The Farseer Queen: Epilogue

“I have to say I’m impressed,” said Princess Aurora as the two of them emerged from the shimmering purple mirror and set hoof in Canterlot once again.  “Maybe even a little envious.  That was quite the display.”

“Oh, the lightning?”  Princess Corona blushed.  “Hey, I’ve been working on magic stuff a lot harder lately.  Just like the diplomacy.  Professor Somnambula says I’m about where Luna was during the first year of her reign.  Not that she was there to see it herself, I mean, but maybe Glass Eye told her all about it….”

“Corona, he’s not that old!” Aurora laughed.  “But you’re really coming along.  When Queen Brising told us what she needed from us, I didn’t expect you to volunteer for it all by yourself.”

“Guess I couldn’t resist showing off what I’ve learned, just a little bit,” Corona said with a shrug.  “Not trying to make you jealous or anything – not on purpose, at least.”

“Oh, I know, I know.  I said I was envious, but that’s not quite right.  Inspired is nearer the mark.”

By now the twins had shed the noisy entourage that had followed them through the portal.  Business there was to be attended to in the wake of that eventful meeting in Sesrimnir, but it could wait; everypony was exhausted.

“Oh!  And speaking of inspired,” said Corona as the pair made their way down the marble-floored halls toward the spiraling stairs that led up the tall tower, “Was it just me, or were those Valkyria ponies kind of amazing?  I mean, the whole trip was amazing, but the way they handled a monster like that, without any unicorn magic….”

“I’m still trying to wrap my head around it,” said Aurora.  “But that wasn’t what really blew me away.”

Corona smiled.  “Queen Brising, you mean?”

Aurora nodded.  “She got the hang of things a lot faster than we did.  And she managed it without, well….”

“Without running off into the Everfree Forest and getting kidnapped by a mind-controlled sorceress?” Corona suggested.

“Ha, well, Aurora laughed.  “That, or getting herself frozen by Windigos, or not listening to her sister when she said she was worried.”

The dark-maned princess paused in mid-step as they climbed the long staircase of the high tower.  “I’m sure she’s been through a great deal we don’t know about.  But I’m glad she managed to come into her own without facing the kind of disaster that we nearly did.”

“D’you think having us around did her any good?”

“I like to think so,” said Aurora.  “It certainly couldn’t have hurt, knowing there was somepony close at hoof who’d been through the same thing.  But I think she would’ve made it even if we hadn’t been there.”

“She seems really wise,” Corona said.  “A lot wiser than we were when we started out, that’s for sure.”

“A lot wiser than we are now, really,” Aurora said with a nod.  By now they had reached the top floor, and the two princesses gazed through the north-facing windows.  “I think the Midgard Valley is in good hooves.”

A stern wind swept through the Hall of Banners and set the tapestries rustling against the walls.  Brising passed between them at a light trot, head held high, and gave half an ear to the banners’ hushed whispering.  It was a bright, brisk day, the wind cool but not bitter, and although she couldn’t force the murmurs of the fluttering banners to resolve into intelligible words, there was a bright cheeriness in their voices all the same, like the clamor of distant bells.  She smiled, bowing her head ever so slightly, and went on her way toward the flight hall.

“That’s the third time in three days!” Ulfravn’s echoing voice tore into one of her subordinates.  “You sure someone didn’t just set the pyre up the wrong way?”

“P-positive,” stammered the nervous warrior under her.  “We followed all the usual protocols, and then we tried adjusting them to accommodate for the – ”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” said Ulfravn.  “Just have another go at it.  Bigger this time.”

“But we’ve already – ”

“I said bigger!”

“Everything still on track, Ulfravn?” asked the queen.

“Eh, more or less,” said the warrior as her subordinate fluttered away.  “The bones are tougher than we expected.  They aren’t burning.  Hate to have to build another bonfire, but it looks like that’s the way it’s gonna be.”

Brising nodded sagely.  Ulfravn broke into a brisk trot toward the great mouth of the flight hall, and the queen kept pace at her side, following her friend’s footsteps.

“It’s a pity we had to lose so much of that patch of forest,” she said.  “I’m afraid that Dragon is going to leave a rather ugly mark – from the sky, it still looks like a giant smear of soot.”

