Bathing in the corner of their room turned out to be less of a weird experience than Gilda had anticipated. It helped that the warmth reminded her of just how cold Snow Mountains was. The fireplace made bathing a more comfortable experience too. The earthy aromas of wild northerner flowers and the smoky smell of burning ash wood complemented each other. The tub felt a bit cramped, but Grunhilda’s rising experience in massaging and bathing made up for it. The whole thing was supposed to be quick, but Grunhilda’s touchy-feely paws had other ideas. Gilda almost forgot her unpleasant experience with Garnet.

Once the bath was over, a quick preening session followed. Then Gilda turned her attention to the small vanity next to the tub. It had been stocked with all the ‘cosmetic crap’ a griffon lady might need. Gilda just wasn’t one for much more than her natural beauty and some preening, but she had picked up a few tricks along the way. Since one simply didn’t date Dash and not end up before a mirror with her seamstress friend. Like it or not.

Given that, Gilda took the responsibility of making Grunhilda look pretty. Or, prettier. Nothing too fancy, just the usual ‘beauty enhancing’ tricks for improving one’s eyes and smiles. Like shadows and mascara. Grunhilda didn’t have an expressive natural shadow on her eyes, so Gilda took the soft brush with some of the cosmetics. An alluring shade of cyan should go well with Grunhilda’s white feathers and blue eyes. Thus, Gilda sat before her friend, carefully drawing over her soft natural coloring. Slowly letting the contour feather-friendly pigments sink in.

How were those things made? No idea. Harpy above knew why a pony would know of such things too. But having learned it from Rarity finally served Gilda a purpose.

“I’m not good at this stuff. Quit squirming.” Gilda’s eyes squinted, but her paws barely trembled, dragging the soft brush under Grunhilda’s eye. The other remained still as a statue, despite some eventual anxious twitching. “And done.”

Gilda drew the brush away in fear she might smudge her work, or otherwise ruin it. Parallel lines were hard. Nonetheless, she let Grunhilda see herself in the mirror. The white griffoness squealed like a cub getting the gift of their lives when she saw her reflection with cyan eye shadows. Her excited hops and flailing wings almost swept everything from the vanity, but Gilda was beyond the point of getting angry with her.

“Thank you, Miss Gilda! I love it.” Big Girl finally calmed down and settled, staring at herself in the mirror again. A twinkle in her eyes, so happy over something so simple. All Gilda had done was follow her subtle natural markings. Then she held Gilda in a bear hug so strong Gilda lost her breath. After a couple of seconds Grunhilda let her go.

“Great. Careful you don’t mess your feathers up now.” Gilda coughed and chuckled at her, patting down the feathers at the top of her friend’s head to level after all her excitement. “I guess we’ve done all we can.”

To be fair, producing Grunhilda took little effort. And honestly, Gilda wasn’t that much behind, grinning and winking at the mirror. Maybe she should hire a professional stylist, or something. Once she actually had money, that is. Nonetheless, Gilda grinned at Grunhilda. “Let’s see what they have in the closets for us.”

Gilda knew what she was going to use. Her white cape had been properly washed and prepared for her. No-brainer. The jewelry Lady Gwendolen had sent her was also a no-brainer. Along with the dancing swordmaiden choker, she declared herself good to go. She even entertained taking Mythical, but that might send the wrong message.

Grunhilda opened one of the closets and kept staring from one side to the other, eventually with an anxious hum. “I don’t know what to wear, Miss Gilda!”

The room’s wardrobes had been stocked with different styles of dresses, capes, and assorted garments of many colors. Reasonable, since they meant the Manor to house Lady Geena’s guests. They could be of any gender, with any colors or body types. There had to be something for Grunhilda to wear in there. She looked like Lady Geena, for Harpy’s sake!

Joining her friend, Gilda held her beak pensively with a throaty hum, looking at the anxious queen next to her, then back at the wardrobe. Finally, a wince. “I’m not very good at this stuff either…”

She definitely needed a professional stylist.

“I guess you could use a cape too.” Gilda reached into the collection of hanging garments and shuffled them around until she found something acceptable. But then changed for another. And another. Grunhilda was her friend and lover. Gilda wouldn’t let her go to the dinner without a proper fancying up. She settled for a turquoise cape with sequins, satisfied in the way they reflected the flickering light from the interior lighting. Good enough? Eh… She’d like to see anyone complain.

They had invested a long time getting ready and Gilda stared at the darkness outside the window while Grunhilda donned the cape. It even had a silver collar to keep it in place. The white griffoness seemed pleased, judging by the wide grin she showed, posing in front of a mirror to show her side. Thus, Gilda like it.

“This one is borrowed, but one day we’re gonna get one for you.” Gilda grinned too, caressing Grunhilda’s back and smoothing out the light cloth over the feathers on her back.

Big Girl hummed sadly while she still stared at herself in the mirror though. “I shouldn’t really own anything, Miss Gilda…”

“Yeah… We don’t do that crap.” Gilda rolled her eyes. “I don’t care what the others do. Thrall or not, you get to have your own things. The armor, the weapons we picked up, and your parent’s stuff. If you have a problem with that, I’m going to take that stupid bracelet off.”

Again, Grunhilda let out an anxious hum, but said nothing. Gilda smiled and nodded at the door. “Come on. Let’s see if the others are ready for the dinner because I’m actually starving. There is no northerner nonsense that says I can’t feed my thrall, is there?”

That got a giggle out of Grunhilda. “No!”

Walking out the door, they came face to face with one of the Manor’s Sky Sentry guards. Next to him was the blue thestral with a small collection of snow on her mane. Gilda’s mood immediately plummeted. “What did you do now?”

“I am sorry to bother you, Lady Gilda.” The blue and gray guard under the armor began. “Your guest was caught sneaking around in the forested area. The prisoners’ camp is there, and we would prefer she didn’t.”

