with a smirk as she flipped over him and bopped him on the head. “Don’t act like you’re all innocent in this! You’re the one who refused to take the train!”

“It’s part of the tradition!” Gallus spat, flushing red. “Hey, listen! Everything else about this is weird, so I had to at least do the flight or else…”

Smolder groaned, smacking her hand against her face. “You have been trailing off like that for days! Do you have any idea how annoying that is? Why do you think I’m so bored? You won’t tell me anything good! By the Dragon Lord, you’ve barely told me anything at all!”

Gallus grunted and muttered under his breath. He hadn’t been able to talk Dean Starlight or Smolder out of this, so now his only chance was that the Griffonstone Guard wouldn’t let an outsider pass. Hopefully before they realized his invitation was a massive mistake.

As Griffonstone grew ever closer, Gallus took in just how many griffons seemed to be flocking toward the city this year. And still, he couldn’t help but think about his companion. Yeah, they’d all been there for the signing of the Great Alliance Treaty, forging most of the eastern world into true allies, but that didn’t mean dragons—or any other creature, for that matter—had any right to see one of the most private ceremonies they had!

Or at least had the right to see what would happen when he arrived and the truth came out.

Griffons still had their pride, after all. By the Nest, he shouldn’t actually be here! Even if this wasn’t some massive mistake, he hoped he’d just get turned around at the door. Mostly.

It would be the easiest solution. If not… necessarily the one he’d occasionally thought about. But everygriff thought about that. So… yeah.

Smolder continued to badger him as they descended into the city itself. Though it had been at least five years since he’d been home—he’d been so busy with grad studies after the Battle of Harmony—it seemed more like twenty years had passed for the city. The formerly desolate Griffonstone, once only a few steps away from being an abandoned ruin, now stood proud again against the mountainous backdrop. The skywood tree’s roots had grown thicker around the mountain base and were now a rich brown instead of a dull tan. There were even tufts of green and buds signaling the coming of new branches. The city itself had been rebuilt. No more ramshackle huts or homes, but now a true city to rival even Canterlot.

He almost couldn’t believe his eyes.

“Huh, this place isn’t the dump you said it would be,” Smolder commented. “I don’t know how I feel about that.”

Gallus couldn’t help himself. He grinned. The sight of Griffonstone restored to what the legends proclaimed it to be was enough to put some energy back into his wings. So, with a smirk at Smolder, he darted straight down.

“Hey!” cried Smolder as he left the dragon in the dust.

He came down with a crash, startling a few griffons as he landed on one knee with his fist against the ground. He flared his wings once and glanced over the street before standing and furling them back in. Only then did he adjust his brown flight jacket and canvas pants, loosening his backpack a little. He took a long drink from his canteen as he waited for Smolder to catch up. And for effect.

Damn, it felt good to feel the eyes of everygriff on him.

One or two griffons on the street actually smiled at him. A younger chick even whooped. Where had this city been when he’d been a chick?

Smolder came down and tried to copy his move, but ended up misjudging a little and sprawled into the street. A few griffons laughed, but Gallus kept his response to a snicker under his breath. Then, he reached down to haul his friend back up. She shoved him away, her cheeks burning.

“I’m fine!” she snapped, crossing her arms over her red and white t-shirt before she leaned over to dust off her jeans. “You just caught me by surprise with that little stunt!”

Gallus’s smirk just grew. “If you can’t keep up, you should probably head home.”

“Yeah, not happening,” Smolder said as she shoved him aside and started marching down the street, her thick tail—and thicker ass—swaying back and forth. She managed to get ten steps before she whirled around and glared at him again. “So, uh… where are we going?”

Gallus couldn’t help it. He burst out laughing and jogged to meet Smolder. “Don’t worry, the Featherheart Coliseum is off Champion Street. It’s just a block or two away.”

“Good, because my wings are killing me and they need a break,” Smolder said with a sigh as she rubbed her left wing. “How are you not aching all over?”

Gallus stretched his wings slightly as they passed through a small open-air bazaar. The scents and smells of home—once something he hated—now seemed oddly welcoming.

“Griffons and pegasi have similar wing structures, though griffon’s wings tend to be bigger. It makes it easier for us to glide than dragons or batponies. Dash did a lesson on it once.”

“Lucky you,” Smolder said with a little snort of smoke as she crossed her arms again, this time under her large tits.

Gallus eyed the street as they left the small marketplace behind. Smolder was catching more than a few glances, and more than a few of them were looking at her with obvious interest, instead of mistrust or outright hate.

He chuckled, despite himself. That, more, than anything else, showed just how much Griffonstone had changed. Once, they’d cared only for themselves. That had been the world he’d grown up in, orphaned and alone. Until a chance run-in with that excitable Gabby had ended up with a letter in his hands and a future on the horizon.