“True,” said Ulfravn.  “But, hey, I’d rather lose a thousand fir trees than any of our sisters.”  After a short silence, she asked, “Any word about Kasta and Vigdis?  Are they doing any better?”

“The healers say they’re both on the mend,” said Brising.  “Kasta is fairly shaken up from her fall, but none of them took hits that would damage their cores.  They’ll all fly again.”

“Good to know,” said Ulfravn.  “Things have been kinda shaky since Tova – well, uh, resigned from her position as Jarl.  If we’d lost anyone – I mean, that’s always bad enough, but what with all the changes we’ve been through lately….”

“It’s good to know some things will stay the same,” said Brising, “and that our victory, for once, isn’t marred by tragedy.”

“Right, what you just said.”  There was a grin in Ulfravn’s voice again.  “You’re better with words than me.  Guess that’s another reason why you’re the queen.”

“I suppose you can thank Dagny for that,” said Brising.  “Her way with words has rather rubbed off on me over the years.  On that note, do you happen to know where she and Sibi are?  I have a meeting with the council to discuss the matter of – well, of appointing a new Jarl of the Warriors, but I imagine there’ll be a good deal of planning for all the upcoming ceremonies, and I could rather use everyone’s help keeping track of things.”

“Especially Sibi’s help, I bet,” said Ulfravn.  “Yeah, I’m pretty sure Dagny’s out in the hills practicing or something.  Said her throat’s still sore from the other day, and all that smoke didn’t help, but she’ll be all right.  As for Sibi?  She’s been running around all morning trying to get all those banners replaced – the ones that got burned, you know.”

“If you run into her, or Dagny,” said Brising, “do let them know I sent for them.  As soon as they’re free, of course.”

“Got it!”

Ulfravn fluttered away.  Brising smiled momentarily, but then she resumed her previous course through the fortress, picking through the noise of wind and shuffling hooves and bright chattering voices until at length, her feet guided by memory, she turned a corner and headed down.

A narrow flight of stairs brought her to a small landing.  She took careful steps the whole way down; up until this past week, her feet hadn’t tread this path into the depths of Sesrimnir for a long, long time, and it was only during the last three days that she had managed to commit the route to memory.  At the landing, she paused to remember which way down the next flight led, and in a moment, still cautious, she moved to her left.  She had remembered correctly – the narrow steps greeted her hooves – and down, down she went.

At the bottom of many staircases, after many landings, she came to a damp, low-ceilinged hallway.  A smell of mold hung thickly in the air; water dripped incessantly, and torches crackled softly against the walls.  Along the walls on either side, she knew, narrow doorways opened, each one closed off from the hall by rows of stout iron bars.  All was quite silent, save for the dark, elemental sounds of fire and water – and, from a cell at the far end of the hall, the gentle movement of air that indicated a Valkyrie lying in sleep, her breathing low but audible to Brising’s sensitive ears.

The queen frowned.  She never liked coming down here; the cells were seldom used anyhow, and she had vaguely fancied that her duties might never require her to make that long, winding journey down the narrow staircases.  But one Valkyrie awaited her now in the farthest cell, down here where no wind moved and no light shone but the dancing red glow of the ever-lit torches.

The Valkyrie in the cell arose at the queen’s approach and shuffled over to the bars.

“Your majesty.”

“Tova,” the queen said.  When neither of them spoke again, she followed her greeting lamely with a simple “How are you?”

Brising expected a derisive snort, but none came.  When Tova spoke, the queen imagined that she did so with her eyes lowered and her ears flat against her head.

“Not terrible,” said the former Jarl.  There was another short silence as Tova waited to see if her omission of the queen’s title would be received with rebuke.  Somehow, though, Brising sensed that there was nothing cheek in Tova’s manner, nothing bitter: rather, an almost confessional frankness that any obeisance to formality would have obliterated.

That was good, really.  Right now Brising wanted honesty.

“I know we spoke briefly yesterday,” she said.  “But I haven’t gotten to hear you out in full yet.”

Until now, the queen had been standing with her side to the cell, sightless eyes gazing down the hall.  Now she turned to bring herself face to face with the prisoner.

“What you did was treason,” she continued.  “There’s no other name we can call it by.  You put your own sisters in danger, and you did it in order to undermine my authority as queen.”

Silence.

“What I don’t understand is how you could have reached that point,” Brising said at length.  “Tova, I knew you only briefly before Etta returned to the sky, but I thought I’d never met another Valkyria more devoted and more loyal.  How is it that….”

