A Gentlebird's Agreement {Sturm and Archivist}

[Stygg Whitefeather]

In the far distance, there would come the sound of battle. The occasional cannon blast followed by an audible explosion, which lit up the horizon for a brief moment before dying away. For the ponies in Fillydelphia, each reminder of the war waging just beyond their view sent a shiver through their spine as they flattened their ears and waited for it to pass, in hope that would be the last. They were told it would be safe, but that proved too little a comfort for the war weary ponies – a dreadful sense of unease and tension held heavy in the air. Nowhere more so than where the Canterlot refugees were placed, waiting for word if they’ll ever be able to return to their homes, the ones they were just beginning to rebuild.

Amongst those downtrodden ponies, were three griffons in a quiet search for one of the displaced. Pushing through the crowd was Stygg, along with the oddity, Sturmrufer, and one of her Scythe lieutenants, who hovered several meters above the ground to get a better perspective of the mass of colorful ponies milling about between tents and makeshift amenities.

“Let me remind you again, this pony is reportedly eccentric and elderly. Neither of you are to be pushy with him. No intimidation, don’t fluff your feathers, bare your talons, none of the business – am I clear?” Ordered Stygg, she waited for their response. “If he refuses, we figure out something else.” She glanced upwards, “Lt. Le Goff, report.”

“Left at the next bend for Canterlot Court officials camp. Though, no sighting of the subject yet, ma’am. “

“Scout ahead, Sturmrufer and I will follow up.”

“Aye, Ma’am.” Le Goff took off over in the direction he had said. Once he was out of earshot, Stygg turned to Sturmrufer. “I need you to keep your eyes on this pony. It’s quite possible he may have been part of Loci’s network; if you see anything suspicious, remember the phrase, ‘time check is delta’ then wait for my order.” She kept her voice quiet as she spoke out from the side of her beak. "Dunno how much we can trust these... 'Silver Scrolls', or whatever."

Do to the nature of Loci’s influence and his abhorrent philosophies, suspicion amongst Whitefeather’s ran high that any griffon could be or have been an agent. With the constant threat of coup or revenge assassination, Stygg kept only a few griffons within arms reach at all times. This included most members of Scythe and Sturmrufer, whose unique features made him unfit as a true griffon according to Loci; she believed the griffon to be one of the least likely to have been swayed by the mad-griffon’s coffers and thus, he was pulled from regular duty assignments to accompany Stygg as part of the Royal Council entourage to Equestria.

“This has a chance to blow up in our beaks if we’re not careful, we cannot afford any rash actions when we’re this close to a diplomatic solution.”

A sharp whistle caught Stygg’s attention. It was Le Goff, in the air signaling to both of them on the ground. He waved his talons and pointed to a nearby converted hotel.

“The Lieutenant found something. Let's pick up the pace.”

[The Archivist]

In the beginning, there was Faust.

She stared out into the vast aether, the void between realms and felt a longing to fill it. For all was cold and dark, and she alone drifted through its expanse. She spread her wings, and lo, the cosmos were given birth. A single tear from her shining eyes became all of the seas. She placed a hoof and mountains rose from the level plains. Her sigh the eight winds of the earth. She placed two great shining orbs into the sky to give all Light.

Faust looked out over the land she had created; the lush forests, the rolling plains, the icy mountains and endless seas, and found it lacking. A world filled and a world empty. Faust looked deep within her, and found enough for one last act.

With the first verse came the Great Lords of Harmony and Discord, firstborn and mightiest of her brood. With them, Faust placed the easel of all creation within their power.

With the second verse came the Sisters Celestia and Luna, wardens of Faust’s Lights. With them, Faust placed dominion over all their light fell upon.

With the third verse came the last of Faust children, many in number and name, beings formed of her divine song. When they looked upon what their Mother had created, they bent the knee to the Sisters, to the Lords, and to Faust herself. These were the Equines of old; wise and powerful beyond measure. With them, she placed all that remained; guardians of the land, sea, and sky and all within. They looked down on their Mother’s creation and smiled…

The pony rubbed at his tired eyes as the last beam of sunlight dipped below the horizon, and with it, any discernible trace of the passage he had just been reading. A hoof traced along the blank velum as he idly flipped a few pages, and stewed in his own thoughts. The horizon burned with reds and purples as the edges of night crept into the skyline of Fillydelphia. From this high up in the hotel, he could see the whole of the city. The ponies that walked the streets below and flew through the sky lanes were as small as ants.

