It took me a while to find this place.

Hidden as it was within the maze of Gormenghast, I spent what seemed like hours searching — a long miserable trek, compounded by the fact I could not fly as a Griffon would. But finally I found it — the Iron Room.

That’s what Gwyr called it and now I understood why.

The room itself was not iron — the walls were the same dull grey stone that comprised most of the castle. But on the walls, going stories and stories up along the spiral staircase, beneath murals and tapestries and statues, there was iron aplenty.

Pegasi aegii and spears, neighpalese ghost daggers, dragonforged diamond lances, arabian zulfikars — bronze, iron and steel upon murderous steel, all screaming out for blood; All carrying nicks and marks. Some small, some almost enough to cut them in two. Not just marks — clawmarks.

Just being in this room made my hackles and memories I’d rather keep away rise.

Here the middle Prince sent me, and it was here, surrounded by statues and tapestries of Kings and Princes past, amongst the weapons and ancient trophies that Gideon chose to hold his court.

Seated on the perches far above me — Gideon and his youngest brother, his griffon coterie: young tercels in matador red sashes, and the counselor — the arimaspi, his giant figure trying to curve itself to be less towering. Opposite them, and quite distinctly not together — some older nobles, looking out of place in Gideon’s court, and the Count with them, rather strangely looking not.

And, of course, Graven, still at his Prince’s side.

I looked away, and shrank behind King Grover’s statue. There was no time for another wing-measuring contest with the little bully — I needed to be a good little filly for now. The arimaspi creature would be looking for any cause for me to be sent back, and the nobleponies would be only too happy to help him, spineless as they are.

Instead I made a decent imitation of curtsy when the Prince turned towards me, and tried to wave down the little princeling from his perch.

Galad flew down obligingly, hovering in front of me.

"Hi!" he threw a look back at his brother for some reason, and then landed. "What brings you here, Lady?"

"Have you got it?" I met the princeling at the bottom of the tower, just hidden enough by the statue that we still could be seen by the griffons above.

“Uhm, oh, yeah. Gwyr asked me to give this to you.” The princeling passed me a scroll case.

I nearly dropped it - it was heavy. Not just leather — I could see it lead-lined as I opened it.

The parchment inside looked veritably ancient. Goodness knows what archive or dark corner of the library did Gwyr dig it out — it even had a trace of Celestia’s power, and the clawmark of some griffon King.

Palsimpsesting the old document, using Celestia’s own feather for writing — it was clever, but it was a pale imitation, resembling the real thing no more than a shadow of the rose resembles the flower. But then again I had no intention of giving the creature a chance to examine it closely.

The arimaspi on the far side of the room - his head whipped towards me the second I opened the scroll-case.

Gotcha.

"Thank you." I put it away, slow and sloppy, making sure that it would half stick out of my saddlebag, the lid only half-screwed back on the scrollcase, as the arimaspi disentangle himself from Gideon’s group.

“What is it?” he craned his neck trying to look into the scroll case. “Gwyr wouldn’t tell me anything about this thing.” Galad pouted a bit, “Just that you needed to have it.”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” I waved my hoof vaguely, “Just something I needed for my research.”

“For your lessons with The Princess?” Did he really sound envious? I decided I was imagining things.

“Yes. Exactly.” I answered offhoof, watching the arimaspi hobble towards us in his lopsided canter with the corner of my eye. “We don’t get much information on Griffon history back home.”

"Well, if you’re done here — do you want to go for a fli— for a walk? Or maybe visit the library again?" He sounded so desperate.

"Oh. No. I, um, I can't." Ice and Nightmares, I wished I had rehearsed this. I wished I'd seen this coming. "Delegation business. You know. Politics."

“I see.”

He clearly wanted to say something, but didn’t quite have the courage for it. Instead we just stood there, in the awkward silence.

Several slow minutes passed, with me shifting from hoof to hoof, and cursing myself silently for not thinking it through, until finally the arimaspi joined us in the shadow of King Grover’s stony wings.

