I finished my glass, watching the griffons shout and argue. This went far, far better than I had any right to expect. I aimed to disarm the spell I put on Galad, to have to imply and lie and weasel about, but this -- this was by far a better outcome.

The King has taken the little princeling away, for the time being, and the court was abuzz, wings flared, voices raised, griffons arguing themselves hoarse over what has transpired and what was bound to happen.

Gideon did not participate. He stood up, slowly, as if testing out his body -- he was not used to being thrown like a child, and the experience shook him and made it to his throne and his glass, clutching it with both claws. There he sat motionless, almost eerily calm. But it was a front -- I saw the fear inside him, the mind-rending trapped terror that rolled through his mind like a river ready to burst from under the thin cover of ice, a leaden, drowning panic that cramped his muscles and clawed at his skin from within.

Shivering, he quaffed his glass, drinking the fortified wine like bitter medicine, in long, rolling gulps.

He was all tension, from motionless face to the lightest tremor of his wings, like a string stretched to the breaking point. The slightest push would make him snap.

And I was only happy to deliver.

"I am worried about your brother," I whispered to Gwyr, "if he breaks the oath he gave so rashly, the connection between him and the Idol may break as well. "

"He will lose the power over the winds?" It wasn't the fear in Gwyr's voice, but it was as close to panic as he could ever get. "But he’s the King-to-be, and the King has the power over the winds. That's how it must be!"

"He may. The old magic is fickle like that, and once forsworn, the connection may never be established again. And it's not just the winds -- as far as I’ve been able to ascertain, everygriffon is connected to the Idol. If he loses this connection, he won't even be a griffon any more, except in gross biology."

"He would no longer be able to be King," Gwyr shivered. "He'd probably have to leave Griffonstone altogether."

"What are you whispering about," the Prince, though dishevelled by the revelation, tried to keep his face up. "Not plotting against me too, I hope?" His wing moved to Jest, but there was no power in the gesture.

"The Lady here says," Gwyr shifted, wings in Discomfort, but he couldn't lie to his brother's face when put on the spot. "That when you break your oath, your connection to the Idol may shatter as well."

"Break?" Gideon repeated, clicking his beak. He turned to me, and I nodded, confirming Gwyr's words. What I said was true -- the Prince's words were said and witnessed, and couldn't just be unsaid. "If I--" he started.

There was a flutter of wings, a scatter of whispers, all attention turned to the doors a second before he came in. Cast on his wing where I stepped on it, limp in his front-left leg where my hits twisted it out of the socket, covered with bandages, Lord Graven entered the room.

Right on cue. My little talk with him was not in vain

Even as Gideon turned to greet him, his glance touching upon the bandages and casts, the limp and the scars and slipping away. He grabbed his drink again, already refilled, and dropped back to his throne.

“We’ll need to talk later,” Gwyr whispered to me, “in my rooms.” He touched my shoulder with his wings and scrambled after his brother.

"Your Highness!" Graven bowed before the Prince. "I came as soon as I heard of your--"

"Of what?" Galad threw a sharp glance at his once friend.

"Of your brother's actions." Graven corrected himself. "If there's anything I can do--"

"Anything, " The Prince looked pointedly at the bandages and casts, and almost spat the word "you can do for me?"

"Gideon, I am here for you. I am still your most loyal--"

"Will you fight my brother for me, then?" Gideon gestured to the dog for more wine. "Will you argue with my Father for me? Will you cure my illness?”

"If I can..." he repeated awkwardly. "If you so command." He shuffled towards the throne, stretching his wing towards the Prince.

“Hello there,” I smiled pure poison, stepping up to Prince's side."You've recovered, I see," He froze on the spot, his throat spasming shut with terror. "And I believe you owe me a wish."

His fear, the way he stood before me like a leaf before a tree, like a mouse before a cobra, it was like nectar and ambrosia to me.

"I wish," I said, slowly, drawing the moment out. "I wish you to leave. The castle and Griffonstone. Forever."

He paled, paleness evident even under his brown feathers.

"Gideon!" he managed to squeeze out, but he choked, when the Prince looked at him, the power of Boreas stirring behind the throne. It spread through the room, soft, but tangible like a silken noose. "Your Highness,” he corrected himself hastily, “you would not.. I can't... please..."