“I wasn’t sneaking around!” Moonbow cried, perking her ears, and dropping snow on the floor. “I just wanted to look for berries in the forest! You weirdos eat bushberries too! It’s not that strange! It was just a coincidence it was at sunset!”

He shook his head. “It is the end of the construction work shift. Lots of griffons walking around and it would be easy for her to contact someone among the prisoners or a spy among the workers.”

“You freaks are paranoid.” Moonbow rolled her eyes. “I just wanted some berries!”

“You should have asked!” Gilda poked her chest with a talon and gave her a proper angry frown. “You know very well how delicate the situation is. And with the way the simargls want to rip you apart, should lay low and not do stupid shit. Like sneaking out at the worst possible time!”

“You know what?” Gilda growled while Grunhilda also had a properly angry stare down at the pony. “From now on, both you and Lost Temple can’t leave the Manor. And I’m keeping you under watch. Get your flank ready for dinner. I’m not letting you ruin my style with the members of the Court of The Harpy either.”

Before the thestral could ‘sheesh, fine’ Gilda, she turned to the guard, patiently waiting. “Get her to her room with the other pony, and then haul both of them to the hall for me. Please?”

The griffon agreed politely and glared at the pony, which made her turn around with a petulant huff and start on her way. Just as she was ready to resume her way to the hall, Gilda turned to Grunhilda. “I think I’m gonna keep Godwin and Georgia next to me too… I have the feeling I better make sure they both get to the dinner and stay there while I’m distracted.”

Grunhilda didn’t say anything, but just as Gilda was about to resume her way, before the guard and the pony had even left the room, Gisele was there. Gilda’s new secretary approached donning a concerned frown and holding a clipboard with her wing. It seemed as though being the boss made griffons act like that a lot next to Gilda. “I need to talk to you before dinner… I would rather not mention this in front of the others.”

“Let me guess… I owe a second ass now.” Gilda didn’t even flinch. “This time to the Frozenlake caravan crews and merchants…”

“Hum, no… Mister Gillian said you told him to spare no expense and to make the caravan as best as he can. Which is fine. The problem is that… Well… It’s expensive.”

Gilda shrugged. “There’s no way around it. We’re employing griffons and buying supplies. We can’t expect they’ll just give us stuff for free.”

“Yes, but… Mister Gillian keeps using Lady Gwendolen’s name. And your debt to her is up to seventy-thousand Eagles. Most griffons won’t ever know that kind of money. I… Well…”

“Don’t worry, you’re gonna get paid.” Gilda rolled her eyes.

“That’s not it!” The younger queen almost cried and flapped her wings. “You’re trying to help these griffons, it's just… Well… What is the limit? Depending on how things turn out, you can end up working for Lady Gwendolen for the rest of your life…”

Gisele’s eyes shot to Grunhilda and then shifted back to Gilda and her beak moved, but she only stammered her words. “That’s thralldom if I ever saw it. And I don’t even mean to offend Grunhilda or anything… I mean… If I work for you… Then… Well…”

Gisele kept trying to find the right words and failing. It turned her whole discourse into a sequence of half uttered words and worried humming. It let Gilda think and Gisele’s worry made her look back at Mother Harpy’s accusation. She didn’t fully trust Her. And thinking about it made Gilda’s brow crinkle.

Things happened too fast. Gisele’s apprehensions seemed reasonable, and so did Grunhilda’s. Ghadah’s conversation with Empress Geneviere rushed to Gilda’s mind, the one about the Emperor’s gilded cage. It helped Gilda finally reach a conclusion she had been avoiding since she met Gladys at Griffonstone and then at the bath in Wayfarer’s Rest. When Madam Gelinda implied Gilda would become a luxury concubine of the future Emperor. That Grigory dude she didn’t even know.

The boat had already sailed. Lady Gwendolen now owned her ass multiple times over. A very fit and attractive ass, one might say (lucky Grigory). And so, what? Her goddess owned her. It was a tautology. Or whatever the purple pony smartyhooves would call it.

There was a point where Gilda might have stopped and turned back, but such a point was so far behind she couldn’t even remember where it stood. Worrying was pointless. Not because it didn’t feel sketchy and worrisome. Because it was akin to trying to escape that boat. It had sailed so long ago all she could do was drown herself trying to reach the shore.

She had no choice. Gisele didn’t even know of the irony that Gilda was so horrified of ever becoming like Griselda and Gertrude. She ended up as a Swordmaiden. A luxury, extra-special courtesan bodyguard for the Chad-Emperor of Griffonkind.

The point, remained however. It was better than being raped and ending up dead in an alley back at Griffonstone. Or forgotten in a cell, or pretending she was the big badass scone baker of Griffonstone. The city that can’t figure stuff out without the ponies getting involved. Screw all that. Gilda took control of her life and did the best she could with her cards. For fuck’s sake, she’d even make bacon scones and offer them at the parties and whatnot in her own damn manor. Once she reached Griffindell and owned one. Just to spite the whole thing, she’d make Bolognese scones so good Aya Harpyia would demand they be served during temple services.

Bless her poor mother, but Gilda wasn’t a hooflicker anymore. She was a legit Child of The Harpy. Left without real choices, Gilda did the only thing she could have. She embraced the madness which started with the dreams and with murdering those griffons in the alley. Her issues with money were just part of it. Just another plank on her boat.

Gilda’s frown relaxed as she turned her eyes back to Gisele and sighed. “A griffon’s wealth is found within the soul. The Children of The Harpy shall lead a creed devoid of avarice and greed, where wealth is meant to serve a need. Aya Harpyia sees all, and the hearts of griffons are the currency with which she deals. They should be excellent and deliver gallant service for She rewards with the most exquisite of graces those that serve Her designs, both in life and in death.”