Now? Griffons saw beyond their own feathers. Hell, they’d even moved on enough to notice when a smoking—literally—hot dragon chick was sashaying through the streets.

Smolder, of course, didn’t even seem to notice. She was too lost in her own head.

She was doing that more and more these days. Sometimes that made him worry, though she insisted that everything was just fine and he should mind his own business.

So, just as they turned the corner onto Champion, Gallus slipped his right claw into Smolder’s jeans. She immediately stiffened, going stock still. He waited patiently, even as her wings twitched.

And then, her tail twitched, exactly what he’d been waiting for.

He gave that thick dragon ass a wonderful squeeze and the dragon it was attached let out a little stuttering moan.

“Not fair,” Smolder hissed under her breath. “You know I’m not going to do anything in the street!”

“I’m not asking you to,” he said with a chuckle. “I’m just enjoying my good friend’s company.”

He squeezed again, his claw tracing the underside of her tail. She spasmed in his grip and bit her lip hard to keep from screaming as a pair of griffon girls a couple of years older than Gallus sauntered by.

“I thought we were taking a break,” she whispered, her voice a little husky. “You were having fun with Ocellus.”

“Ocellus isn’t here,” Gallus whispered into one of her little tufted ears. “Anyway, Yona and Sandbar wanted to try to bring her in on their fun for a little while. She seemed really eager.”

“You know, the ponies would think the whole trading around thing is weird,” Smolder commented through gritted teeth as he squeezed again. “R-really weird…”

“Who cares?” Gallus laughed as he slipped his hand out. “As long as we’re all having fun, we’re not hurting anycreature. Silverstream is the only one who noped out.”

“Yeah, that’s just her. Hippogriffs are weird, too.”

Gallus felt a little of his lust for the dragon beside him cool. “She just wants to find somecreature to raise a family with. Is there something weird about that?”

He hated the weakness in his voice. He hated the questioning look Smolder gave him even more.

“No,” Smolder said slowly. “No, nothing wrong with that featherbrain wanting to have some cute hippogriffs chicks of her own.”

He raised an eyebrow at her.

She flushed, her eyes suddenly blazing with annoyance. “And don’t you dare tell anyone I said that!”

Gallus grinned. Even now, Smolder couldn’t get over her embarrassment over enjoying cute things. Coming out about it and being comfortable about it were two very different things.

“Hey, it’s not hurting anycreature,” Gallus said with a smirk.

“Except for you,” Smolder said with a narrow glare. “Because do you have any idea what I’m going to do to you later for that little stunt with my tail?”

Gallus tapped her on the nose with a claw. “Yeah, I do. And yeah, I’ll enjoy it. Just like last time.”

With that, he headed down the street, leaving Smolder to well… smolder. He almost got around the curve of the next building before she let out a loud hiss and stalked back to his side.

“You’d better be happy you can make me squeal,” Smolder muttered as she stepped aside for a small wagon of griffons and ponies.

“I can make anycreature squeal, I just like your squeals best,” Gallus countered.

Smolder’s reply was cut off by the rising sound of chaos ahead. The two shared a look, then, as one, jogged ahead.

Championship Lane had been built in a wide loop on the inner ring of the city, with the great skytree stretching high into the air above them. Over three hundred homes dotted the enormous branches of the skytree of Griffinstone, each built out of the wood of the tree itself. But nocreature else seemed to care as they rounded the bend. Everygriff in sight were focused on—or fighting to get into—the massive crowd milling around in the middle of the street, in front of a thick curved stone building that rose at five stories into the air.

The building looked ancient, with all sorts of grand-looking sandstone pillars along the front colonnade. Two enormous gates—easily thirty feet tall—stood closed against the crowd. There was a short courtyard between the street and the gate and within the courtyard stood a barrier that looked like it was almost besieged.

“What the feather…” Gallus muttered as he shared another concerned look with Smolder. “Why are they attacking the Featherheart Coliseum?”

She, of course, just shrugged. “Don’t look at me. I don’t get your crazy culture.”

Gallus rolled his eyes and charged into the fray, with Smolder at his heels. Everything seemed to be stemming from a series of tables set up at the front of the courtyard before tall gray building. Each of the tables had two griffons behind it and were draped with deep red fabric emblazoned with the Great Skytree Crest of Griffonstone. The poor griffons behind the table looked overwhelmed by the sheer amount of griffons on the other side, all of them shouting and yelling. However, as Gallus began to move griffons aside to get a closer look, the racket began to quiet down, only to replaced by whispers.

“Oh, by the Nest, it’s him!”

“He brought one of the others!”

“Could he actually be here to compete?”

“Forget the competition, he can just have me now!”

“Can you imagine him switching sides?”