She faltered.

“Did Etta really mean more to you than your duty?”

Tova took a few breaths, and Brising could almost hear the gears turning in the former Jarl’s mind.

“It wasn’t all about Etta,” Tova said at length.  “No, not all of it.  Mostly it was about you.  It’s just that, if you had seen – ”

She stopped herself. 

“If you had known what Etta was like in battle,” Tova resumed, “perhaps it might all be clearer.  We depended on her.  We needed her.  I was so certain that, unless the new queen was just as powerful, just as – as inspiring as she was, then all would be lost.”  She paused.  “Did you ever hear about the victory at Horn’s River?”

Brising shook her head.  “Not in any detail.  I think I was very young at the time.”

“So was I, comparatively speaking,” Tova said.  “It was midwinter, one of the worst the Valley ever seen, and the rivers had frozen.  Dragons move so quickly across cold landscapes, you know.”

Her voice as she spoke reminded Brising of the old bards who had trained Dagny – the ones who sang about queens and warriors who lived millennia ago and somehow sounded as if they had witnessed the events themselves.

“The Seers caught sight of Dragons by the dozen moving down from the north.  They were close to Horn’s River at the time, cutting in between Sesrimnir and a small scouting party just to the north of them.  Ravens were sent flying to the scouts bearing orders to return home by another route, but it was quite a thick blizzard that day and I don’t believe a single raven made it through the storm to bring them word.

“So perhaps you can imagine the scene, highness: half a dozen scouts stranded on the far side of Horn’s River, with no notion that they were on the verge of crossing paths with one of the largest hosts of Frost Dragon that had troubled our lands in years beyond count.  They were hardly armed for battle.  By all rights, not one of them should have escaped with their lives.”

“What happened?” asked Brising.

“Etta happened, is how I would put it.”  There was more life in Tova’s voice now, more warmth, and the always-audible sparkle of a grin; for a few seconds she sounded almost like Ulfravn or Dagny.  “It was well within her rights to simply forget about – about them, and simply to gather all Sesrimnir’s warriors to stand against the encroaching foe.  There were many positions more advantageous that she could have chosen as a battleground, hillsides and ridges where the Dragons’ progress would have been slowed, and where the lightning-callers could do better work.  But she didn’t even think of doing so.  She gathered a small, mobile band and tore out of the fortress, personally, with the intention of getting the missing scouts out of harm’s way.”

“How small a band?” asked the queen.

“Only seven or eight warriors,” said Tova.  “Could you imagine it, your highness?  Just over a dozen Valkyria, warriors and scouts, against a force of Dragons so great that we were earnestly afraid for Sesrimnir’s survival.  But Etta came blazing through like a bolt of lightning, and it was as if each Valkyrie came alive as she never had before, as if she had been struck by the Life Bolt anew.  And Etta bellowed commands, almost sang them, and it was as if she’d laid an enchantment on the scouts and the warriors, and on the Dragons; they reeled back, parted like lake waters split down the middle by an avalanche.  And even the weakest fought like Valakusjo of old, on and on until they were free and flying home south.”

“How many of them escaped?”

“Almost all of them,” said Tova.  She placed no special emphasis on that word almost, but Brising could hear the difference in her voice when she uttered it, the concealed weight of grief.  Just when she thought that the momentary tremor of emotion had vanished from Tova’s grim voice, not to be heard again, it suddenly resurfaced with a vengeance.

“Oh, you should have seen the way they pressed on,” she said.  “Some of them – some of them lost dear friends that day, and had their hearts broken.  But Etta’s voice carried them out of that place – assuaged them, gave them courage, and the sight of her at the very front of the war-band, carving through the Dragons like a double-headed ax – if you had seen it, you would have understood why we would follow her anywhere, even into the maw of the Chasm, even if everything were lost and all hope was gone, even if….”

The torrent of words slowed to a trickle and finally ceased; Tova’s passion was spent, and her voice receded, cringing, into the shadows of her cell.

“You were one of the scouts,” Brising said at last.  “She saved you.”

“She inspired us to save ourselves,” said Tova.  “If our queen valued us, believed in us so strongly that she would go to such lengths, such personal risk, to stand by our side, what excuse did we have – did any of us have – for giving less than our all?  That’s what a queen must do; it’s what Valkyrie queens have always done.  And I….”