It would have been beautiful, if not marred by distant smoke and cannon fire.

An older unicorn in a grey robe knelt nearby, jotting something down on a scroll. After a moment's thought, the Archivist added his signature to the bottom and rose to his hooves. He walked by the pony, and stood gazing out at the city view.

With a tired sigh, the pony closed his book with a slight 'thwump'.

"I trust you were successful," his host asked, as he pulled the window's curtains, instantly plunging them both into darkness.

"I made it another three pages."

"Pity. If only your mind was as sharp as your 'sword', you made have actually made progress."

"Who is neurotic enough to write a code that can only be read at sundown?"

"For the last time, it's a legitimate language called Sunskrit. And I assure you, it was all the rage just after the fall of Nightmare Moon," the Archivist grumbled good naturedly.

With a spark from his horn, he ignited and turned up the flame on an oil lamp, and yellow light flooded the room. It was small, especially for a family of four, but given the constant stream of refugees from all over Equestria, he was solely grateful they hadn't been paired with another family. Most members of the royal court and there families had been relocated to a hotel until more permanent housing could be found. It was the sort of place a single stallion could stay for a few nights on business; not for one to raise a family. It had a couch which served as a bed, a table, and a big, elm-planked larder cupboard. The whole place was littered with books, scrolls, and parchments, stacked nearly to the ceiling. The robed Archivist bobbed his head politely to him, carefully taking the book back with his magic.

"Bloody impractical if you ask me," the pony muttered, as he rose to his hooves with a groan. He had been sitting for the past two hours, huddled by the window under the Archivist's watchful eyes as he waited for the brief moment the words would appear in the dying light. "It'll take a year to get through at this rate."

The Archivist carefully placed the book on on top of an ever growing pile that threatened to consume the kitchen table. "That's the point of it. As a religious tome, passages were to be read at the prayer at sundown. They chose to write it like that because they believed that once Night fell, the Mare in the Moon would try to twist those words. By hiding them, they believed she couldn't corrupt them." He paused for a moment, as though choosing his words carefully. "Though I admit, ponies were superstitious and ignorant back then. I can't exactly commend you on your choice of... eclectic reading material."

The pony raised an eyebrow. "Have you ever read it in its entirety?"

"Only once, and that was nearly three decades ago. Its mostly filled with mythology, tales for foals, and the stuffs of fiction. As I said... very superstitious. Most of it has been disproven, or are just simple outright falsehoods that any pony with a lick of History would know better."

"Then there might be something of use in it," the pony affirmed. The Archivist just stared at him.

"I don't follow."

"The Mare in the Moon... the Elements of Harmony... Discord... Eclipse..." the pony counted off. "All were simply fairy tails, preached to us as foals to teach us morals and friendship and such stuffs. And yet, how many of those stories have come true in the past few years?" the pony asked him. The Archivist rolled his eyes as he ignored him, refusing to answer such an inane idea.

"Y'know, I'd make alot more progress if you'd-"

"No," the Archivist cut him off with a glare. 

"But-"

"No. It stays here. This isn't a library, and never will be." The Archivist began to clear off the table, pulling plates and forks from the cupboards. "I trust you're NOT staying for dinner?"

The pony's ears perked up at the mention of dinner. "Sure!" he said eagerly, only to pause as his brain caught up to the details. "Wait... did you just-"

"Try to throw you out in the nicest way I know how? Yes, and that was the only time I'll ever do that. Second time I have to ask, you're leaving via the window," the Archivist harrumphed, as he opened the food cupboard. 

The Archivist blinked in surprise. Violet eyes blinked back.

There was a filly, curled up on the top shelf of the cupboard with a challenging look on her face, and cradled in one of her legs, was the Archivist’s private stash of chocolate mint chip ice cream.

“Winty,” the Archivist's voice was dangerously low, “what are you doing with my ice cream.”

Wintergreen narrowed her eyes.

“Well, since somepony spent all day reading, Pepper and Minty decided that I would make dinner” as she said this a spoon floated up from behind her, surrounded in the light glow of the unicorn’s horn. "And I decided we'd have dessert for dinner!"

“Don’t you dare.”