When Gisele stared blankly at her, Gilda simply shrugged. “Lady Gwendolen’s words. You do whatever you want with them. For now, get ready for dinner. I’d like everyone to be there. If anything, it’s going to have good food. We’ll figure it out.”

“Yes.” Gisele deflated with a sigh and Gilda left her to deal with her thoughts by herself.

Grunhilda followed Gilda around the Manor, not a word after the conversation with Gisele. They walked through the stony corridors and stairwells smelling of burning ash under the light from the torches. Soon enough they found Georgia’s and Godwin’s rooms after a few doors. The dark-tan tom, staring at the mirror, adjusted a small neck piece with a red tie. The room felt like a hotel room. Luxurious, spacious, with its own toilet and with a bathtub, but ultimately just a place to spend the nights. Nothing of the extra luxury in Gilda’s room.

Noticing Gilda, he approached her, reporting like a good little trooper. Raised head and puffed out chest with a little red tie on display. “I’m ready for dinner, Miss Gilda.”

“This dumb thing makes you look like a pony.” Gilda pointed at his neckpiece. “Lose it.”

Surprisingly, he breathed with relief and snapped the thing free with a single fluid movement. “Thank goodness… I hated it.”

Chuckling, Gilda sat before him and held his shoulder for him to sit too. Then she took a good look at him with a smile. “You look good enough. I mean, I suppose you could wear something, but armors and stuff are more like something you’d have to earn. Right?”

For some reason Gilda couldn’t truly make heads nor tails, she was slightly miffed that all the cute little kittens would be all over him in the dinner. She coughed. “Where’s Giza?”

“Ah… She’s playing with some fledglings and a couple of the maids. I’ll just make sure I don’t have any feathers out of place. Then I’ll get down. To the hall.”

Gilda nodded at him and moved on. Supposing the next door was Georgia’s room, she trotted there and pulled down the handle. Much like Godwin’s room, Georgia’s barely had more than a small vanity, a sizable bed, and a wardrobe. The blue queen sat by the window, which was open.

A squawk escaped Gilda at the sight of a very northerner tom climbing into the room. Black fur and steel-gray feathers, while holding a white flower with his beak. He even had the red scarf of the Court of The Harpy.

Hearing the door open, the pair screeched. Georgia took a step back from the window while the tom’s paws skipped a few times on the stone before they found purchase again. Who had the most embarrassing squeal, undefinable.

Righteous anger in her glare, Gilda made her way to the window around the bed.

“Uh… It’s not what… Uh…” Georgia started with a furious blush but stopped while Gilda perched herself on the sill, ignoring her.

Rather than angry, Gilda suddenly became curious. How did he get there when flying was forbidden in the northerner cities? Turned out he didn’t fly. He climbed the five floors of stone wall. Behind him and below, Gilda could see his friends looking up.

“Dude, I gotta say I really admire your commitment.” She crossed her forelegs on the sill. “You just gotta think with your head, not with your wiener.”

“I just wanted to give Georgia a flower!” As soon as he opened his beak to talk, the wind swept the flower away. “Aw…”

“Just come to dinner, you dweeb. You can give her the flower in the hall. I don’t know, maybe you even get to dance.” Finally, Gilda closed the wood shutter and the window to sit before the annoyed young queen. “Do I really have to worry about you too? Other than every horny hen in the city perving over your brother?”

“No, you actually don’t!” Georgia stood and glared at Gilda, coming too close to her and raising her wings. “I don’t even know why you care!”

“Hey, hey! Sit down!” Gilda shoved her back to sit on her haunches, which she did with a pained whine. A passing thought told the tan griffoness to be more conscious of her growing strength. Nonetheless, Georgia seemed to be having a moment, between crying and seething. “Chill, girl. I’m on your side!”

Georgia’s face kept the angry, fuming expression. Fluttering feathers, glistening tears wetting her plumage. But she turned her face away from Gilda. “You’re not even a real northerner! Nor am I or Godwin. This whole thing is just stupid.”

“Why don’t you talk to me instead of throwing a tantrum? You’re supposed to be almost an adult.”

“I had friends!” She turned to Gilda and shouted like it was her fault. It scared Grunhilda into taking a step back, but Gilda never flinched. “I had a life back home. Sure, the other hens thought I was weird, but they were my friends. And whenever I try to make friends in this Freakland, there is a creepy old hen or you, telling me to keep distance! Like some tom is gonna get me pregnant if we stare too hard at each other!”

“Well, go back. But you don’t have anything back there anymore.” Gilda shook her head softly. “They took it from you. Your parents were important griffons with powerful enemies, and they ruined that life. It’s not there, waiting for you. Like my old home, it burned to the ground.”

Georgia had struck Gilda as a smart kid, and she showed it when she didn’t try to argue back. Instead, she seethed. Georgia wasn’t angry with her, that much Gilda understood. The young queen mourned the life that died with her parents as much as she mourned them. And Gilda had to admit… If she lived in the north, at Georgia’s age, she’d try to get laid just to spite the Loremasters and her parents. But she supposed that was the point of the whole thing. It’s meant as their graduation into adulthood. She won’t be a kid anymore; she’s supposed to have those feelings under control.

Although, did Gilda have the moral high ground to tell her to behave like an adult? Especially when many adults didn’t anyway.

As the drop that filled the dam, the girl let it out. It had been less than a week, for feather’s sake. Maybe Gilda should have done the same. She should have stopped at some point and cried that her friendship with Dash was gone rather than be jealous of Rainbow’s easy life. She should have mourned her friendship with Greta. Her scones and her friends were so far gone she didn’t even feel for them anymore. It was probably a bad thing. Both that she didn’t let it out, and that she accepted it without much rebellion.

Maybe it helped that Mother Harpy, even if she wouldn’t say it, understood.