"The griffon's word--" the Prince’s voice rang hollow, deathlike, "--is as firm as the mountain."

"But."

"LEAVE!" the Prince’s roar rolled through the hall, and the glass before me cracked when the wine inside froze solid. Griffons fell back, scared, their wings in Fear, their eyes wide, and Lord Graven staggered, nearly falling on his haunches.

He looked to the sides, like a hunted beast and found no support, everygriffon not so much as willing to acknowledge his existence.

Power matters. And weakness is not appreciated in Griffonstone. Lord Graven bowed and turned before he would be led out.

The Prince drank deep from his cup, his coterie shifting about in uneasy silence, murmurs and glances abound.

"I did not know," Gwyr whispered to me, "that little ponies could be cruel."

"It's an acquired skill, Your Highness,” I whispered back, “and I did nothing to him he would not have done unto me. I was just better at it than him."

"I suppose so." He poured another drink for his brother. "You did the right thing though. He was a terrible influence on my brother, and quite horrible to little Gally. But I do pity him -- it is a terrible fate to be banished. No one will even acknowledge him, no one to speak or see him. His wings lowered into Sympathy. "He's all alone now, no longer part of Griffonstone."

The King entered, back alone. The griffons, save for both Princes, bowed, saying their obeisances as he took his throne.

"Galad," he said. "Has been confined to his rooms."

"Was it him?" Gideon jumped off his seat and in front of the king with a long wing-assisted leap. "Did he take my power?!"

"He has it," the King confirmed. "I saw it. "

"I demand his..." Gideon started, out of turn. "I demand a trial!"

"Enough, boy," the King said. "There will be no trial until I find out what has happened."

"The trial is mine, Father.” This time the Prince refused to back down on command. “It is the law."

"I am the law!"

"This is my offence, you have no right--!"

"I have given you life, boy," the King rose, and his power rose with him as he hung over the Prince, "I have given you life, and I can take it from you! That gives me the right!`` The savage, terrible power in his voice made the griffons step back.

"Can you now?" the prince hissed, and drew the power as well, rising over his father in a challenge.

With both of them pulling on their power, the air grew still. Not just still -- every molecule of air stood in tension, stretched along the lines of power between the two of them when they pulled on their power like a tug-of-war almost ready to snap.

Somewhere in the corner of my eye, I could see someone faint from the tension.

King looked to the side towards the motion, barely a twitch. He stepped back, then halted, catching himself, flaring his wings, but the momentum was irrevocably lost.

He looked around the room, seeking escape, a hounded look in his eyes, and saw nothing.

"Gil.."

The griffon held his wings and shrugged.

"Garth, Gerard,--"

Necks stiff, wings held high, so young and so proud, the griffons tolerated no weakness. Only Gwyr had stepped back into the shadow cast by his brother.

"I see that is what loyalty is in Griffonstone these days -- all together, fools and children acting as one. Fine, then.” He ripped the leaden circlet off his head and threw it down to Gideon’s claws. The Prince leapt back as if afraid the lead would burn him. “You can have your court, boy, and we shall see if you have the heart to match your beak."

He turned, flashing his wings, and left. The Prince reached for the crown, but even he had thought better of it, and his claw has never touched the lead.

“Well,” I cleared my throat struggling to chase away the startled silence. “That happe--”

The angry glance from the Prince made me lose whatever I had to say.

"I'll go." I offered. "see how Galad is doing. And if he's... if he's involved."

The echo of the hall was my only answer as I ambled awkwardly out, the Prince and the griffons still looking at the small circle of lead lying on the stones of the throne room, where none dared touch it.

Before I entered Galad’s room I paused and I dug out the gem, sparkling in the sparse sunlight, cold to the touch with the glint of power it contained. The second time went easier than the first, but the heady rush of feeling whole, the surge of fierce pride and self-assurance that came with it… I had to take a minute before opening the door to the Prince’s room.

Sapphire Shores poster next to the desk covered in scrolls and ink-stains, an unmade, matted bed, a drum kit half-assembled the corner: but for all the silver and jewellery this could've been a room of any teen pony back home.