She faltered again.  Brising leaned gently forward, pressing her onward with her soft, sightless eyes.  Go on, she said, softening her face; I came here for the truth, and I am prepared to hear it.

“I thought you couldn’t do it,” Tova whispered.  “I was so certain you would fail us.  And I thought about all of my sisters who would have fallen that day if Etta had not appeared.  And I thought about the ones who did fall, and of how I….”  Once again, her voice gave out.  “Well,” she said, recovering herself, “that was all I had to say, in truth.  I suppose my… my plan speaks for itself, mostly: I found the two-headed Dragon and saw that it was blind, and I thought it might be simple to control it, to use it as a weapon against your authority.  Sesrimnir would see you falter in our hour of need, and I would deliver our sisters from out of their despair.  Now you understand, my queen.”

Brising’s heart hung cold in her chest, and she said nothing – just stared, sightless, into the cell, feeling the pressure against her face where her patient gaze met Tova’s red-rimmed eyes.  The prisoner still had more to say.  Go on – please.  I want to hear it.

“And… and now I understand, as well,” Tova said finally.  The choked, halting words sounded as though they came welling up from her chest and barely made it past her throat.  “I was – wrong.  You are not feeble.  And they followed you – by the North Goddess, they followed you!  They – they saw you standing between me and the Dragon – I saw you – and the truth just… it just broke on me like rain out of a clear sky, and all at once I knew which of us was truly blind.”

A thick sniffle, and the tiny drip of tears on the stone floor, and then silence.

“I only wish you had told me,” said Brising softly.

“It is too late now for wishing,” said Tova, recovering herself.  “I have made my choice.  Now it falls to you, my queen, to make yet another decision.”

 Brising commanded her face to remain motionless, stern.  “What am I to do with you, Tova?”

Tova let a weary sigh escape her, and she settled onto the floor.  “That is a problem for you alone to solve, my queen.  Just as you solved the challenge I put to you, you must once again use your judgment.  But – what would Etta do, I wonder?”

Brising thought back.  Etta was good, but stern.  As far as Brising knew, no queen had been forced to confront an act of treason in centuries; she doubted if the question of how she might handle traitors had ever crossed Etta’s mind.  But it took little effort of will for Brising imagine that her predecessor would have dealt with such problems the way she dealt with the problems that arose on the battlefield: swiftly, sharply, decisively, and with such gravity and finality that her judgment would’ve seemed almost like the judgment of a goddess.

As if reading the queen’s thoughts, the prisoner murmured, in a voice so low Brising fancied that Tova hoped no one would hear, “Unless my memory deceives me, the queen I served would not have been kind to traitors like me.  She would not have taken long to think it over.”

Brising bit her lip.  Was Tova right?

“I don’t know what Etta would have done,” she said after a pause.  “Perhaps she might have punished you as a traitor is punished.  But Etta is gone.  It’s impossible to know what she would have done.  And it doesn’t matter, besides.  Because here is what I am going to do.”

She leaned in close to the bars, so close she could almost feel Tova’s cautious, guarded breaths against her face.

“I know how heavily her memory weighs on you.  I couldn’t get out from under her shadow, either.  Tova, you may not have seen it, but I was very nearly in pieces when the attack came.  I was confused and torn, and… and if it hadn’t been for my friends, I might well have failed just as badly as you did.  I have the authority to judge you, but perhaps I don’t have the right.”

Brising drew back.  Her ears drooped slightly as she turned an emerging thought over and over in her mind.  Beside her, through the bars, she could feel Tova’s expectant eyes on her; the prisoner’s breath had slowed to near-silence as she waited for the queen to speak again.

“I know you weren’t ambitious,” she continued.  “I believe you weren’t even envious – you betrayed me, but you believed in your heart that you were being loyal to Sesrimnir, to all of your sisters who depended on you.”

“My queen – ”

“I’m not finished,” Brising cut her off.  There was no harsh edge to her command, no anger, but the firmness and confidence in her tone struck Tova dumb.

“You will not be exiled.  But you will be held here until I decide the time is right to release you.”

Tova couldn’t hide the quiet shock in her voice.  “Release me?”

“Not to fight again,” said Brising.  “Not right away, at least.  And certainly not to take any position of authority.  But there are ways you could contribute again, to help regain our trust – many other worthwhile tasks around the fortress that you might be suited for.”