At the same time, Gilda trusted Grunhilda as a friend. Gilda saw a loyalty in Greta she had never experienced before. Ironic as it may sound. Gilda even found in Gia an irritating presence she would miss were she gone. The Harpy gave her a sense of security, and the northerners' acceptance of her joining them was like a blanket on a cold night. Did she really need all the things she lost?

“Listen, Georgia.” Gilda spoke softly, reached, and hugged her. Held Georgia tightly to her chest, inhaling the lemony fragrance she wore. “You gotta live your life. Move on. I know it’s not been more than a few days, but you have no choice. You have to deal with the cards you’re given.”

“And that means going to a party and pretending I’m part of these griffons just because my mother was?” Georgia tried controlling her nerves, Gilda could see it. But she trembled and let her voice raise when she spoke. Sobs rattled her body and her paws kept grasping at Gilda’s feathers like she again tried to shield herself behind Gilda’s feathers. “My mother taught me this nonsense that the southerners didn’t raise their cubs right and that I was not to follow their customs.”

“For feather’s sake! I can almost hear Madam Gladys telling me to stop staring at the ‘toms’. I’m not even that much into that guy! He just said he liked me! He approached me like I’m normal!”

She sobbed and wept for a while with Gilda caressing her adorable crest of blue feathers. But Gilda let her go when Georgia pushed herself loose. “I’m just angry at this tradition nonsense. What is the point? Mamma is dead. Pappa is dead too. And I’m here pretending I’m a northerner. I have nothing to do with this stupid war, I just wanted to be an artist. But because Mamma and Pappa had important ancestors, they expect me to be one of them and just go to their freaky horny party!”

“Don’t go.” Gilda shrugged.

“What?” Georgia looked at Gilda, sniffling at her tears.

“Don’t go to the Court of The Harpy meeting. Don’t go to the Gathering Storm feast. You don’t even have to come to dinner with Lady Geena.” Gilda’s beak twisted into an annoyed grimace. “You can even open the window and call Romeo back to your window.”

“Heck, you can fuck him and yourself into jelly if you want. I don’t care.” Gilda opened her forelegs. “As far as I can see, nobody is even going to bother you about it. The meeting and the Gathering Storm are the kind of thing that you care about, and that you make it important for you. The reason the Loremasters are so annoying about it is because they know you’re gonna regret ruining it. But if you don’t care, whatever.”

“Gee, it’s supposed to be a symbol that you're an adult and can take care of your life however you like. Mostly because you understand that there are things you’ll regret doing and things you can’t change. I mean, that is the point of letting the cubs explore and do whatever they want, and then teach the older kids all their rules and such. I mean, if Romeo there wants to give you a flower and that makes him climb a stone wall, nobody is going to stop him. But if shit goes wrong, then the blame is on him.”

“So, go do whatever you want.” Gilda pointed at the door. “I didn’t have my mom to tell me any of that. But I can tell you that if you go back to the south, you can live just as I lived and that is fine. Go live in the Equestrian Heartland if Griffonia is getting too messed up for you. The ponies will literally give you everything you need for a happy and fulfilling life. They’ll even pay you to follow your passions. I did that. The only reason I’m here is that I punched the wrong griffon. I would even recommend going to Ponyville. I hear there are three fillies that help griffons find their destinies or some pony crap. They’d welcome a friendly griffon and the purple smartyhooves might even give you an award.”

“Nah!” Gilda shook her head and started making fanciful gestures. “I ain’t gonna give you a speech about how griffons are supposed to live, about how you gotta be strong to cross the Frozen North to the Stormy Eyrie. Or about how your parents are gonna be disappointed in you.”

Georgia blinked at her, stricken with confusion.

“Yeah. Go live your own damn life.” Gilda even made some shooing gestures. “When I killed Mother knows how many griffons in Thunderpeak and was feeling anxious about it, She chastised me. She told me I don’t have the right to judge them on their choices. That griffons live their lives free, and that if they didn’t suffer consequences, then their freedom would be pointless. Do you know what the message is? The point of all those rules? The Harpy wants us to live to the fullest. She wants us to have the drive to be free.”

“Your mom was a northerner spy and a Loremaster. Your dad was a double agent. Madam Gladys was a community leader, a big-time agent of The Lion, and a Loremaster too. I think all of them counted as spies. The way their lives ended was the consequences of their choices. I know it’s not nice, but ‘nice’ is for the ponies. The same goes for the mercenary jerk your brother shot dead. And all the griffons that died in the mess that followed. The ones that made it out are the lucky ones. Often because of the actions of others. In a way, their choices are also what landed you here. Alive, to make your own choices.”

“I was a scone baker.” Gilda held the feathers on her chest. “Now I’m the Swordmaiden of the Shaddani. The Harpy talks to me, I have dreams of past lives and I’m pretty sure I’m half-insane. What about you? My cards were to stay in Griffonstone and get killed or embrace the madness and come north. Yours are to embrace the northerner culture and accept being one of them or go back south and live however you wish. That’s a lot better.”

“Well… Mamma…” Georgia started, but Gilda stopped her, waving her paws.

“Forget your mom. It’s your life, not hers. You get to choose. Maybe Lady Guela would tell you to stay and become a northerner monster hunter or something. There is nothing saying you can’t be an artist here either. Maybe she’d think it’d be better for you. But I’m not her. Honestly, though, with how much the northerners love painting their heroes, an artist is gotta live a good life here.”

“What do you care? I don’t even know why you’re here telling me all this.” Georgia hissed, but her cheeks tinted red again, and her eyes shifted away. Now that was some bonafide childish behavior. Gilda did one of the things she does best, but instead of punching Georgia, she gave her a half-hearted slap.

A growl crept into Gilda’s words and a frown slipped into her brow. “I care because I found three lost cubs on my way out of Wayfarer’s Rest, and because I’m an idiot, I took it upon myself to worry about them. But I’m not your ‘Mamma’. If you want to go, then go. But if you stay, you’re going to do as I say.”