Wintergreen shot her father an innocent smile as she popped the lid of the carton with her magic. She stared hard at the Archivist as she slowly brought the spoon closer and closer to the icy treat.

“Wintergreen, this is your final warning,” the Archivist said dangerously.

The filly didn’t respond as she scooped up a spoonful of the ice cream.

The Archivist attempted to scramble up onto the

“Celestia herself won’t be able to help you if you take a bite of that-” the Archivist began, only to flinch in shock as Wintergreen's magic darted the spoon into his mouth, filling it with ice cream.  Wintergreen giggled and offered him the carton, and the Archivist tried his damnedest to keep his look of annoyance on his face. 

That was an utter failure. 

"Best dinner I've ever had, Winty. We'll make a chef of you yet," the Archivist mumbled with a smile as he pulled his daughter down from the cupboard. "Go into the hallway and tell your sisters dinner will be in ten minutes... and we'll have your dinner after mine."

A huge smile broke across the filly's face as she sprinted for the door. "Yay! Ice cream for dinner! Minty! Pepper! It worked!"

A duo of cheers came from outside. The Archivist shook his head in familiar bewilderment. How did they do that?

"Cute kids."

"I'm sorry, did you say you wanted to learn how to fly?"

[Sturmrufer]

    "Sincere thanks for bringing me along, ma'am." Sturm said. He still wasn't sure why Stygg chose to invite him to be part of the entourage, but he supposed it had to do with the old saying "The enemy of my enemy is my friend." Being a misborn had made him an enemy is Loci's mind, he supposed. Still, he was glad to come, to see the sights of Equestria and help in any way he could.
    "I still don't quite understand why we're looking for this pony. What information could he have that we don't already know?" Sturm questioned as they walked along. When Le Goff hovered in the air and pointed to a nearby hotel that looked to have been converted into a refugee camp of sorts, he picked up the pace as Stygg ordered, wondering what would happen when they found the pony, if they found him at all.

[Stygg Whitefeather]

Stygg continued around the bend towards where Le Goff had signaled them to come and as they approached, Stygg stopped Sturm with her talon. “National security, Cadet. This pony has access past the archives defenses and knows their catalog system. That’s all you need to know at this time.” She stated then carried on towards the old hotel, pushing past the rabble of ponies who milled about on the street.

The two griffons would come upon Le Goff as he stood before the hotel’s entrance as he flipped through pages on a clipboard while two uniformed ponies stood close by. They looked awkward and unsure what to make of the military griffon riffling through their papers – every utterance of protest was met by a harsh shushing from Le Goff.

“Report?” Stygg asked as she came up behind him.
“A pony with several foals matching our information is on an upper floor.” Le Goff sharply replied with a salute, then tossed the clipboard back to the ponies.
“Lead the way.”

Le Goff led them into the hotel and up the lift, which all three crammed into tightly. Clearly with ponies in mind and not three griffons and one pony operator. Their cramped, uncomfortable ride up and subsequent opening of the gate caused them to spill out into the hallway like a smashed ketchup packet. A few feathers flew, Stygg’s wings fluttered as she staggered to her paws and adjusted her feathers. She took a deep breath then continued forward.

“Lt., is this it?” She called as she reached a door near the end of the hall, from behind which came the din of foals being foals. Le Goff was quickly following up the hall and nodded as he pointed reassuringly to the door Stygg stood before. With a hard rap, Stygg knocked against the door followed by a harsh bang with her talon’s knuckle. “Griffon military, is this the residence of the one known as the ‘Archivist’?” She knocked once more, “We need to discuss the matter of the Canterlot Archives, open up.”

[The Archivist]

A few seconds after Stygg's talon left the surface of the door, a wall of shimmering golden light shot up between her and an inch the door. The wall seemed to meld seemlessly in with the frame and the floor and ceiling, and glowed with a pale warmth. The laughter of the fillies died down immediately, followed by the pitter patter of tiny hooves as they sprinted away.

A moment's silence passed, two, and then a set of much heavier hoofbeats clacked against the wooden floor. 

"At least you had the common sense to knock instead of bashing your way in. I doubt there would be enough left of you to fill a matchbox if you had," came the terse reply. "However, I think I shan't be opening this door anytime soon. Considering we're in Equestria, and unless this war has taken a serious turn for the south, I think it's safe to say nopony will... ah, yes. 'Open up' to the authority of some random griffons."