Gallus flushed at some of the words but kept steadily moving forward through the crowd. In fact, he couldn’t decide which was stranger: the praise or the fact that nogriff challenged him as he cut in front of them. But he kept weaving his way through the crowd. Moments later, he didn’t have to. The crowd parted for him and Smolder, making a clear path to the front tables through the sea of griffons.

Standing in front of the tables with his arms crossed was easily the most impressive griffon he’d ever seen. The powerfully-built male standing at perfect military rest wore a ceremonial silver breastplate, black slacks and polished boots. His coat—what little could be seen—was a white-gray, while his feathers were either bright green or soft blue. He even wore a pair of short swords at either hip.

His sharp eyes seemed to pierce Gallus despite the fact that they were at least a hundred yards apart. For a moment, Gallus just stood there and stared back at him as if he were transfixed. Then, the other griffon looked away, his eyes scanning the crowd. Gallus blinked a few times and looked around, only to see almost every set of eyes looking right back at him.

Almost everygriff here was male, as was the tradition in the Featherheart Championship. While there were a few females in the crowd, he could see a lot of them were supportive mothers or sisters. Only a handful of them looked like they wanted to compete and all of them looked to be forty or older. For the males, almost every age group was represented, as well as the different griffon tribes with their numerous feather colors. In the past, this had been the one time the griffon people had really come together.

And yet, there was something a little off about the way the crowd moved. It felt like most of the griffons here were more spectators than actual competitors. In fact, there were some who actually carried signs denouncing the Featherheart Championship. How could anyone protest this? That was like… protesting being born a griffon!

Even stranger, most of these griffons were making way for some nogriff orphan raised in the northern slums of Griffonstone. It made him feel small, somehow. And more than a little confused. Some part of him felt like he should be gloating, but the whispers made that seem totally unnecessary.

“Uh, Gallus?” Smolder said from behind him.

“Hm?”

“Is she important?”

Gallus’s eyes snapped up to the end of the path and the registration tables. His heart leapt in his chest, then his blood turned to ice.

Queen Giselle the First stood at the end of the opening in the crowd, dressed in a simple white jacket, blouse and pants. The jacket had a furred white collar that accented her angular features. Her head was a dark, smoky gray, with a single splash of brilliant blue between her crystal golden eyes. Her two enormous wings—both nearly black—were draped behind her like a robe. However, even from here, he could see the Queen’s fog-grey coat. It matched everything he’d heard because she was supposed to move like smoke itself.

On her head, she wore not the crown of the ancient griffon kings, but a new crown made of precious metals from every race in the Grand Alliance. She had made a speech the day that treaty had been signed about the griffons joining their allies permanently. Apparently, she’d made a symbol out of that speech.

The queen had only that imposing griffon near her, and he was at least a couple yards away. It was a little weird, but it made her presence stand out all the more.

“I… don’t believe it,” Gallus muttered, frozen in place as he tried to process what it meant for her to be here right now.

She was the first queen the griffons had in over five hundred years. And she’d become queen simply by being the only one willing to take a step forward and lead their people. In her younger years, she’d been a professional flier, even landing a bronze in the Equestrian Games. However, that was a lifetime ago.

When she had taken power shortly before the Battle of Unity, her first act—requesting support of the other races in rebuilding Griffonstone—had changed the griffon people in a way nogriff had expected. They weren’t the greedy warmongers they once were, nor were they the dejected slumdwellers they’d been in recent years. They were something new. And while he’d heard rumors of old-fashioned griffons were protesting this change, most of the griffons seemed to embrace the new order. They needed something different. They needed fresh blood.

They needed Giselle as queen.

And now, she was waiting on Gallus with a serene, almost amused expression that reminded Gallus far too much of Princess Celestia.

He hurried forward in something close to a scurry—one did not fly to meet the Queen of the Griffons—and immediately dropped to one knee, but keeping his head high to meet her almost impassive gaze. He glanced over his shoulder to see Smolder… actually bowing? Okay, that wasn’t something he’d been ready for.

Queen Giselle looked at the pair and her beak tweaked in a small smirk. “We never the chance to speak during the treaty signing, Gallus of Griffonstone. Nor have I had the pleasure of knowing your companion, the dragoness Smolder. That is something I have regretted for some time, but now I have a chance to right that mistake.”

The crowd murmured all around them.

And a single booming voice shattered the moment.

“You’re better than that harlot, Gallus of Griffonstone!”

Most of the crowd gasped in shock. Gallus looked up to see a dark expression flash over Giselle’s face. Gallus rose from his kneeling position and turned around to find the source of the voice.