“Wow.” Georgia gasped, touching her cheek. “You sounded exactly like Mamma!”

“Shut up!” Gilda snarled. “You’re making me blush.”

Finally, Georgia giggled. She showed a smile in between her tear-darkened white and blue plumage. “Thank you, Miss Gilda. I think I’ll get myself ready for dinner then.”

“Thank you, my hind. If you make me emotional like that again, I’m gonna whip your ass. Grunhilda, Keep an eye on her. If any male gets within pouncing distance knock them over the head.”

“Okay.” The big white griffoness chirped.

“Wait… What?” Georgia started, but Gilda walked out of her room and closed the door, pulling it with her tail before she could say anything.

“You make a better liege than you give yourself credit for, Gilda.” Waiting outside, like a freaking ghost haunting her, Gilda found the great black and white griffoness again. A small lobby occupied the space of a room. It even had a fireplace and a window. She had claimed for herself one of the large sitting pillows, giving Gilda a lewd smile. “Although, I have to admit… Watching you whip young Georgia would be enticing.”

“Yeah, yeah…” Gilda deadpanned. “Is this going to be a thing? Are you going to be skulking around all the time?”

“No. This is more tiring than it should be. You are not yet ready.” The Harpy lost much of her playful enthusiasm. “You ought to improve your magical skills and fortify your mind. Especially because I cannot be with you all the time. You will notice that in the wilderness my presence should be scarcer. The details are not important, and that is not what I meant to talk about.”

She silenced for a few seconds as a griffoness wearing a maid headdress walked past Gilda with a respectful nod. Gilda supposed only she could see the ancient goddess poking around her head like she had rented the space. “I want you to know I appreciate your assistance with griffons such as Gia and Guela’s progeny. They are quite important. As are the griffons you have safely brought to Frozenlake. I will not forget this, and the boon of your service will come sooner than you imagined. But you must trust me.”

“Did I earn asking you a question?” As The Harpy nodded patiently, Gilda looked both ways, just to be sure. She had several things she could ask, including about her obligations to the big bad Emperor. One thing constantly nagged at her head, though. “Did my mom make it? Past the Windigos? You know… Assuming the story Madam Gelinda told us is real. I mean… Uh… This is a weird thing to ask… But…”

“Your mortal mother’s soul… Gracelyn’s soul is resting in the Stormy Eyrie. Waiting until she is ready to be born again.” The Harpy looked down at Gilda and spoke softly. “Know that she was properly buried and that she made it past the Whitescape to the Stormy Eyrie. Understand that I live with The Lion in Griffindell, but my mind constantly visits the Stormy Eyrie and that of my faithful. The details are complicated, and you are still not ready to understand them.”

Okay. But how? Gilda’s mom was a southerner griffon who had nothing to do with the northerners and lived completely oblivious to everything relating to The Harpy. How? Gilda stole a small stare up at the large griffoness but doubted she would say more. Still, what she had said was enough.

“Thank you.” Gilda coughed and disguised her croaking voice, but she supposed it was pointless when The Harpy was literally inside her head. “I should make sure everything is going as planned for the dinner.”

“You should.” The harpy tilted her head softly, and she let her crown of black feathers rest behind her head. Her voice lessened, as did her usual ‘I’m disappointed’ stare. “Gilda, you are beloved to me. And I shall not allow you or yours to lack in anything. Even if I must always demand of My Children, my existence is dedicated to you.”

Holy cow. Was there something in the air? Griffons were all so damn sappy. Gilda included, but that was beside the point. She just looked the other way and said nothing.

The Harpy vanished into nothingness and Gilda squared her shoulders before starting on her way to the hall. A few griffons stopped her with questions about the dinner. Nitpicky details that might not even make a difference. But Gilda supposed since it was her dinner, she should get herself involved with those details. Even if it was a roundabout way for Lady Geena to host the dinner. It was just easier to go along when telling them to figure it out might be disrespectful.

Eventually Gilda made it to the hall. The sight almost shocked her, coming out from behind the back wall. It had transformed. In a couple of hours, it filled with more illumination, and she didn’t even understand how. Rich tableware had been placed on the tables and the fire between them roared, brighter and taller. Probably some fancy northerner trick of putting some stuff into the fire and nothing the Lady of the Hall needed to worry about. She had guests.

The experience recalled memories from meeting the northerners at Thunderpeak. Although her position now granted her a lot more smiles and less distrustful, challenging stares. They sure didn’t fawn over her, but they treated her as an equal. Gilda appreciated it. They shook paws and exchanged pleasantries. Not something Gilda was used to beyond her precious experience of selling scones, dealing with customers, and generally being nice.

Nobody was angry at her yet, so she was doing something right. Ultimately, Gilda enjoyed meeting those important griffons. The northerner nobility didn’t have the same stuffiness of unicorns or southerner politicians. Although Lady Geena seemed to be ‘fashionably late’. It forced Gilda into throwing casual conversation around. Mostly about her impressions on the north and on the griffons who lived there. Some of the smarter looking ones wanted to know about her connection with the Allmother. Gilda gave it to them straight. The Harpy’s words earlier echoed inside her head, but her tale was impressive in its own right.

The idea she was the new thing really stuck out during those conversations and sapped slightly at her confidence. But curiosity filled those griffons and she felt safe enough. Even in their home turf. On the other side, some seemed intimidated to approach the mighty Swordmaiden of the Shaddani. The title certainly added a lot of weight to her presence, and after the event with the rocs, and after Thunderpeak, she had little problem accepting that. But still…

Eventually Grunhilda arrived with her pretty makeup and the two siblings came in her wake. The trio distracted most of the griffons from Gilda and gave her a few moments to breathe. Godwin didn’t wear anything, but Georgia had found a beautiful, deep blue night gown with shiny dots. It was designed for winged creatures and left most of her back exposed. Honestly, it looked like a pony thing. Gilda was above complaining since none of the northerners seemed bothered. Wings are wings and get in the way of clothes. She had time to properly preen and wash her face too. Now Gilda just had to be sure she didn’t slip away with some cute featherbrained tom.

