“If you were to be rebuked in this regard, it would not come from me,” Arcon promised her, his faint smile matching her own. “After all, what right does the Gatekeeper have to tell the Huntress how best she Hunts her prey?”

He turned his head away from the Scribe, who had gone back to having his own private conversation with the Pegasus, whom Arcon could only assume belonged to Thea. The pony had given the alicorn all the answers he needed without saying a single word. He would need to break a few words with this… Bright Scroll.

The small blossom of pride that swelled within Arcon from his sister’s compliment regarding his defenses was swept away in a sea of irritation. He felt a vein throb in his forehead, his fur bristling in an emotion quite unlike dread. His brain had conjured the nightmarish image of a tidal wave of those horrible rodents crashing upon the now all too fragile shield surrounding his home. “I would greatly appreciate of you didn’t,” he dropped with a frown. “If you really must get into contact with me, I accept letters, smoke signals, and checkered flags. All rabbit or avian mail will be redirected to the nearest changeling hive.” 

The alicorn shook his head in refute, and prepared to address Sweeper again, bent on receiving his answer from her. He needed to know exactly where all the pieces on the board were no more than ever if his Hall was to survive.

Then Thea stepped towards him, a mischievous smile across her lips.

A single breath caught her scent. Gone was the cloying smell of death and ash that rose from the remains of the town. The lingering bite of ozone that wafted through the air was gently painted away as she stepped closer to him.

It was like the scent of honeysuckle on the breeze. The burning spice of cedar. The kiss of muted oak. Warm summer evenings. Glens filled with dabbled yellow light and shadow. Soft clover and moss underhoof, ticking the fetlock. She was suddenly all those things and more, and no amount of words could aid him in understanding her.

His breath caught in his throat as the impossibly soft graces of her primary feathers brushed against his skin, and he stared at her in disbelief. Arcon had read a million words. A million million words in countless combinations and arrangements. All had now escaped his lips. His voice; stolen from his throat and hidden in some secret place. Sheiks had written poems to describe the beauty of their princesses, and yet such flowery words wilted in his mind’s attempt to reconcile what Thea had suddenly become. 

Tantalizing.

“No,” he managed to croak out at her insulation. “N-not an… excuse…” His face was suffused every shade of pink and red, a look of abject humiliation and embarrassment on the once proud god’s face. The moment she touched where his wings met, a small gasp escaped his lips, and panic flashed across his face. The alicorn tried to back away but she matched him step for step, maintaining their close distance. 

Thea opened her eyes and Arcon found himself ensnared in their mocking scrutiny. Blue met black. Deep and wild as the azure sky, framed by locks of burning copper. They seemed to flash and ripple, and for the fraction of the moment, Arcon caught the goddess within the mortal shell through the orbs. She glimmered like silver in the firelight, like water in the sun, like snow under the stars, like rain upon the Moon. 

His legs seemed to freeze like lead, and he froze. 

The prey had fallen into the trap.

The Huntress sized her mark.

Her soft plumage embraced him, her wing nearly wrapping around the barrel of his torso as she brought him closer to him. Her fur brushed against him, and beneath the lithe frame he could feel a heartbeat pulse with the promise of life and all of its many pleasures against his own.

Her warm breath kissed against his flesh. The final words were hushed. Quiet. Personal. A secret exchanged between the two and for no one else’s ears. Within the question was the hint of a promise of something so much more than merely starting at stained glass together. 

For the first time in the past few months, Arcon remembered exactly why he wore his robe, and found himself all the more grateful for it.

Ponies, Alicorns included, did not normally wear clothes.

There was a loud [i][b]‘CRACK’[/b][/i] as the air around Arcon shattered into a vacuum as the alicorn vanished, only empty space remained beneath Thea’s wing.

-----------------------------------------------------

For Arcon, all went black.

Then, all white.

Flurries of snow batted at his lashes as the sandy alicorn opened his eyes, the waste of Old Hoof replaced by an almost alien terrain. The desolation of snow and ice seemed endless across the flat and featureless landscape. Grey were the horizons and white was every inch of soft snow around him.

The world was quiet here, Arcon realized, his heart still hammering against his chest as he trudged through the banks of snow. The only noise that stirred across the snow was the whistle of wind. As tired as he was from his teleport without the door, he braced against the wind. The sudden warmth that coursed through each and every drop of his golden blood, bumped by his rapidly beating heart, served as protection enough against the chill the air carried with it. His cheeks burned from a cocktail of emotions he did not understand.

 Lust. Shame. Anger. Annoyance. Embarrassment. Exhaustion. Excitement.

Only a few dozen feet away, waves of dark choppy water washed against shores of slush. Islands of ice sprinkled its breadth, only hinting at the mountains that hung just out of view within its depth.

Perhaps he would move his Hall here, Arcon mused to himself as he stood at the edge. The view was absolutely breath taking, and the remoteness of the frozen north ensure his much needed privacy. With all the grace befitting a god of his age, Arcon flung himself, cloak and all, into the icy water. 

The second his body broke the surface of the water was the second the cold truly began to set in. He had not known true cold before that moment. That world of white snow and arctic wind above was but a desert compared to this realm. Here was the birthplace of frost and he relinquished himself to its icy clutches. It rubbed every inch of skin beneath his fur raw with its unforgiving embrace. 

Chunks of ice frozen long ago drifted by him as his cloak, now as heavy as lead to his body’s apathy, pulled him further down. The pale light above dimmed with each passing foot, leaving the alicorn curled in the cold and darkness like some primordial womb. A bubble escaped his lips, and drifted in the gloom to the only place he assumed was up, each second feeling like an eternity as he listened to the sound of his own heart thudding against his ears. Each eternity that passed slowed its rhythm, and in turn, his racing mind. Thoughts became clear as the sea leeched the heat from his body.

Emotion gave way to understanding.

With it, came acceptance.

The promise was empty. 

That’s all Arcon needed to remind himself. 

------------

Less than a minute after the Alicorn disappeared, there was another sharp [i][b]‘CRACK’[/b][/i] as he reappeared alongside Silver Sweeper. Flakes and tendrils of rime clung to the wisps of his sodden mane and fur, and his sodden cloak dripped water into the blackened dirt. 

He didn’t even spare a glance for the aqua alicorn, instead choosing to fixate his attention solely on Silver Sweeper. His face was neutral, and his lips grim.

“I have a Chef from Prance named Marzipan. He is a culinary master the likes of which you have never known. You can have him for twenty-four hours to make as many of the most tantalizing cakes you have ever tasted to devour at your hearts content,” Arcon promised her, his teeth chattering from the cold that still clung to his bones. His breath come out in puffs of mist, curling around his lips. “Just keep Thea away from me until I can fully recover my wits,” he pleaded. He glanced skyward, knowing full well a certain alicorn had received full amusement at his expense. “माँ, मुझे शक्ति दे.” 

He raised an eyebrow in surprised as Amifera revealed herself, her blades loosed and at the ready. “Well, well… this is beginning to prove quite the gathering. Greetings to you, dear sister Amifera. I have never known you to be late to a battle,” he managed to tease with curt politeness, bowing his head in acknowledgement to the Warrior, as his magic rung the water from his mane.