“Hello.” I waved my hoof at him, which he ignored, still trying to burrow through the lead lining of the scroll case with his gaze. “Can I help you?”

"May we have a moment, Your Highness?" he finally said, as he bowed to the little prince.

“Err,” he looked for my approval, and then deflated when I nodded. “Sure. I’ll wait.”

He fluttered back up toward his brother and other griffons, leaving me alone with the creature.

"What is it that you have, little pony?" The arimaspi sniffed at the air, his wide nostrils flaring. "Yes, that paper from the little prince."

"It's a surprise." I grinned the most shit-eating grin I could muster.

He did not like it. His sole eye narrowed, and his hands crooked into claws. "Tell me, little pony. Tell me what it is."

"Now if I told you, it wouldn't be a surprise, would it?" My smile grew even wider. “Just a little something I got from the middle Prince. Turns out there’s a lot more to Griffonstone library.”

That he liked even less. "You told him!" he said it as if complaining about it being unfair. Like I broke some sort of unspoken agreement to keep it just between us. "You long-tongued little pony."

"And what are you going to do about it?"

He made a claw-like gesture with his hand, the curved fingernails sparking golden magic, my horn took with subtle green flame, and for a second both of us hesitated: Too many griffons around, too many witnesses if either of us started flinging magic around — it held the both of us in check.

He put his claws away, and after a second I took down my magic as well.

And just in time too - we already have been noticed.

"Hey. You." Gideon, who finally noticed the absence of arimaspi, descended from his perch towards us. "Creature. Don't you have a chorus of those crows to lead?" He waved at the older griffons he just escaped. They did not at all seem pleased with the description. "What are you harassing the little pony about anyway?"

"It was nothing, You Highness." I waved his concern away with a flick of my tail. "Just discussing a passage from one of the documents upon which we could not agree”

"Yes, yes." The creature nodded awkwardly. "It's nothing, my lord. Nothing at all. Your old servant was just leaving.” He stepped away, but then he hesitated, turning his lone jaundice-yellow eye toward me. “Little pony," it called out, "What I told the arrogant one, yes this thing that you heard — it was no blood magic, yes. But true it was anyway."

I snorted. Be it a base soothsaying or real haruspicy, nothing coming from that creature would come true — not if I had anything to say about it. I let it hobble away, subsumed into the griffons crowd, even as they were getting closer to us, following their prince.

"So, what brings a little pony to the Iron Room?" the Prince regarded me coldly. “This is hardly a place for a unicorn.”

"Err. I just wanted to see it." I said. I did what I needed to do, and I really should not be getting more involved: I was already on thin ice with the Dame and the pony delegation, after all, and getting mixed up in Gideon’s pseudo-court was the exact opposite of that. “And now that I did…” I tried to move away.

"What’s the rush, Miss Shimmer — why don't you join us instead?" the Count waved at me with his glass. "We were just talking of your exploits.”

"Yes, Lady, please come in. Feel free to..." a griffon in Gideon’s retinue made a pause, looking at Graven, "be yourself."

The griffon company tittered, and Gideon clapped Graven on his back, but Lord Graven did not smile. He looked at me with black, vicious anger.

Ice and Nightmares. Damned lordling always managed to put me on the spot.

“Hello,” I said, giving the Count my best death glare, “that’s why my ears were burning. Pleasure to see you again, Your Highness, my lords. Graven”

"So." Some griffon chuckled, as Gideon’s coterie surrounded me. "This is the little unicorn we heard so much about?”

“You’re the one who watched the corrida?”

“The one who was telling the story…”

“Yeah.” Lord Graven snorted. “She tells a lot of stories.” He said it quietly, almost off hoof as he looked at me quickly, but still it was loud enough that I — and the Prince — could hear it.

My smile grew a little more wan, but I managed to hold back the response. I just had to get through this meeting without stepping on any tails, and I’d be fine.

I saw the arimaspi’s eyes flash at that moment, and his spine curve even further, as he leaned to whisper something to a griffon next to him.

“Well, if you’re here,” Galad asked, “maybe you would like a tour? I know all the stories!”