Finding another griffon she knew immediately distracted Gilda. The gray northerner huntress who had helped so much with her still unnamed, not-Rocky, roc. She looked prettier than Gilda would expect. Preening was something all griffons could do to look good, but she wore something fancy. A ceremonial version of her animal skin and leather ranging garment. No fancy colors or anything, the definition of rustic, spartan beauty.

“Hi!” Gilda greeted her happily with a chirp, but the northerner didn’t share in her enthusiasm. Barely responding and letting her eyes drift to the floor. Her father and her mate stayed close to the tables where the Manor’s servants started serving the food and drinks. But they approached upon noticing she and Gilda had met. Gilda focused on the female, with a frown of her own. “What’s wrong?”

“I suppose it is time to say goodbye.” She still didn’t make eye contact with Gilda. “I ah… Passed along to Frozenlake’s hunters all we learned about the roc. Well… To the ones that are meant to accompany you in the next leg of the trip, that is.”

“Oh… I see…” The smile vanished from Gilda’s face too. When the father and her mate joined them, theirs had no smiles either. “Yeah… Thanks… I ah… Shouldn’t I pay you guys something?”

Behind the trio, Gisele’s green paw held her clipboard with ‘the maths’ for Gilda to see. Right next to her frowning, ‘don’t-you-dare’ glare. Hearing the old hunter-father say she didn’t have to, Gilda focused back on the huntress.

Gilda blinked, finding the huntress shedding tears and counting on her fingers. “He likes his meat cut into cubes, preferably a paw’s width, and at body temperature. It is a terribly bad idea to clean his beak before he’s done eating because he’ll try to bite at anything. He likes to be scratched behind his right ear, and he really likes the sound of the tagelharpa. A slow song is the best way of getting him to relax so you can preen his feathers. At least until he is old enough.”

Oh, Harpy above… Her breath smelled slightly of alcohol, and it only made it worse that she needed some liquid courage for that conversation. Gilda grimaced and fought the urge to take a step back as the huntress went on, barely holding her composure. “And… And… If it is too cold, it is better to give him a cotton blanket because the wool and leather make him excited, and he wants to play.”

Wait… She got to play with Gilda’s roc?!

“But… But… Also…” The huntress’ expression finally broke to ugly crying. “Please make sure to cover his eyes when he’s outside in his cage. Because… Because… He’s really excitable with any movement!”

Her mate walked next to her and put a wing over her back which caused her to hug him and wail like a weaned cub into his darker chest. Watching the fierce, big northerner huntress undo herself in tears, Gilda sat on the floor. She needed a couple of seconds of ‘aah…” before she managed to speak normally. She still scratched the back of her head, eyes dancing all over except to focus on the crying queen. “So, I suppose I’m going to need someone with experience to help me take care of him… If you know what I mean…”

Behind the trio, Gisele poignantly pointed at the clipboard filled with numbers, tapping the parchment with her paw.

“I am going to need help keeping him safe. Yes…” Gilda shrugged. “If you want to travel with us, you can be my… Uh… Animal handler? I’m gonna need help figuring it out once we reach Griffindell, after all.”

Gisele glared Celestia’s Sunfire at Gilda, poking a hole into the parchment on her clipboard with her talon. Fortunately, Gilda’s prerogative said she could ignore Gisele for a while. “So, yeah. I guess I'm in the market, hiring a beastmaster. Is that a thing?”

The bulky griffon lady gasped, holding her cheeks in her paws. Shining eyes and excited raised feathers. “Do you really mean it?”

Her father petted her head, telling her to calm down with a chuckle. Gisele threw her clipboard and bee-lined to the table with the alcoholic beverages. Turning back her attention to the hunter trio, Gilda found the huntress and her mate smiling all too happily while the father laughed. “I suppose that if the job of beastmaster didn’t exist before, it does now, Lady Gilda.”

“Is it going to be alright for you, though?” Gilda smiled serenely.

“Yes.” The father smiled too. “I will write a letter back home. It is going to be an honorable position, and there is plenty of game to hunt in the area.”

“Great.” Gilda smiled again and put a paw on the huntress’ shoulder.

But before Gilda could react, the huntress grabbed her paw and held it with manic, glazed eyes. Then she held the hem of Gilda’s cape and literally kept the tan griffoness from distancing herself. “Thank you so much, Lady Gilda! I will be forever loyal to you! I will name my unborn cubs after you!”

“It’s okay, dear.” Her mate came to Gilda’s rescue. “Let’s go. We’re hogging Lady Gilda and the other guests want to see her too.”

He guided her away with soothing words and the father laughed again, sitting next to Gilda. “I am sorry for that. But thank you, anyway.”

He even concluded with a polite bow. Gilda, back with her mental faculties, smiled. “Get yourselves something to eat. We’ll talk more tomorrow. Or after the festival. Either way, I’m glad you guys are staying.”

He smiled and made another polite bow before following his daughter and son-in-law. At that moment the doors, which had been closed to keep the warmth inside, opened laboriously and one of the guards stood on his hindlegs.

“Lady Gilda and esteemed guests, Lady Geena of Frozenlake.” He declared with a clear voice while she strutted inside like a supermodel on a Canterlot fashion strip under her cape of swan feathers. She even wore a similar makeup to what Gilda gave Grunhilda. Maybe Gilda could simply see the ‘magic’ behind her elegant and grand gestures and some of their effect was lost on her. Was that how loremasters saw each other? What of swordmaidens? Their entire thing was that they fought and danced. That their dancing looked like fighting, and their fighting looked like dancing. Cat-like grace and lightning reflexes, a strong mind, and a strong body for both, even if they did different things. Maybe Gilda should be more like Lady Geena? Nah. The Harpy liked it that Gilda was spontaneous.