Galad was laying on the bed, wings splayed and claws idle. He perked up when he heard me knock, rising on the bed, and tried to put his wings to Greeting, but the chains -- heavy, grey steel binding his wings -- prevented him from making the expression properly.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey."

For my pegasi friends, being grounded was always the worst punishment. I suspected it was much similar to a griffon, even as thoroughly un-griffish as Galad.

“How are you holding up?” I shifted in apparent unease.

“Trapped behind bars, in dampness I dwell.
A young-hearted eagle brought up in a cell,
My dejected companion, under the frame,
Continues to peck at the red, bloody game,”

His wing showed Sarcasm, but despite his bravado, I could hear the tremor of his voice betray his fear. “I’m afraid I’m grounded at the moment.” He shivered his wings, making the chain clink.”Dad’s orders.” He sighed. “He’s very cross with me. He even left Hugi to look after me." The gesture of discomfort and mistrust at the raven sitting on the windowsill looked awkward constrained by the chains. "To look that I don't fly away or start a mutiny or something."

His father's raven cawed, demanding his crumbs.

"They think someone else is to blame. That someone made you do it."

"Of course they do." Galad rolled his eyes. "I'm 'just a kid', I couldn't possibly make my own decisions." He pouted.

"Well, they will ask if you had any co-conspirators, if someone else made you do it or helped you..."

"I promised! And I will swear again." The presence behind him - wind and ice and the fury of eternal winter - stirred, when he summoned his power. "By the Claw and Wind and the Idol, I swear, I won't tell anyone. Not until you're safe.

“Besides, it's probably just some dumb political thing. I pose no threat to my brother or the kingdom. Gideon will come to his senses soon, I'm sure, so don't worry, my Lady.

“Though I do have a favour to ask:” He stood up, his wings making the chain rattle again, and looked to each side nervously, making sure that no one was listening. In one rough motion, he jerked the key off his neck. "Take this." his claw pressed the cold metal into my chest. "Gwyr mustn't be involved. Gid would be really angry with him if he knew he gave me the key. And they will never suspect that little pony has it.”

I nodded. "Don't worry, Galad. I'll hide it for you. Just... hold out, ok?"

"Don't worry my Lady. " he fluffed his chest, "I can take a bit of prison time, and then this whole thing will blow over. Important thing is that you're safe now, from that monster. You're a griffon, one of us."

I laughed, fake-merry and short, and let him have a touch of the wing.

"Here, have this." I passed him a rose, plucked out of my mane. "And thank you, my Prince."

Had he had tail feathers, he would have fanned them out in a dazzling display. As things were, he had to be content with puffing out his chest and throwing back his head -- a child trying to look like an adult.

I closed the door behind me and looked at my catch -- the key to the greatest treasure of Griffinstone; purchased for nothing more than a rose and empty words. That, and a tiny piece of my soul, but if that was the price for the peace for my country and my Princess, it was one I paid gladly.

The inner planning of Gormenghast was a strange thing, all rambling and confused; rooms piling on top of rooms, levels atop other levels, an organic, unplanned architecture that built continuously on itself. And that meant, that if you knew where to go -- a no mean feat, -- if you knew which servant’s passages to take, and which walls contained the mole-tunnels of the secret passages it would take you minutes to cross from the younger Prince’s rooms to the guest wing of the house where the noblegriffons lived while they enjoyed the King’s hospitality.

The door to Lord Graven’s room was ajar, and inside he sat, staring at the semi-packed suitcase full of haphazardly thrown clothes and jewels.

I looked to the sides. The corridor was empty. Nogriffon would aid Graven, or even come by to say their goodbyes. Not even the dogs to pack his things.

I closed the door behind me.

"Y-you..." he shivered, jumping back to the wall. "What do you want?"

"Hello, little bird," I said, closing the door. "Come over here."

He didn't want to. He wanted to scream or to fly away, but the fear, the paralyzing, freezing terror gripped his throat shut.

There was nothing left of his pride, his own or Prince-given. Barely anything left of him.
"Please," he whispered, in a hoarse, desperate supplication, as the fear made him take the step forward to me, once and again, like a rabbit hypnotised by the cobra. "Please..."