I hesitated. History has long since been a passion of mine and the room was just chock-full of it — certainly far more than the scant archives of Equestrian libraries.

“Which one would you like to hear? The story of Prince Gvido — the only Griffon to fly the Gauntlet of Fire? Oh, oh, how about the story of Princess Gerda? She went beyond the Frozen North to save her beloved, and fought the Last Queen of Windigoes to do it! Or maybe—”

“Or perhaps the Lady would tell a story of her own?” Gideon suggested. “We’re still to hear the ending of the last tale she was telling.”

That suggestion left a sour taste in my mouth. I really did not want to go to that place in my memories again, to pick at the barely-scabbed scar his death left in my mind. But maybe I could do it. Just tell that story, or maybe some other, keep them entertained for a bit and then disentangle myself from—

"Perhaps," someone's voice piped-up from the back ranks, cutting through the murmur of the crowd, "You can tell us the story of how you dispatched Lord Graven?"

I don’t know who said it, but somehow that one question that fell right as everyone else was paused, sole and loud enough to echo from the wall like a cannonshot.

"Dispatched!" Graven spat the word, as everyone turned to look at him "Why I—"

"She did beat you quite thoroughly there." Gideon laughed, ignoring his friends. "’Hiding behind his monarch like a foal behind his mother's tail’. Hah!"

"I saw it myself," the princeling piped up, looking at me adoringly. "It was amazing!"

"Quite so!" The Count chuckled, "and with such ease! Not every day you see a unicorn beat a griffon so soundly."

"It was a cowardly attack!" Graven flapped his wings hard, raising a gust of wind. "An unprovoked ambush. In a field, I would—"

“I’m sure you would.” The Prince’s tone was all wry amusement. “I’m sure you would. And if Gally stepped into the field, why, he’d be the champion!”

Galad turned away, his neck stiffening, as Gideon’s friends laughed again.

"Now, now," the Count raised his hooves in a placating gesture. "There’s no call for this. You should really make up. No need to escalate this to something we would all come to regret. Besides, I don’t think the Princess would approve of Miss Shimmer entering the field"

“Brother.” Prince Gwyr entered the room, joining our company. “You should not tease Lord Graven so.”

“I will stop when it stops being funny!” The Prince chuckled. “In a year or two, perhaps.”

"Is everything alright? You've been here longer than I expected." Though Gwyr was speaking to his brother, he threw a sideways glance at me as well.

I tried to convey a shrug without moving my shoulders too much, but I don't think it worked.

“Just entertaining our guest,” the Prince took another amused look at Graven’s fuming, “or rather she’s entertaining us — we were just discussing the unicorn entering the field.”

"Well, as Milord Fancy was saying,” I tried to demur, ”I really shouldn't. My Princess would never permit it. "

"Well, if it's the Princess." The Prince's expression changed somewhat, and his wings inflected subtly, as the disappointment in the room grew almost palatable.

I felt anger start climbing again with this humiliation. If only I had thought to bring Counts snuffbox to take the edge off... I threw a glance at him, but he barely shook his head, having none as well.

At least Gwyr occupied his brother's attention for a bit, leaving me surrounded by other griffons. Awkward, but at least it afforded me some breathing space.

"You really dodged an arrow there," somegriffon clapped on Graven's back. "That is one little pony I would love to see on the sand!"

"I'm not afraid!" he protested, unprompted, even as he eyed me cautiously. "It is the little pony who is lucky she won't have to face me in real combat."

"Calmly, milord, calmly.” Arimaspi whispered in his ear, loud enough still for all of us to hear. “I've heard, yes, this unworthy servant has heard that the master is still hurt after his last meeting with the little pony! You do not want to provoke her again."

"It's just a little pony unicorn!" Graven scoffed, now emboldened by my silence. "What's she gonna do, prissy me up to death?”

That was starting to get on my nerves. And the snickers of his mates — unsure yet, but growing louder — did not help it either.

The Count winced, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Miss Shimmer does not strike me as a mare who would 'prissy up' anycreature.”

I glared at him. He did say what I thought, but that was not the time!

