“Rise and be welcome.”

I ignored the King's speech, with all its flowery greetings and empty pleasantries, and concentrated instead on the thing that really mattered: studying the power behind the throne. A presence, like a shadow behind the King, invisible to the eye. Just being in the same room with it set my teeth and horn on edge.

“...subjects and delegates...”

The power wafted from it in streams, carrying the King’s words on the back of the winds with no regard for acoustics, and filled the hall with its cold, sharp presence.

“...ponies of Equestria, envoys of the Sun…”

It was an anemos like none I’ve ever seen before, the very essence of the frozen storm and ice-filled fury, enormous as the sky. A Southern Wind whose name I knew to call was nothing but a gentle breeze compared to this.

“...long was your road, and you must be tired…”

Was it the Griffon King who used it to gather the storms at the Equestrian border? The power -- it was bound to him, I could feel it without the need for spells or labs. But those were not his eyes I saw in the cloud-covered skies, not his claw guiding the winds, of that I was equally sure.

“...Drink the wine. Eat the bread. Be Our guests.” He concluded, releasing the crowd and the power with a wave of his wing.

Music started, and diamond dogs in servant’s liveries flooded the hall, bringing ever more drinks and appetizers. The Princes abandoned their thrones, fanning out through the crowd, greeting and chatting with their subjects.

The King remained at his seat and a line of petitioners formed, headed by the pony delegation.

I moved closer as well. Though I had little interest in small talk and diplomacy, awareness was the key, and if I was not in the know, I’d be worse than useless - to myself and my princess.

Taking a more roundabout route, I stalked through the crowd of griffons keeping away from the ponies. This time I walked unaccosted, slipping around the nobles and servants, looking and listening, matching my pace to the bobbing of the eldest prince’s crest in the crowd.

He was the centre of attention, gathering griffons like a magnet with his great height and open countenance. He ploughed his way through the crowd towards the side-couches in a cavalcade of hangers-on and high-ladies trailing him like a cloak and making collective "oohs" and "ahs" in response to his every word and proclamation, emptying the drinks-trays and devouring the hors-d'oeuvres on their way like a minor Yakyakistani horde.

It was when they reached the corner of the hall, separated away with the couches and the drapes, and I almost grew bored with watching them. I was about to turn away when abruptly their laughter died, and it was as if a shadow had been cast over the whole crowd when a thing appeared from behind the drapes in a sudden whiff of drafty air.

Huge, curved and hunched in a nigh-permanent bow, trying to contort itself to the griffon proportions -- it took me several moments to piece together the mismatched body parts to realize what exactly it was.

Dirty-grey matted fur hidden underneath a robe of rich Qilinese silks, curved ram’s horns bound with silver and the braids of its mane interleaved with gold, clawed hands and cloven feet, and a single jaundice-yellow eye in the centre of its face -- it was an arimaspi. An abominable creature, a one-eyed mix of a ram and a gorilla, all misshapen and disfigured. Griffons let it through without protest or challenge, growing silent and stepping out of its way, the crowd parting as if in front of a leper.

"My Lord…” It addressed the elder Prince in a bleating, high-pitched tone -- reluctantly at first, then the words came in a rush. "I had heard that you intended to make your announcement today."

"I do." Gideon's expression hardened. "You suggested it, after all.”

“Gideon!” his middle brother pitched in, landing by his side. “You aren’t still thinking of it?”

“And what if I am?”

The arimaspi shot a malevolent gleam at the younger Prince; then he was all fawning humility again. "I had never thought… I hadn’t considered that… I had feared…"

"What is it that you feared, creature?"

"Your Highness has been most concerned for the course of the winds and borders as of late…" it hesitated, then stumbled on. "Yes, yes, so concerned, and I had feared… that your Highness might… perhaps…"

The Prince's eyes narrowed. "That I might show it today, before the assembly and the King?"