Behind the door, the Archivist counted his lucky stars the girls had come in only a few moments ago. He spared a glance back to where they hid under the table, a makeshift fort of books serving to hide them from view. Though the effect was rather spoiled by the eyes peeking from any affordable cranny.

"Anything?" the Archivist mouthed quietly to his guest.


"Nothing," the pony whispered back, parting the blinds ever so slightly and peeking out at the skyline. His own robe was pulled open, revealing a leather harness of some sort underneath. 

The Archivist turned back to the door, hoof brushing against a series of runes carved into the wall next to the door and began to activate the room's more serious defenses. Normally, the barrier glyph on the door was enough to let random passerby's know the weren't wanted. For wanted guests or ponies he actually knew, it gave the Archivist a chance to react like a stallion befitting his position. 

But this? The Griffin military boldly announcing themselves and demanding to speak with him. No chances. 

Besides, he doubted they were just going to walk away so easily.

A few runes began to glow, each with a different task; to strengthen the walls, to dull magic, to fireproof the frames, to reduce forces of impact. Yes, these would do for now. 

Unless they had a griffon chick with them.

In which case, they were screwed.

"But just in case..." he murmured quietly to himself as he stared at the door, his horn aglow. "Withstand." A thin golden lattice of energy stretched out from his hooves and crept along the surface of the door, digging in into the wood.

"Since it's pointless to pretend otherwise," the Archivist said from behind the door, "Let's just jump straight to the point. What do you want?"

[Sturmrufer]

"We just want to talk, we mean no harm." Sturm said as he sided along Stygg. "So if you would please disable your defences, that would be much appreciated." Waiting a moment, but still seeing nothing, he wondered if they would have to resort to the "other" measures Stygg had said they might be forced to use.

[Stygg Whitefeather]

Stygg’s talon met with the door just as the barrier of magic enacted, causing her recoil and clench her talon with her other. She cursed, shook her sore claw and staggered in a circle around the hall, till she caught herself on the opposite wall. She looked faint as the temporary sickness from contact with direct magic took its course – like eating bad meat and milk, it curdled in her stomach before passing a few moments later. Le Goff offered aid, which Stygg rebutted, motioning she was fine. She turned back to the door, warily approaching it, testing the air for any residual magic.

“My subordinate is correct, how about we start over.” Stygg called from behind the door. “This is Stygg Whitefeahter, chair of the Griffon ruling council along with two of my subordinates with Scythe special operations group. We are part of the diplomatic envoy between my people and Princess Luna – if our information is correct, you should have witnessed our arrival ceremony at Canterlot Palace shortly before the attack.” She explained. “As to why we’re here; we have information that you know the inner-workings of Canterlot Archives, with the sudden evacuation and the possibility that the capital could become occupied in the coming hours, we have a mutually beneficial proposition for you. This is a time sensitive matter, as you can imagine and one I would prefer not to discuss out in a hall where anypony could hear. If you’ll let us come inside, we can discuss this further – it’s in both our nation’s interest.”

[The Archivist]

The Archivist shook his head in disbelief. Here he was, after a long day and ready to settle down for the night... and the Heaven's forbid any semblance of his old life. His ears flicked in familiar agitation as the speaker brought up the Archives once again.  

"The ward will grant you entry within a few minutes, but I will not lower them. Keep your weapons sheathed, and Dame Whitefeather will enter first. Thank you for patience, and I will be with you shortly," the Archivist announced loudly before turning back to the other residents of the room. "Girls, help me move these books to the back."

"You can't be serious," the pony said flatly, as he paced anxiously in front of the window. He bared his teeth like a caged Timberwolf, his eyes glued on the Archivist and the door. His brow furrowed as the Archivist withdrew a piece of chalk from one of the kitchen drawers and began to make his alterations to the door. Peppermint, Spearmint, and Wintergreen immediately jumped into action, as they began to move books from one half of the room to the other. "Sisters help us... you ARE serious." 

A line was crossed between them and the now empty half of the room, splitting the kitchen table in half. A line of runes was quickly added to their half from one side to the other, glowing a faint white as the magic of each rune intertwined within its brethren.

"She's right. I met her once... saw her, really. The voice is the same, at the very least," the Archivist explained. "They had most the Royal Court out to greet her. I think I stayed for all of ten minutes at the ceremony before I caught word that these three were raiding the Royal Kitchens. It's not everyday that the head of House Whitefire shows up on your doorstep. She's piqued my interest... for now." 