"You heard her — she won't fight. Her little pony 'Princess' won't allow it."

He spat on the ground.

This was it. He may insult me, but this! This was too much.

The thumping of blood in my temples became unbearable, and I stepped forward, pushing into his space. "Well I just might!" The words escaped my mouth before I could hold them back. "Unless you run away to hide behind your king again!"

“Like a foal behind his mother’s tail!” somechick shouted out from the back ranks with some relish — and to other griffons great amusement.

“I—, I—” he flinched away from me, trying to come up with a comeback.

“Oh, but he shouldn’t run, Lady. Why, he might bump into something.”

“Or someone!”

I thought Graven would have a fit, with all that blood rushing to his face. "If you weren't my lord's guest—"

"Then what?" I pushed into him, forcing his words back down his throat, all the little pony niceties be damned. "What would you do then, little bird?"

Sudden silence slammed down. The conversation, the heckling it all just stopped, the griffons, the Count, even Gideon distracted from his conversation — all just staring at me and Graven with intense anticipation.

"Perhaps Lady could sort it in our custom?" the arimaspi suggested from behind, all fake-hesitation and pensiveness. "With all the tall tales we’ve been hearing, surely she is not afraid." He sounded awful smug, believing he had trapped me.

"But—" Graven wanted to object as the realisation started to hit him. “She’s a—”

"I don't think it's necessary..." Gwyr fluttered his wings desperately, silently begging me with his eyes. "If we could all just—."

"No. Let the unicorn speak for herself,” Gideon said slowly, looking at Lord Graven. “She is right — he should not have said such a thing unless he meant it."

“Oh, I’m sure Miss Shimmer won’t be holding it against the Lord. Especially if he apologizes.” Well, if there ever was a way to make this situation worse, the Count has surely found it.

“Apologize!?” Graven flushed hot with anger. "There are no apologies between an eagle and a dove, a lion and a mare!"

"She’s a little pony," Galad protested hotly from my side, "Lady shouldn't have to have this silly fight, just because Graven finally found someone who's not afraid of him. He’s just being a bully like he always is. It's stupid, and it's unfair!"

"To a griffon, his pride is the most important thing.” The Prince looked levelly at Graven, his predatory eyes narrowing. "When you have nothing you still have your pride, but if you don't have your pride — you have nothing. You are less than nothing. So, what is your pride worth to you, griffon?"

"Anything!" Graven declared hotly. “Everything.”

"You would do well to learn from Lord Graven, little brother."

The princeling nodded, pouting like a puppy someone kicked in the ribs.

"And you little pony? What is your pride worth to you?"

"Lady, this is hardly the proper Equestrian duel," Gwyr tried to warn me one last time. "Our challenges are way more... messy. And your Princess..."

"I ate the meat at your table. I saw the corrida. I can handle the Griffon duel." I grinned, her predatory grin boiling from within. "And my honor is not worth any less than his. Bring it on!"

The Count winced. "Any one thing, please," he said. "Let's be sensible here."

The Prince waved his wing regally, allowing it. "Any one thing shall be the stake of the duel. Brother?"

Gwyr semi-folded his wing in a complex gesture I couldn't recognise and gave a long sigh which I could recognise as exhaustion.

"I'll make the arrangements"

"Well.” The Count settled into my chair, “That happened. And you were doing so well too," the Count added with a sigh. "I was really rooting for you Miss Shimmer. I guess you still have some growing up to do."

"Well what else was I supposed to do?!" I pointed at the Count. "And you! I don't even want to talk to you right now!" I reached for the snuffbox, but the Count preempted me, pening it for me before I could. I gave him a glare, but acquiesced, taking a snuff. "At least now we know where and when."

"If you're still in Griffonstone when the date comes."

Dumb boastful lordling and his dumb big mouth. I should not have ended up in this situation!

"No! Wait. Wait. We can use this!" I stood up, pacing with the excitement of the thought. "This is an opportunity. That creature, that ...thing. He did it on purpose, needling me, needling Graven, even the Prince. He wanted that — and we could use this. The creature will know I'm busy, and my room is empty — and if he does..."