“I… surely you can’t be so forgiving, my queen – in fact, you mustn’t – you should be – ”

“I’ve made my decision,” said Brising.  And for a moment, her voice shed its cloak of authority and sounded small and timid again, the way it had sounded when she and Tova had first met.  “I want you to have a chance to do what I did – to grow into a new pony.  Each of us is going to have to learn to define ourselves without Etta now.  But we should do it together, as sisters.  And maybe – I hope – spending some time among other Valkyria, ones who don’t look up to you as a leader but as a peer, and one day – perhaps – as a friend… I like to imagine it will help you the way it helped me.”

Silence, but for the soft murmur of the crackling torches and the distant, steady drip of water.  Even Tova’s breathing seemed to have stopped.

When her voice finally broke the long pause, it was feeble, humble – not sullen, but very low indeed.

“Perhaps,” Tova said, “perhaps, my queen, this was the moment for which Etta chose you.  I do not know that she would have been so merciful.  I also do not know if it is the right one.”

“Regardless, it’s mine,” said Brising.  “You will have to be patient, and you’ll have to work very hard to regain my trust.  But I am prepared to forgive you, Tova, if you are willing to accept it.  And… and I hope, one day, that you will be ready to fight for Sesrimnir once again.”

The queen did not wait for a reply.  She rose from before the cell, lifted her head high in a regal posture, and turned to leave.

“Thank you, Queen Brising,” said a very small voice from behind the bars – a choked, stuttering voice, timid but genuine.  For a few seconds, Brising thought she could sense further, unexpressed thoughts hovering in the damp air, thoughts waiting for Tova’s words to give them shape, but at length the former Jarl released another gentle sigh, sniffled once more, and simply repeated, “Thank you.”

That, it seemed, was enough.

Brising nodded, smiled, and took her leave.

“My goodness, there you are!” said Sibi, greeting the queen as she returned to the bright upper halls of the fortress.  “Ulfravn mentioned you were in need of some organizational assistance.”

“It’d be very much appreciated,” said the queen.  “Is Dagny about?  I’d hoped all three of us could have a quick meeting – just a chance to catch up, really.  But Ulfravn told me she was out in the hills practicing….”

“Oh no, no, she’s back now, in the music hall, with Ulfravn.  She said an idea struck her while she was out in the hills, and she simply had to get back and start writing it down before it left her head – and, besides, it’s started raining.”

“It’s a song about Etta,” Dagny explained once the queen and Sibi had arrived at the music hall.  “I thought it would be fitting for the occasion.  I’ve only got the first verse finished – or possibly it’ll end up as the refrain.  But if you need our help right now….”

“No, please,” said Brising, “take your time.  For all the work ahead of us, it’s a slow day today, and I’d hate to keep you from composing when ideas are coming to you.”

“Heck, I’d love to hear whatever you’ve got,” said Ulfravn.  “Bet it’s a lot better than those stuffy old ballads you sang at the banquet.”

“Hey!  I, for one, quite enjoyed those traditional songs,” Sibi protested.  “And how do you think Dagny feels about comments of that nature?  Why, you’ve practically insulted her!”

“Well, hey, I wasn’t saying anything against the way she sang them….”

Dagny resumed strumming her harp and singing while her friends bickered, and Brising laughed openly and strode to the wide, open windows of the musicians’ hall.  As the cool breath of springtime touched her face and set her mane waving, carrying with it the scent of rain and the voice of distant thunder grumbling far away to the north, Queen Brising Farseer closed her eyes to the sound of song, opened them again, and gazed far ahead, far across fields and forests and hills to the sun blazing white behind the soft gray rainclouds, gazing long and hard and bravely, as if she were gazing into her tomorrows. 

Am I ready?

“Look, there’s a reason why we’re always writing new songs, and that’s because the old ones get boring real quick…”

“Your problem is that you have no respect for tradition!  No appreciation for – ”

“Girls!” she the queen.  “Sisters!  Can we have this debate another time?  I’d really like to hear Dagny’s song.”

 “Oh, of course!  Our apologies.”

“Yeah, sorry.  We’ll shut up.  C’mon, Dagny, let’s hear it!”

“Gladly!”

Yes, though Brising.  I am ready.  I am now.