"Your Highness must not!" the creature dropped to his knees, claws clutching at the Prince in desperate supplication. "King your Father would be most cross if you--"

"Do you think me craven, knave!?" His voice rose with cold fury - and the ice winds rose with his voice, making it boom through the suddenly cold air. It was power, unmistakable power -- same as his father’s. The griffons scattered away, lest they be noticed and become the target of that ire, and I stepped back as well, staying with the wane of the crowd.

"Your Highness!" the arimaspi cried, flinching away from his master’s anger, "I meant but to—"

"Brother, please." The younger prince put a claw on his shoulder, trying to placate him. "You know this is a bad idea. Wait at least until you have a convocation behind you--"

"There they go again." Prince Galad joined me, looking at his older brothers' argument. His Equestrian was near-perfect, only giving him away with rolling “r”s, "They do it every day, you know. I can count the beats in my head by now."

“What are they arguing about, then?” I asked, surprised to be singled out by the little prince.

“The same thing they always argue about, since before I care to remember: My brother, ignoring all advice and pleading, wishes to do something very stupid, as he does. And my brother” -- he nodded at the smaller prince, --“wishes him not to, as he does. This particular nugget is taking them longer than usual, though -- they’ve been going in circles around each other for weeks, even though we all know how it ends.”

“Hm?”

“Gideon does as he wills, and Gwyr with all the counsellors and advisors try to make sure that he does not break his neck doing it.” The youngest Prince shrugged. “Honestly, the more they try to dissuade him, the more stubborn he becomes, so they should just get on with it already. At least it would save us all this dreadfully boring business of delegations and puffing our feathers for the little ponies who must all think that we’re barbarians…err…” He blushed, turning his crest-feathers almost beet-red. “Not that I think that you think… I mean, not you. I mean, that…”

I wondered if I should be offended on behalf of the nobleponies. I found that I wasn't.

"Eh.” I smiled at the little princeling. “That's fair."

"Well, at least there will be entertainment.” He recovered, put at ease by my smile. “A grand ball, a masquerade... Gideon demanded bouts - he's mad about them, you know, always charging anything bigger than him. But there will be some actual fun all of us can enjoy -- I even heard that Dame Strawberry is providing us with a proper Equestrian party in return.

“And speaking of entertainment -- I am a poor host, aren’t I? Allow me at least to show you around.”

"I'm afraid I'd be terribly boring company, Your Highness." I tried to get untangled from the child-Prince in hopes that the other two Princes would continue their conversation. "I am hardly used to this sort of event."

"Well more's the reason! Trust me, Lady, you will not find a better guide."

I hesitated, looking at the two other Princes, temporarily turning away from each other, and their counsellor stuck aghast between them. All three were clearly gearing for round two... or fifty-two, apparently.

"Please? We don't quite get a lot of Equestrian ponies around. And those we do have are all laying siege to the Silver Throne."

With an acquiescing sigh, I turned to follow him, and just like that, I found myself dragged around, towed by the hyperactive eaglet.

He was witty, charming in his own quaint and coltish way, and he turned out to actually be quite funny. He kept me away from the Griffons and the ponies, introducing everyone with a quietly whispered joke or a sarcastic comment, describing the Senor this or Lady that, ever more hilarious for the uncanny eye he had for the detail to mock and exaggerate.

We were tasting Duke Grimaldi's sherry -- much better stuff than the weak champagne they made to pony taste -- and talking of the differences in how Griffonstone and Equestria managed their weather when I noticed her.

A midnight-black pegasus, beautiful and graceful, her dark fur attenuated by the red ribbons braided into her mane and silver jewellery: opals flashing on her ears and at her throat in deep purples and blues that matched the colour of her sapphire-blue eyes. And she was all by herself, quite definitely on the griffon side, surrounded by a fawning crowd of griffonstonians, each fluffing their feathers like a young peacock.

"Huh." She was not one of ours, and she wore the cold colours of Griffonstone, instead of Equestrian greens and golds. “Who is that?”