“That’s… quite a conjecture,” Gwyr did not sound persuaded, but nor did he contradict me.

“It’s more than just a conjecture. This is our chance to sort this whole mess!"

"You’ll sort this whole mess?'" The Count raised his eyebrow. "One of the biggest political crises of the decade, and your little amateur group will 'sort it’ in a day?"

"Not. Talking. To you!"

He rolled his eyes, but still at least he kept quiet again, before I threw him out.

“But what about the pony delegation?” Gwyr was still not convinced. “I’m sure your Dame will not let us— Let you even step on the arena.”

I sighed. Yes, if I was even going to be here come the day of the duel was still a question. Those nobleponies never wanted me here, and she would take any chance to get rid of me. A chance my big fat mouth now provided them with. “I don’t know.” I admitted. “I could try talking to Dame Strawberry, but…” I had nothing to say.

“Perhaps if I could talk to her instead,” Gwyr shuffled uncomfortably. Putting his claw so visibly on the scales was not his nature. “Mention that my brother — both of them, really — would be most disappointed if you were to leave.”

I shook my head. At this point it would not help. Even if the Dame wanted me in Griffonstone, even if I was one of her brainless little charges, putting a little pony in an arena with a griffon, much less for something as abstract as honor would not be something the Dame could ever agree too.

"It may just so occur," the Count, hitherto silenced, tried to talk again, "that the Dame and other little ponies may not be in the castle while all this..." He made a vague gesture "unpleasantness happens."

I looked at him, and he smiled his toothpaste-advertising smile. "I may be persuaded to arrange a tour for them. The town, I'm told, is quite beautiful. Weather facilities, historical countryside, young-wine-tasting and all that. Would occupy the ponies for a few days at least."

"You can do that?"

"Of course," He closed the snuffbox with a click and passed it back to me. "As easy as dangling keys in front of a foal. But I thought you weren’t talking to me.”

“You!” I ground my teeth so hard I think they heard it in the next room, “I—! Why didn’t you do that in the first—” At least he had a good sense not to laugh, but I could see the smile tug at the corners of his lips, as I struggled with my annoyance, which only maddened me even more. “Ice and Nightmares!” I stomped in frustration. “Will you help out or not!?”

“If you so ask.” He gave me a little mock-bow, “Anything for a pretty lady.”

I felt my cheeks redden. "Well, I'm asking!" I tried to be as curt as I could, but it was coming out whiny instead, making me blush even more. Still. he raised his eyebrow, expecting more. "... please?"

That finally satisfied him.

I gave a curt nod to him as he left, and found Gwyt looking at me curiously.

"What?"

"Nothing!" he looked away, "Nothing at all."

His beak didn’t move, but I was sure he was smiling. Grinning in fact.Or whatever the griffon equivalent was.

I shook my mane and suppressed the urge to stomp my hoof again. "Well, then, that settles this. The Count will take care of the little ponies, so we can do it now."

"My brother will also be busy - there is no way he would miss the bout." Gwyr nodded. "And with the ponies busy, this may be the opportunity we need. '' His expression darkened, his half-raised wing lowering listlessly again. "As long as you live through it."

"Pft," I snorted. The little bully did not worry me. "You do your part, and I will see mine done.“

"We'll need to make arrangements," he sighed. "And I take it would mostly be me?"

"Well, yeah." I shrugged. He was always the one to do this stuff. “Err.. unless you need my help?”

"It's ok." he sighed, and his wings half-rose. "I'm used to dealing with this sort of thing." He stood up. "You know — you and Gideon, you are quite alike. Both very griffish."

He left me to ponder this, without saying goodbye.

In public Her face turneth to thee, and pleasant Her smile when ye meet.
It is ill. The cold rocks of El-Gidar smile thus on the waves at their feet.
In public Her face is averted, with anger She nameth thy name.
It is well. Was there ever a loser content with the loss of the game?

Fancy Pants, Count Hoofington
Certain Maxims of Hisan