Above the path the crowd had left for them flew a battleworn griffon in full military uniform. It was impressive that he could fly with that many medals pinned to his chest. He was light gray with speckles of brown over his coat and feathers. And he flew with the confidence of a griffon who knew how to fight in the air. There was even a blade at his side, though it remained sheathed. His shoulders epaulets marked him as none other than the Grand Admiral of Griffonstone. He matched gazes with Gallus, his expression unreadable.

“You are too good to participate in this farce of forcing good griffons to give up who they are just to keep the hens in power!” the admiral bellowed, making sure everyone could hear it. “We survived once without the accursed Idol of Aventa! We do not need it any longer!”

“You’ve said your piece in my court, former Grand Admiral Gulhan Gass,” Giselle replied in a voice that matched the blustering officer’s volume—though Giselle’s voice was as cold as ice. “No need to make a public scene. These griffons are here of their own free will.”

“Only because you’ve duped them into thinking this is some glorious competition where you can’t lose!” Gass shot back. “Balderdash! If you lose here, you lose your right to being called a male! Forever! And if you think I’m letting you take one of our greatest heroes into your flock, you’ve got another thing coming.”

“You plan to challenge me for the throne then, gray-feather?” Giselle asked. She sounded amused. “I’d love to see you try it. You aren’t the first officer I’ve had to put in their place.”

“Let the boy speak!” Gass shouted. “What does he have to say? The great hero of the Battle of Unity, the point of the spear of Griffonstone, a pillar of Harmony for the world! What does Gallus of Griffonstone say?”

All eyes fell on him and he swallowed hard. There were hundreds of griffons here and he didn’t have a clue what was going on!

“I say… I… uh… I just got here, so I don’t have a clue what any of you are talking about!” he shouted. “I’m pretty sure my invitation was a mistake anyway!”

“Oh, it was no mistake, my young friend,” Giselle said with a faint chuckle.

Gallus turned and gaped at her. She couldn’t mean what he thought she meant…

Giselle glanced around, her little smirk growing just a fraction. Her eyes flicked back to Gallus and he swore he caught a hint of actual mischief in her eyes. He wasn’t sure what he thought of that.

“All here know of Gallus of Griffonstone’s role in the forging of the Grand Alliance,” she said to the crowd, raising her claws to pull their attention from the former admiral. “If not for him, we would not be prospering like never before within our reborn city, built through griffon talon, dragon claw and pony hoof. We would not have our booming economy that has given you the gold to put food on your table. He was cast from Griffonstone into pony hooves because he had no one to care for him. Now, he is beloved by his friends, honored by his allies and celebrated by his people!”

The entire crowd cheered with a deafening roar that made Gallus wince. However, he kept watching the Queen. While the Grand Alliance may be firm, there were always politics at play within Griffonstone and beyond. Gass had just proved that perfectly.

“However, I say this in public so there may be no question: Gallus of Griffonstone has no house or clan. For such a hero, that will not do. This is why the House of the Golden Branch will act as his official sponsor for the Featherheart Championship!”

There was a brief moment of shocked silence—echoed by the silence in Gallus’s brain—then another roar of applause, even louder than the first. Gallus thought he heard Gass shouting explicatives over the cheering.

As it settled down, he realized Smolder had slowly moved to stand beside him.

“What is going on here, featherbrain?” Smolder muttered.

“I have no idea,” Gallus replied, glancing over his shoulder at the glowering form of Gulhan Gass. “But it’s either really good or really, really bad.”

“So, just like old times?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

“Gallus of Griffonstone,” Queen Gisselle said, stretching out her unadorned claw to him. “I would have you join me in the Royal Box. Your companion is also welcome to join us, though we do have some… personal matters to discuss.”

“Sure!” Smolder said before Gallus could say a word. “I’d love to!”

Gallus gave her a glare, but there wasn’t much he could do right here and now. So instead, he nodded. “Of course, Your Highness.”

“Then come with me,” she said as she strode through a gap in the tables toward one of the entrances to the great gray edifice of the Featherheart Coliseum. In all the chaos, he’d almost forgotten his vain hope that he would just get turned away.

Instead, it seemed like he’d just been shoved into the middle of something he didn’t remotely understand.

Before he followed the queen, he turned back to see what had become of Grand Admiral Gass. The old griffon hadn’t moved but now stared at Gallus in a very particular way. Almost as if he were sizing up a new opponent on a battlefield.

Gallus turned away, then quickly strode forward, with Smolder on his heels. Maybe he could finally get some answers as to what the hell what going on around here.

And just what the Queen of the Griffons had planned for him.

Here we go again~! Time for something totally new and hot~! Seriously, this story became so huge. So huge. I never expected it~!

Heeeeee~! But I'm sure you'll have a good time~!

Fun fact: I picked the name Giselle (because all griffon names start with G, weird, I know) before realizing there already was a griffon named Giselle! So, I decided to make that Giselle and mine the same~!