An eyebrow raised at the thought. More importantly, though, Gilda was Gilda, not Geena or Ghadah. Sometimes that seemed easy to forget.

Meanwhile Geena approached Gilda, greeting others while they made way for her and bowed like she was a queen. Gilda just stood there, again, not sure what to do. She finally relaxed and kept her best regal pose when she concluded that Geena was her equal.

“Greetings, Lady Gilda. I hope the accommodations are acceptable.”

“They’re awesome!” Gilda blurted out, then she coughed and cleared her throat. “They are excellent, I mean.”

“Dinner should be served momentarily.” Grayden approached them from nowhere, speaking with all his pomposity. “Milady and her esteemed guests should take their places at the tables, if you please.”

“Thanks, Grayden.” Gilda had the presence of nodding a thanks to him before walking next to Geena to the table set next to the throne at the top of the steps. They were farther from the fire, but two carcasses roasting above it could be seen. Deer? They looked like deer. The whole hall had warmed and held the distinct smells of the North: burning wood and roasting meat.

Geena, of course, sat next to Gilda and so did Grunhilda with Godwin and Georgia. Gjarma, Lady Geena’s assistant Loremaster, sat with her and most of Gilda’s closest companions sat with them. Gia and Gelinda earned spots on the ‘important griffons’ table’ and so did Captain Gosalynn and whoever sat next to her. Probably the local Sky Sentry captain. Gertha and her brother earned spots there too, but not Mister Gillian and his daughter Gil. Nor did the two ex-soldier dudes with the same name.

The exact seating of specific griffons seemed like it could be a source of issues. Fortunately, everyone seemed happy. Especially as the opening dishes started arriving. The pair of ponies got their places. The feeling which remained was that the griffons just didn’t want them ‘ponying-up’ their party, but they were Gilda’s guests. The veiled contempt amused even the ponies, sitting across the table from Gilda, with their backs to the rest of the party.

The washing of paws with water from the pitchers and rinsing with the towels followed. A wholly different affair from the inn at Wayfarer’s rest though. The gesture and the food had a refined air about them. The water was cold and the towels pristine and fluffy. The food, sophisticated. Sausages, for example, were not served whole. They were sliced and dipped into sauces, seasoned with more complexity. The same was true for all the food, except for the slices of roasted game. They were salted before they were even put to roast. A pair of griffons dutifully spun the cranks and made them spin like part of a spectacle and it was all the seasoning they needed.

The ambience? Like royalty, but rustic. Music with northerner instruments, like wind; singing from powerful, deep, and throaty male voices resonating inside the hall. The fire sizzled, popped and crackled like an instrument playing itself into the song. Teeming with the northerner griffon charm. The beverages, intoxicating like a siren’s call. The meat, sweet and juicy, to obscene, sensual levels as the dancing that followed. Twirling and spinning, seasoned with alcohol, and filled stomachs.

Gilda remained seated on the table next to the loremasters. Godwin found that cute rose-pearly young queen from the caravan and danced with her, while Georgia found Romeo-at-the-Window. They joined the adults, dancing to the tune of strong drums and griffon feet kicking at the wood. Not quite as powerful as hooves, but it had its own flair. Gertha remained at the table, while her brother danced with Grunhilda. Neither of them seemed to know what they were doing, but they were having fun, and nobody judged. At worst, it made Gilda chuckle and grin at her friend, clapping her paws in tempo with the music, watching them.

“I am going to hunt you to the freezing expanses of the Whitescape if something bad happens to that chick.” Geena’s voice didn’t distract Gilda, she expected she would say something.

“Trust me…” Gilda didn’t stop clapping her paws nor watching her friend dance, talking calmly to the other. “If something bad happens to her, I will be right next to you, hunting whoever was responsible. If they even get a chance to escape.”

Geena initially responded with a satisfied nod and a deep gulp of her fruity mead. A moment of merry music and talking, cheering, and dancing griffons passed. “I must ask you a favor.”

Gilda, still clapping to the song, grinned and gasped with faux surprise. “Shocker!”

It made the honored loremaster laugh. “I would like you to take some of the southerner soldiers to Brokenhorn. Among them, many decided to stay in the North, but we cannot welcome all of them here.”

“The caravan was supposed to shrink in size.” Gilda retorted. Grunhilda, even not knowing what she was doing, did a wonderful job of looking gracious while having fun with Guille. It would make Gilda jealous if her friend’s happiness wasn’t so important. “It was meant to get easier, since the journey should be harder the further north we go.”

“True. That is how it goes.” Geena agreed. “But would you agree with me that if the journey was too hard, none of the pilgrims would make it? Yes, the journey has a tendency of weeding out the weaker elements, but we need numbers just as well. And that is why we will protect the less favored. Surely you see that, and also that I am a powerful friend to have.”

Sounded a lot like The Harpy, and Gilda could only agree. She said nothing, but let it hang in the air she had accepted the request and promise. As much as she understood the veiled threat. Griffoning in session…

“There is also something else…” Geena let the word hang for a few beats of the song. “Your non-attendance at the meeting of the Court of The Harpy would be massively disappointing.”

“What?” Gilda chuckled. “Is there some powerful griffon wanting to bang me?”

Geena giggled. It reminded Gilda of Grunhilda’s own happy giggling. “You may find this funny, but it is important. It is a way we confirm our bonds of friendship and loyalty. A celebration of Our Mother’s gift of exhilarating carnal ecstasy. It is also something that makes us different from the others. As you do, with any exclusive group.”

