“Why is my unicorn not allowed into the Geskleithron, Father? Those ancient relics of an eagle have denied me again!” Gideon’s voice boomed across the empty throne room, muffled somewhat by the door through which I was listening.

“No one is allowed there except for blood, Gideon. You know that!”

This was not the first time they argued about that. I saw to that -- coaxing the prince, playing the doctor and the investigator, I cast my spells on him, as I promised Gwyr, and I put placebo herbs in his wine, making sure he drank it along with his poison - not that he needed any encouragement to drink. I watched him get worse and worse, the poison making its way through his system, watching him lose his feathers, his claw lose its sure aim in tremors and his muscles seize and shake, and I saw how it made him very, very angry.

And now it was playing out.

I pressed my ear tighter into the cold metal of the door, so as not to miss out even a single word or inflexion of the drama behind them.

"Nothing has been done! Nothing is being done right now!"

“The investigation is--” the King’s voice dripped with exhaustion of another repetition.

"Your investigation. Not mine! I want my own eagles -- my own creatures -- to check it as well.”

"Do you doubt me?" It was not so much ire as incredulity in King's voice. "Me?! I'm still the King, boy!" When there was no answer, his voice lost all amusement. “Well, that will have to suffice. The royal wizards are working, and no unicorn is stepping into Gesklethorn as long as I live!”

“You cannot hold me back, Father. Not forever! The truth will out.”

"My, my," a warm breath tickled my other ear, and I almost shrieked with surprise. "What large ears you have, my little lady."

I twisted on the spot, ready to... do something, I don't think I knew what, but Bluette's green eyes and her smell, the sweet summer peaches stopped me in my tracks.

"Hi..." I said, reaching for my fan to make a proper greeting. ‘Hi’? What was I thinking!? I felt the hot blush colour my cheeks, and all the carefully prepared lies and excuses got lost somewhere on the way between my brain and tongue.

"Now, now, none of that child." she moved towards me, intercepting the fan with her hoof. "We're all little ponies here. Though you've been keeping a very different company lately haven't you? Hanging out with the Princes and Counts, and forgot all about little old me."

"I wanted to come, see you again," I said, my throat suddenly dry, "but I don't have anything to give."

And then she was next to me, eye to eye, breath to breath, close enough for a kiss.

"You smell different, my little lady.” Her nostrils flared, drawing the air around me. “Like Griffonstone winter.”

“I..”

"Here," she plucked a flower from her mane. It was a mountain bluet, its folded petals like legs of an insect, and it smelled more of her than like a flower. "Come visit me again, child. And don’t worry about bringing gifts. You’ll do that for me, won’t you?"

"Y-yes." I could go to her! To go to her house, to stay in her company with no gift -- it seemed like a travesty, but she said I could, so...

"Not now, my little lady," she put her wing against my chest, stopping me, and I realised that besides myself I made a step forward, ready to follow her. "Your Prince is running away -- to find you, I believe."

With a touch of her lips to my cheek, with the smell of summer peaches, she disappeared, moving on, and leaving me dumb and frozen in the corridor, still clutching the flower in my hoof and smiling like an idiot.

“Ice and Nightmares!”

Bluette was gone, and as we talked I did not notice that the throne room has gone quiet.

The Prince was on the move and if Bluette was right that was the next moment I was waiting for, and I could not miss it.

I ran.

I have learned the layout of the Gormenghast in these past days, scouring it at night in wind and in flesh.

I knew the twisty, rambling turns, where to switch from griffon passages to dog ways, find the winding ladders hidden in the walls and turns in the countless corridors that would lead me to my room ahead of the Prince.

Then it was just a matter of being ready -- appearances, the form of the situation was essential for my plan. A dress, hastily donned, a feather hidden in the sash, a quick comb-over for the mane and the coat, and just as there was a knock on the door, I had jumped on my bed and snapped a book to a random page.

Breathe

"Come in!"

A blast of wind threw open the door, making the hinges groan under strain, revealing Gideon behind

His lower jaw was tense, and his wings did not lower all the way down, feathers still dishevelled... the argument with his father has just finished, and even though I missed the ending of it, it was not hard to guess that the King had won -- but this time only by ordering his son to shut up.

"Come."

"Your Highness?"

"I shall take you to the idol, little pony. Follow me."

His tone did not invite any more questions, and his speed left me running after with no breath to spare anyway.

He sped by the halls at a canter, making dogs and eagles alike scramble out of his way, as he guided me down and away from the opulent halls and decorated rooms. Together we went lower and lower, descending into the bowels of the castle, where the mahogany and stained glass gave way to the rough stone of some-time battlements and darkness of the dungeons.