"This...this is Miss Bluette." little prince explained, suddenly with no jokes or silly expressions. Even the tips of his crest-feathers grew pink-red with embarrassment. "She lives in the city and she's a... err.... very famous."

There was something decidedly Griffish about her. Not just the way she moved, with wide sways of her gesturing wings and predatory grace -- that could be faked or learned. There was a mark on her, or about her, a sign of the cold, unyielding power she wore like a claw-mark on her skin that smelled of winter and snow.

You could see -- if you knew how to look -- that she was in truth, not just in words, a creature of Griffonstone.

"She lives here?" I asked. "In Griffonstone?"

“Since before my time.” The prince blinked and looked away from her. “There’s not much call on her art back in Equestria, so she asked for my father’s patronage.

I raised an eyebrow.

“She’s an… entertainer.” He tried to answer my unvoiced question, his blush growing deeper. “Griffons give her gifts for the privilege of her company, and some she even obliges. It’s a great honour.” He sighed dreamily. "I hope when I come of age, I will also earn her favour, and she'll give me her rose one day."

"So she's a party pony?"

"Well... not quite." It was funny, watching him squirm. “She’s a… you see…”

“Pardon me, Lady, Your Highness.” A Diamond Dog, well-fanged and clawed, with a greenish-silver fur and a livery of royal colours, interrupted Galad’s explanation.

“Speak,” the prince allowed, clearly relieved. “What is it?”

“Lady Shimmer, My royal master,” The dog bowed and spoke -- to me, not Galad. “Requests and requires your presence.”

"Now?"

"Please." The dog bowed again.

I shot a questioning glance at my royal guide.

"You have to," he shrugged, "If Dad simply requested, you'd have a choice, but he requests and requires. To not go would be a grave offence."

I nodded to the dog, who, relieved, led us back through the crowd, making other griffons and nobleponies at the foot of the throne part to let us through.

"I wonder why he asked for you," Galad shuffled by my side. "Are you in trouble?"

He puffed out his wings, as if ready to charge in battle at my defence. It was really adorable.

"Maybe," I wondered that myself. Was it my altercation with that griffon bully, or something else entirely?

"I bet you are!" there was an excited envy in his voice. "But it's no big. Dad's a nice griffon, he's not gonna do anything to a guest. Especially not a pony, not now. But you've gotta be polite, and bow properly.... oh, and don't address him as ‘sire’, he's not your king, so just call him ‘Your Majesty’ or ‘sir.’ And don't look him in the eyes, unless you want to make a challenge…”

Half-listening I nodded along with princeling's chatter, and tried to find the Count’s white form in the crowd. He seemed a bit more apt than the rest of the noblepony crowd, so perhaps he could help me out. Or at least he could stand to be forewarned.

I had no luck -- we reached the foot of the leaden throne before I could find him, and now I was all alone. Even Galad had fallen behind so that there were no more petitioners, pony or griffon, to stand between me and the King.

The other two Princes were there, though, by the King's side. They stood by the throne: Gideon at the King's right and Gwyr behind him and the third griffon behind them both.

"It is her, Sire, she attacked me! Knocked me down! Entirely unprovoked, awful charge, an attack upon your subject!"

My hapless bully contorted in a most entertaining way, trying to point at me and hide behind the eldest Prince at the same time. Against the form of Gideon, half again as big as him, he looked pathetic with his drooped dirty-brown crest and cape still creased and dusted from where I threw him on the floor.

"Your Majesty." Undaunted, I spoke slowly and deliberately, channelling the lazy confidence of my one-time earth pony teacher. "I did not know it was a griffon habit to hide behind their monarch like a foal hiding behind his mother's tail."

“Hah!” The King barked a short, screechy laugh. “It is not indeed. But my interest was piqued nonetheless. Tell me pony -- is it true, what Lord Graven says? Did you truly strike my subject down?”

"I did." I shrugged. "Though I would not be bragging about it, if I were him."

There was a silent, convulsing cough by my side, where the youngest Princeling swallowed a choking, shocked laugh.