“Would it disappoint you if I told you the ponies do the exact same thing?” Gilda let a small, conceited smile on her beak, but she understood the idea. Griffons were not supposed to indulge in excesses, while the ponies had no such limitation. But griffons did anyway because they are free.

“Well, you will agree with me that griffon's elegant delicateness looks more enticing than the exaggerated pony plushness.” Geena added nonchalantly and as plainly as possible. Gilda choked on her mead and almost spit it all over the table with the noble lady comparing griffon and pony genitalia.

“I am thoroughly offended.” Moonbow glared from across the table while Lost Temple pretended, he was not there, intensely focusing on his leafy salad.

“Be not.” Geena raised her beak and took another sip of her drink. “You were never meant to be sultry anyway.”

“Someone’s gotta make sure the younglings aren’t embarrassing themselves too much, right?” Gilda cleared her throat and tapped fingers at the table. That sounded like a good excuse to be in on the fun. Although The Harpy would’ve told her to go because she wanted to fuck. Gilda wasn’t quite there yet to admit to it openly.

Not to mention she had to take care of Georgia, Godwin and Grunhilda. Excuses. Excuses and justifications never failed a griffon.

“I’d like to be there too…” Gertha leaned on the table to look at them with a grin. She didn’t even blush.

Geena let her head hang for a second and with a throaty, unsure hum. “It is meant for the members of the Court of The Harpy… I am sorry, but you do not really make the cut.”

Gilda spoke before Gertha could feel called out. “Either my friends can go, or I am not going.”

Maybe it was the finality in Gilda’s tone, which came out angrier than she intended, but Geena nodded. Almost like the responsibility had been lifted off her shoulders because Gilda took it on hers. Fine. Gilda didn’t mind. It lasted no less than a heartbeat though, and Geena resumed her cheery mood. “The ponies cannot.”

“As if…” Moonbow scoffed before taking a bite into an apple.

With a laugh, Geena tossed her head back. “The more the merrier. Fine. The point is to introduce the younglings to the ‘proceedings’ anyway. Not to generate cubs.”

“Well, that is nice.” Gertha chuckled with, perhaps, a better mood than Gilda would have in her position. Maybe Gilda’s defense of her was enough. “I need to walk for a bit. Be back soon.”

The pink warrior griffoness left the table and Gilda nodded her goodbye. The guards at the door let her out with respectful bows before Geena’s voice distracted Gilda again. “Well, you should know that, since you are relatively new, several males, and a few females, have shown interest in tutoring you during the meeting.”

Gia burst out laughing and Geena barely held her giggling at Gilda’s amused and perplexed expression. Suddenly the whole thing became a point of honor. Gia’s waving, reassuring gesture washed the confounded frown from her brow. “It is their way of saying they have the hots for you. Most griffons here in the north have never even considered traveling south to even know how the ‘hooflickers’ live their lives.”

Geena nodded and spoke again. “Although, Godwin and Mister Guille received several breeding requests. Both from the city’s nobility and from queens in your caravan.”

“Even though Guille is also not in the Court?”

“Well…” Geena shrugged. “I get these requests from the whole town. I’m just supposed to let him know. It’s not only queens from the Court that make such requests, you know.”

Gilda’s eyes snapped to Godwin dancing with the pearly griffoness and then at the pony when Lost Temple caved into his curiosity and finally said something. “Don’t the females get such requests?”

“It’s a griffon thing, actually.” Gilda shrugged and made gestures to explain. “Even in Griffonstone they do this. Most griffons want to make a family. Among those, female couples may choose a male to sire a cub. Others don’t want to relinquish their independence or mate a dick because they think he’s got good traits for their cub. The thing is that a male doesn’t get stuck with a swollen belly for nine months. So, males don’t usually get to raise a cub by themselves. Most females wouldn’t get themselves impregnated, birth and then give away their cub. Although, I have heard of ‘bellies for hire’. So, it can happen, but males usually get mated to a female and they make a family together. There are usually no hurt feelings when a female requests they sire a cub and piss off.”

“The difference is that in the south griffons don’t feel the need to get the Mayor involved.” Gilda rolled her eyes at the silliness of the whole thing.

“That sounds irresponsible.” Moonbow grumbled. “I prefer large pony herds.”

A short relative silence lasted a couple of seconds until Geena turned to Gilda again. “Ultimately, there is something else I must request your assistance with.”

“It’s the third one already, I think.” Gilda took a sip of her mead and put her best effort into making her words humorous.

“I am sorry I must sour the mood with a more serious request.” Geena let gloom seep into her words. “I need your assistance with a group of brigands. An unsavory bunch that may have attracted some of the more ‘loyal’ southerner soldiers once they escaped…”

Yeah, right. ‘Souring’ the mood was exactly what she had planned, with that lighthearted conversation about horny griffons. Suddenly, bandits. The best Gilda managed was an annoyed squint. If anything, the framed fish should be Geena’s: fed raw to her. The best to come out of the moment was that Gilda understood Gia’s soreness with Madam Gelinda.

“Fighting is not my profession.” Geena went on ominously. “My mate, Graham would take care of that, but he is away. Given the proximity of the Gathering Storm, someone should lead the new adults into carrying out Our Mother’s justice to the brigands as their crimes are most foul.”

Gilda listened silently.

“An experienced lady willing to teach the younglings could be rewarded with the pleasures of the flesh. A cub if she wanted. A noble visitor could be gifted with good food and drink…” Geena’s beak made a devious smile. “A loyal, holy avenger might be gifted with gold and prestige. And the curious thing about such ventures and passions is that they often bring more of each other with them. Such is the way the Allmother has taught griffons.”

What was a griffon lady to say? Gilda had become good at enjoying those things. And Geena read it in her smile, concluding with an insidious grin. “Welcome to Snow Mountains.”

Next Chapter: The Gathering Storm, pt. I Estimated time remaining: 8 Hours, 40 Minutes