"I was in the crowd that day," the pony said quietly. "I watched the princess greet her."

"I take it you weren't one of the ones that welcome to the griffons with open arms?" 
  
"Something like that. The heiress of Gareth Whitefeather and the Knight Commander of Calvatrota. A match made in Tartarus," the pony mused aloud, as a hoof brushed idly against his leather harness. "The songs they would write if we crossed blades-"

"-would be hysterical when she tans your hide and leaves you out to dry. Will you be able to control yourself, or do I have to throw your overzealous hide out the window to prevent an international incident?" 

"Again with the window. Don't insult me or my code. A knight never shirks from duty... even if it includes grouchy sacks of glue stock like you," the pony grumbled under his breath. "You have my word... that I won't draw first."

"Such a positive role model. I'm sure Equestria sleeps better at night with you watching our borders." The new runes were finished with the last of the chalk; the inscription had taken perhaps five minutes from beginning to end to complete. He paused for a moment, checking it over for errors before finalizing his decision. He reared up and slammed his fore-hooves along the the line, his horn aglow as he pooled his magic into the runes. A thick wall of golden light shot up from floor to ceiling, cutting the room in half. 

The Archivist took a seat at his side of the table of the table, and his daughters huddled behind them. The pony by the window snorted, and pulled his hood closer around his head, his cloak obscuring his body and face once more. Behind and amidst them all, were the remnants of the Archivist's collection. "Right, let's meet our guests..."

With a single flick of his horn, the door to the hotel room was flung open and the barriers supporting it flickered out of existence. 

"Woah..." the three sisters said in unison, their eyes wide as they peeked out from behind their father's robe. Wintergreen was perhaps the most vocal in her surprise. 

"Those are the biggest chickens I've ever seen." 

[Sturmrufer]

"Greetings." Sturm said, following behind Stygg and Le Goff as they entered the room. "It is our pleasure to meet with you, Archivist." Sitting down a ways from the barrier, as even being near the runes made him a bit queasy, he continued. "As we said before, you have information that may be useful to us. My lady will explain further." With a nod to Stygg, he fell silent, looking around the room. He noticed the cloaked pony by the window, who seemed to not want to be here at all. Curious, he asked the Archivist "Excuse me sir, but who is your friend there by the window?"

[Stygg Whitefeather]

”This pony certainly gives a lot of ‘orders’.” Spoke Stygg quietly, under her breath. ”Keep your wits about you, he may be hiding something.” She checked her scythes at her sides, still where she had left them. If this pony was playing some sort of game, she was ready – magic or not; this whole thing was growing ever stranger by the minute and making her cackles raise ever so slightly. That, or the encounter with magic was still affecting her senses – she loathed having to now pass through these seals, or runes, whatever the old horse called them.

As the time ticked away, Stygg grew more anxious. She didn’t appreciate having to wait like this, it just made her more suspicious and begun to weigh calling the whole thing off, but just as she was seriously considering it, the seal shimmered as a golden light washed the door before it flung open. Stygg entered first, as was request, followed by Sturm and Le Goff. She let Sturmrufer speak first while both she and Le Goff assessed the situation with tactical military precision; Le Goff produced a photograph and compared the pony at the table to the photo, then confirmed with Stygg. At the mention of the other, cloaked pony aloof to the old pony and foals, Stygg tapped on Le Goff’s leathers. “Search the other rooms, no surprises. Sturmrufer, watch the cloaked one.” Le Goff nodded and moved off towards the bathroom – shimming himself through the tight hallway and rooms.

As her team continued to clear the hotel-apartment, Stygg approached the pony at the table. “Excuse the intrusion and our cautiousness, just procedure. Who is that one?” She spoke gruffly as she nodded to the cloaked pony. “Our information suggested there would only be you and the foals.” Archivist would see the griffoness kept a talon on her weapon as she spoke while her attention never entirely drifted from the dark and mysterious pony by the window. “Due to the nature of why I’m here, soon as my comrade clears the rest of the flat, we need to speak – privately. Will that be a problem?“ She still kept an eye on the cloaked pony. “Consider quickly, we’re running short on time.”

[The Archivist]

The Archivist narrowed his eyes ever so slightly as the Griffons came in, their actions doing little to put his mind at ease.