And then, just as abruptly as we went, we arrived.

"Lady."

In a hall, large, crude and dark, reminding me of a cave, before the giant trapdoor - no, not a trapdoor, a gate of silver and iron, put right into the floor, -- prince Gwyr already waited for us, accompanied by four griffons standing guard so immovably I almost mistook them for statues before they greeted me with shallow bows.

"Lady," he greeted me as well.

"I see you've made the arrangements, brother."

"I always do." Gwyr shifted his wings uncomfortably. "But I'm not sure--"

"But,” I raised my hoof to attract their attention like a good little schoolfilly. “I thought His Majesty forbade me from entering the vault. Should we--"

"Noone forbids me!" The anger in his words made me shiver. "Who are you loyal to, griffons?"

Both of them bowed in way of an answer.

"Open it."

“Brother, are you--”

“Open it! I need to know what’s going on with me.”

The griffons at the sides pulled the door open, and I looked inside, feeling the chill breath of the cold hall beneath on my muzzle.

"How do I get down?"

"My eagles shall carry you." Gideon's wing shifted -- he saw no reason to hide his contempt for a creature bound so by mere gravity.

I had no trouble playing along -- peering down the tunnel I could easily summon every doubt about going down there clutched like a baby sheep in the claws of the griffons, and the shiver of the trepidation was not entirely fake as I did.

"Is there any other path?"

"No, Lady," Gwyr lied, his feather twitching. "This is the only way in."

"Are you afraid, little pony?" there was a smirk in his brother’s voice, in his wings.

"No! I'm afraid of nothing. Let's do this."

The griffon grabbed me, carrying me down like a rukh-bird carries an elephant to feed its babies, trying very carefully not to pierce my sides with their claws, and soon, we were down the corridor, in the familiar room of Boreas.

I breathed and chased it away. "Wow." I did not have to fake it -- the sight of it, once again robbed me of my breath, as the longing for the gem in my room became almost unbearable.”This is amazing!"

"Not many ponies have seen it, Lady Shimmer." the Prince said proudly, landing by my side. "The pride and power of Griffonstone." Gwyr gestured from behind him, warning me not to raise my point about it being made by the ponies. "So what is wrong with it? Is someone using it against me?"

I stepped closer, peering through the winds, almost touching the thin red line of the spell

"Don't step in, Lady," Gwyr stopped me hastily with his wing. "Only those of royal blood may pass, the spell will destroy anyone else."

"Can you remove the winds?" I asked. "I need to see the centre of it. There the power lies."

The Prince raised his wing and drew the power. This time I could see the hurricane uncoil, drawing through the twists and turns of the maze, to wrap around the Prince like a heavy shroud. It must've been magic that allowed him to breathe within that cold -- even being near him burned my lungs on every inhale.

"Well?" the Prince was as short of patience as ever. "What can you say?"

"Please, Your Highness, I need more time. I have to examine the spell, the idol, and you, and it will only take longer if there are any distractions."

I stepped as close to the border of the pattern and began the magic, lighting up the cave with the green glow of my spellwork.

It was pure showmanship of course. The griffons would not need light to see the magic, and it wasn't like there was anything to show them as being “there” anyway: that sort of connection does not need to check in at B to travel from A to C. And as they watched, distracted by the energies swirling in the air, I slipped a feather out of my saddlebag. Not Gideon''s feather, but a small rouge bit of chest-down.

Finally, exhausted -- and not entirely pretend -- I released the magic. "Well," I turned back towards the Princes. "The connection definitely is there. But..."

"What?" the Prince hastened my hesitation with an angry wing-swipe.

"But... I cannot see any invasion into the spell. All is working as it should -- at least as far as I understand it. Nothing is broken or subverted."

"What are you saying Lady?" Gwyr asked slowly. "Are you saying that..."

"Whoever came here, either carried the royal blood in him." I shrugged. "Or knew about this spell quite a bit more than I do. Sorry, there's only so much I can say after one examination."

I stepped back, and with a wave of prince’s wings, the curtain of the winds grew closed, and just as it did, I released the feather from my grip, letting the wind grab it and pull it into the endless hurricane.

It was truly out of my hooves now -- as if that changed anything.

Hard her service, poor her payment,  
She will never know her agent 
Celestia, the Lady of our kind 
Every year of life we lend her 
Once her temple's shrine is enter'd 
The door is shut, no path behind.

Fancy Pants, Count Hoofington
Land and Sea Tales
(unpublished, draft presumed lost)