"Shh," I said placatingly, "It's okay. It's all over now. It's all going to be fine." I raised my fan, spikes glinting in the sunlight.

A single sob escaped his throat. He knew, he had always known since I beat him in that arena, that I would come for him. That one day this door would open, and I would come in and dash his life to pieces, and there would be nothing he could do.

Our eyes met, in that moment, as he was about to draw his breath to beg me again, I stabbed him with the other fan right between the ribs, reaching for his heart.

His back arched, violent, agonizing spasm, muscles twitching, twisting and shuddering out of order, his wing ripping out of the cast with a crack of freshly re-broken bones, his claws scratching against the floor, and then slowly he went limp. "Shh," I said again, lowering him gently to the ground, and I held the fan firm and held him impaled on it, while he tried to inhale the air, unable to even cry out his pain. "It's all over now," I held his gaze and waited, watching the life grow dim in his eyes. "It's all over."

"I'd say I'm sorry if I were," I laid him carefully on the floor. "But you were in the wrong place at the wrong time, and I really need to borrow something,"

I don't know why I said that -- he was already dead.

It just seemed the thing to say.

I closed the door, breathing in again the air clean of the smell of burning flesh. The last piece of the puzzle was safely stowed at the bottom of my saddlebags, and with everyone assuming that Lord Graven has left Gormenghast and Griffonstone, I had no need to worry about someone discovering his absence.

I almost bumped into a clowder of old griffons as I left the corridor. They scattered about, lowering their eyes, lowering their wings, pretending to not have been here.

I pretended to do the same, as we passed each other.

A familiar door hidden in the wall, a familiar ladder. Prince's chamber with all the books and chemical equipment. Gwyr sat alone, staring at the floor with unseeing eyes, deep in his thoughts. Only when the door slammed shut behind me did he raise his head, twitching his crest with surprise.

"Oh! It's you." he dropped back into the slouch again. "You came."

"I saw the griffons leaving your rooms. What was that about?" I took my seat as well.

"My father has thrown away his crown," Gwyr said, his talons drumming against the tabletop.

"I saw -- I was there. Very dramatic. So?"

"And some griffons wish for me to pick it up."

"Can they do that?" I knew the answer to that question, but it was still something I needed to ask. "Can you do that?"

"Strength is what rules Griffonstone, Lady," Gwyr sounded tired. A fight against oneself tends to that to a griffon -- or a pony. "With their support, if I walk the Pattern and take the power of the Idol, if I wear the leaden crown and hold the silver sceptre... the strongest griffon will win."

"And will you?" I watched him as he thought. Thought of what he wanted and what others expect of him and what he wanted to see himself as. The things he told himself and others, truth and lies. Have I too been this conflicted once? "It would be better for Griffonstone, it would be better for Equestria. All it would take is--"

"Treason." The word fell like a blade of a guillotine, cutting the conversation off. "Was that your Count's plan all along?" he asked bitterly. "For me to betray my brother?"

"No! We did not plan for this to happen! But it's not just about you or about us any more -- if we're too late, if we fail and your brother takes the crown--"

"You're wrong!" he reared, flaring his wings. "My brother is a noble soul, he is not capable of such evil!"

I stepped back, shaken, with my ears drooped, but in my mind, I could not help but notice how he said "evil" before he even knew what I would be talking about.

“He will come to his senses. He must!”

"Then he will still lose everything. He swore--"

"Get out!" He turned away, disgusted, even as his eyes lingered on the shelf with the chemicals. "Get out of my sight."

I got. There was nothing I needed to do here anyways -- the pieces were all in play, the die was cast and all I had left to do was wait for tomorrow and see the end of Griffonstone.

In palace garden, grows anchar dread
They planted  her on day of terror,
The flesh of roots and boughs, dead,
Grew filled with venom blood forever.

The poison oozes through her bark
And melts at noon in beams from heaven,
And thickens in the evening dark
As tar, transparent, thick and heavy.

A princess bright has breathed
This evil tar into her arrows,
And sent with them the poison-death,
To alien lands--the lands of neighbors.

Fancy Pants, Count Hoofington
Dedicated to S.
Notebook currently in private collection.