”This griffon certainly gives a lot of orders," the Archivist thought irately to himself, as one of them searched through the family's few rooms.

"None of your business," the Archivist snapped sharply at Sturmrufer's question. "Here in the Archives, we give the upmost discretion to those who visit. My reply to you would be the same if the roles were reversed and he had burst in here demanding to know who you were."

He paused for a moment before turning his back to the pony in the cloak. "Would you excuse us?"

The pony's scowl darkened.

"Are you SURE about this? It'll just be your and the girls."

"I think I can handle three griffons long enough for the security guards to throw them out if they cause trouble. I trust you will be joining us tomorrow night for supper?" the Archivist asked the pony offhandedly. To his credit, the sole evidence of the pony's surprise was a blink and a quick glance at the three foals who hid behind the Archivist.

"Happily. And if you should be preoccupied with your work?"

The Archivist dismissed him with a simple wave. "Simply take the girls out for pizza and ice cream. My treat."

The pony nodded his head, the message received. There was an awkward silence as he fidgeted nervously on his hooves; not unlike an agitated cat.

"And... any thoughts on how I am to leave with all limbs intact?"

"...you do realize there is a fire escape, right?"

The smirk slid off the pony's face as he took a glance over the windowsill. Sure enough, a metal catwalk snaked its way down several floors.

The closest platform was two stories below.

The pony took a hesitant step back. "That's... a bit of a drop... right. No hooves barred!" The pony cried, as he climbed out the window. There was a heart-stopping moment of silence before the crash of a body hitting a flimsy grate.

"I'm alive!" called a voice. The Archivist sighed and buried his face in his hooves, muttering frustrations before regaining his compose and turning his golden gaze back to Stygg.

"I am the one known as the Archivist of the Canterlot Royal Library. These three are my daughters and Royal Assistant-Librarians, Peppermint, Spearmint and Wintergreen," he declared in a rather formal tone. "For the time being, this room is the Archives; a place," he added, his voice much more condescending, "that you have rudely tried to barge your way into, search without any warrant or consent of my own, and have come bearing weapons of war into a place of knowledge. In front of children no less... though, I suppose I can only expect so much from griffons," he added as an after shot.

"You now have my undivided attention amd discretion befitting a researcher of Canterlot's collection. Whatever you wish to find, ask, or research will be done in the presence of me and my children. If this displeases you..." the Archivist said, gesturing to the door behind them. The sentence was left unspoken.

"Now, how may we help you?"

[Sturmrufer]

    Before Sturmrufer had even gotten a better look at the cloaked pony, the horse had thrown him self out the window. He got up to chase after, but one look at Stygg and the shake of her head told him to stay put. Sitting back down, he began their appeal.

    "Truthfully, we need your help in procuring documents related to the Lady of the Lake. And for that, well, we would need to get access to the Archives. And that's where you come in. As you well know, the Library of the Royal Rocks was very nearly decimated in the civil war. Any such documents of the kind we're looking for were burned or otherwise destroyed. Your archives are the most obvious place for copies to reside." He paused for breath, think about what to say next. "However, there may be something in it for you, if, that is, you decide to help us. There are still many unique spells and books of the arcane still in Canterlot, yes? Surely, if the dogs and drakes manage to capture Canterlot, they would go to waste. Tossed on the lit pyres of victory, or even worse, used against both of our kinds in horrific manners. This is of utmost importance, to both of us. So please, help us. Do it for both our sakes."

[Stygg Whitefeather]

“Cadet!” Shouted Stygg with stern, authoritarian cadence, “Did I give you permission to speak? Are you authorized to negotiate on the behalf of your superiors in matters involving the state with foreign nationals? Are you qualified to quantify diplomatic agreements?” She verbally laid into the younger griffon as she stared him down, with raised cackles and fluffed feathers, she continued, “Are you an officer of the Crown’s service, and are you blood royalty?” She continued, her tone so scolding and harsh that that even Le Goff appeared to grow awkward by her accusations. “When, have I ever allowed you to speak on my behalf!? Do you need to be reminded of your place in this bird’s military? Do I need to send you back to basic for a refresher on the chain of command? Do I, cadet!?” She squawked, now towered over Sturm, her eyes like enraged daggers as they stared into him, a talon prodding his chest. “That’s what I thought. You never, ever speak for a superior unless otherwise instructed to do so, you understand me? If you ever wish to be an officer worth their wings… You. Won’t. Ever. Let. A subordinate speak for you, am making myself clear?” She paused, which allowed Sturm a moment to reflect and respond, before she turned her attention back to the pony and his kin. She took a deep breath and sat opposite the table.