I finally sighted the Count in the crowd that gathered around us. He was waving his fan in his golden aura. It looked casual, but there was something weird about it as if he was trying to give me a signal, but if it was then I had no clue what he meant. I pressed on. "I did nothing he would not have done to me, Your Majesty," I retreated. "I am simply better at it than he was."

“They say--" The elder prince stepped forward, flexing his crimson wings, "--that those who bully the servant would not dare to strike at the master." He stared down at me from his great height. "Are you one of those, little pony?"

He did not have to try to be threatening - the lion’s frame of the body, the sharp claws of the eagle, the power of the Northern Wind rising behind him, the sheer mass of a predatory bird hanging over me -- a year ago it would have been enough to have me faint on the spot.

"Try me." Apologizing would be a sign of weakness, and I was finding that weakness was not appreciated in Griffonstone.

The youngest Prince at my side forgot to breathe.

"Be yourself," the Count had said. Whatever the consequences would be, I gave the Prince no ground, meeting his gaze with my own.

His wings rose and unfurled, and that thing behind him moved, its power gathering. Not hidden, like Celestia's, not broken like the Drowner's: a full, stark and clear power radiating in waves of coldness, gripping the throne and the floor in the white patterns of frost. Intoxicating pure might. He could kill me with but a twitch of his claws, a flutter of his wings -- a thought that pulled on my lower belly with a delicious little tug -- and yet I stood and waited, my breathing level and unlabored, my eyes calm, making no motion and raising no spell to defend myself.

We looked at each other as the whole Griffonstone court held their breaths.

“When it comes to either/or, there is only the quick choice--”

I could’ve tapped out. I could’ve apologized, said I was sorry and made nice like a good little pony should.

“It is not particularly difficult. Be determined and advance.”

We looked at each other, the Prince and I, and the world held in the balance waiting for the outcome.

“Enough,” the King said, like a master jerking a dog back on a leash. “I believe we have our answer.”

"Yes, sire." Suddenly the power waned. One second it was there, ready to turn to ice or hurricane, to rend and freeze and destroy... and the next second it was gone without a trace, as easily as folding back his wings, and the Prince stepped back, his expression unreadable. "So we do." He dismissed me with a wave of his claw. "See, Gwyr?” he poked his younger brother with his wing. “The ponies already provide entertainment. And you tried to tell me that there would be no sport in Equestria."

The middle prince said nothing, watching me quietly from underneath his dark feathers.

The court breathed again. Collective murmurs of the rumours-to-be, flutters of wings and shocked whispers filling the silence with background noise.

“And you" -- Gideon stretched, catching Lord Graven as he was trying to sneak away as the Prince and I took a measure of each other. -- "you have no pride, griffon. This little pony did not seek to hide behind her Princess like you did, she stood her ground!"

He grabbed Graven by the scruff like a puppy, the poor bully tiny against the mountain of the Prince, and the power spread through the room.

The browns and greys of the banners bloomed with colour, becoming richer, becoming more, everything else bleak and grey against them. The griffons embroidered in silver turned with subtle winds, focusing their eyes on Graven, stuck in Gideon’s grip, and the world grew silent and still in wait for the might that the eldest Prince had gathered.

Lord Graven breathed in, almost growing in stature as the fear and anger released him, and calm resolve took their place. Now that was true power: I saw the broken limbs made whole and even an eye regrown with magic, but never before have I seen a power to restore the wounded pride.

He stood up when his Prince released him, his eyes fixing on me and for the first time since I came to the throne. There was no fear in them -- just the cold, burning anger: his every look and gesture implied, clearer than any speech, that I would be better off if the Prince had killed me there and then.

I grinned back. Perhaps he’d make it interesting next time. But I knew he did not matter. Power matters, and this griffon, for all the artificial pride his Prince has given him -- he had none.

My soul awakened to a vision.
When you that day before me shone:
A fleeting genius apparition,
A burning fire's paragon.

Galad, Prince of Griffonstone.
Assorted works
Notebook currently in private collection.