“Forgive that interruption. I apologize you had to see that.” The sincerity appeared true by her body language, slightly somber mixed with a tinge of embarrassment by her lessor’s outburst. “I’m afraid we’re not making the best impression. However, what my hapless subordinate said is mostly accurate. Ever since the civil war, the library at Royal Rocks was decimated, a large number of our texts were burned by the Rust Phoenix. As such, we lost a fair part of our global lore and legends, including that on Kelpies – further exasperated by the untimely death of our ambassador to the Kelpies, our only authority on their stories and history. As such we are in desperate need to recover certain texts pertaining to the Siren known as the Lady of the Lake – with the uncertainty and turmoil following our war, we are afraid of a usurper gaining knowledge about the Lady and the sword she wields. It’s the Council’s intention to intercept the sword before a dissident or other party can acquire it and make a claim for the throne.”

She continued to explained, “We believe your archives may contain accounts concerning this particular Siren. In exchange for your corporation, I am offering my personal airship to transport as much of the contents of the Canterlot archives out of the city’s remains as we are able in the time allotted. I realize, in the haste to evacuate, that nearly all of the archives are still within Canterlot and are vulnerable, ancestor’s forbid, to occupation by the Diamond Dogs and their allies.” She leaned closer as she placed her talon on the table, tapping, then pointed to the Archivist. “If the battle In Whitetail Woods fails, Canterlot will be overran in less than an hour. Your nation, everything that makes it the nation it is; its history, its wealth, its political life and well-being, all that burns away in an instant. You become vagabonds, lost in your own land. Manehatten, Fillydelphia, your towns and villages… your nation cannot survive on scraps alone. You’ll be divided, sub-divided, broken apart into city-states and along racial divides. Canterlot was the site which brought your people together,” She slammed a talon against the table, “Without it, you fall apart. Without your records, your history, you fall. Tell me, truthfully, without preserving your way of life, your identity, how much longer do you think your country can last… forever?” She pulled her talon back as she sat back on her haunches and relaxed, “We haven’t much time, my airship is ready at a moment’s notice to move on Canterlot. If you want to save your nation, your people, and their identity then I’m offering you that chance.” She threw up her arms in a shrug, “Or you can gamble that Equestria will be victorious, but are you willing to bet on your future… on their future?” She pointed towards the foals huddled around the older pony, “If Equestria prevails, then it was a wasted endeavor, some time out from your night. If not, you’re a hero. And I promise, whatever you pull from that sarcophagus will be returned to Equestrian hooves. You have my word, as a testament to my honor and ancestors as a griffon and as a friend of your leaders and all ponies. I refuse to make the mistakes of my late-father and I refuse to sit idly by as the fields of my friends’ burn. But, in the end, the choice is yours. We cannot enter the archives without you, and I wouldn't trespass without the blessing of their caretaker.” She crossed her talons before her chest. “What say you?”

[The Archivist]

The Archivist did not say anything. 

When the one known as Sturmrufer extended his offer, the Archivist was silent. He gave the barest of flinches as his commanding officer turned on him and reamed him for his outburst, and listened patiently as Stygg Whitefeather tried her hand to spin their offer. After she was done, he closed his eyes and was silent.

"A fairy tale."

It came as a whisper. An incredulous whisper, followed by a weak chuckle. "You barge into my home, frighten my children, and accost me because of a fairy tale?" Any mirth in the Archivist's voice melted away into annoyance. "For some wet broad in a puddle to lob a scimitar at your head? I knew griffons bones were hollow, but I didn't think their skulls were as well," he shot at them. His gaze focused on Sturm first. 

"Do you even know the first thing about magic?" he accused, eyes narrowing. "Answer honestly. Because I think the answer is nothing. A military dog like yourself could only ever think of something as pure as magic as to be used solely for a weapon. No, not for healing, not to create beauty or protect life. You look at a treasure trove of knowledge, and you can only think of all the nasty spells that can be used against you," the Archivist judged. "This is why your kind could never understand, could never dream of being anything more than what you already are."

His scornful gaze turned towards Stygg, horn glowing as the wall between them began to thicken. "And to you, I have half a mind to say nay. Do not think for one moment that you would be able to set a single talon inside those halls without me. You give me your word? I have no use for it. You give me your honor? It holds value only until you take their future," he accused her, narrowing his eyes as his hoof pointed to his daughters. He knew the first moment his back was turned, the griffon would sink he talons into his back. She would let him collect everything of value, and then take it for herself, no doubt to rebuild their own collections. "I assume this is all hush-hush, yes? The guard doesn't know, the princess doesn't know, and we'll no doubt be risking our necks if I say yes. Not only that, but you want me to leave my three daughters by themselves in a city, with a full blown siege going on next door?" 

"Then, lets just rip the most insulting bit," the Archivist spat, slamming his hooves on the table.  "Your most generous offer is folly, and you know it. It could have been made the day after Canterlot fell, whether by you or any of those damnable nobles. To only reason your making it now is because you need something from me, otherwise you'd let all four walls collapse. Do not spin words of history and heroism to me. There is no love lost between our nations, and tempting me with the idea of stealing from my OWN collection is charity of the lowest sort," he seethed.

"Even if Manehatten falls, the defenses WILL hold," the Archivist stubbornly asserted. The old pony believed that with all of his might. He had too. To think of the alternative would be... would be... 

He caught himself at the last second, realizing he was beginning to drift away and reignited the fire in his voice. "Right now, the Archives are as safe as they'll ever be and you want to ruin that! For every door I open for you, I have no guarantee of being able to relock. For every book you're offering me to save, you're only condemning another thousand to be destroyed from neglect. You practically want me to open the doors wide for whoever comes after us. And for what?" He asked rhetorically, waving a hoof in circles in the air as if to illustrate the absurdity. His thin lips tightened into an indifferent sneer. "Ah yes, to find a weapon. Which, might I add, may or may not exist." 

"It cannot be done. The Archives were designed to withstand exactly what you're suggesting," he finished with a dismissive wave. "It is one thing to control the wards and barriers from within them, it is quite another thing to be on their outside. Defenses that not even I know about, created by Archivists long past, spells woven into the stonework itself. Let us say nothing of the fact that we left the entire thing with as many defenses raised as we could before being forced to leave. In the history of Canterlot, no pony... no creature has ever been able to take that which was not permitted of them from its shelves. My predecessors anticipated everything. No pony has ever crossed the threshold and entered uninvited-"

He was stopped as a minty hoof tugged on his robes. He looked down to see Peppermint, her forhooves raised up and resting on his lap. "But... we did it," she reminded him, "We got in." The Archivist blinked for a moment, before the crinkled lines around his eyes tightened, the closest thing he could offer as a smile to her in front of the griffons. He carefully pulled her into his lap, ruffling her mane.

"Yeah, but who could anticipate you three?" he asked. She looked up at him, and that stare spoke volumes. Countless hours of telling stories, or working to keep the labyrinthine of knowledge organized. A home they shared and lost.

A chance to get some of it, even if it was a tiny piece, back.

The filly wrapped her arms around the Archivist's neck in a hug, and then turned to look Stygg square in the eye. 

"Papa... the Archivist," Peppermint corrected herself. "Will accept."

The Archivist blinked in surprise. "I will not."

"He will," Peppermint reasserted, holding up a tiny hoof to silence him. "But only if he comes home in time for ice cream dinner. He can't miss his bed-time." 

Her sisters giggled behind the Archivist, who could only give a tired sigh. "You three are just going to stay up late, and ruin yourselves with junk food. And then some... mean pony is going to come in and steal all of our books. And you! Most importantly you!"

The three gave him a look.

"Papa, do you really think anypony could get past your spells?" Wintergreen said sweetly, her flattery turned up to the max. Three pleading sets of eyes stared at him, their hooves tugging at his robes. The Archivist mumbled to himself for a few moment in thought, a hoof idly scratching at the scruff under his chin.

No. Nopony... or griffon, could get by his wards. Not if he was already suspicious of them.

And not if they were in his domain.

"Oh... oh alright. Fine. But I want these stacks reorganized before we get back, and you three are NOT to leave this room for any reason."

The three cherub like smiles he got in return only increased his worry. He glanced behind him at the mounds of books that dominated his side of the room. While it seemed like a tremendous amount for one pony, it was only a drop in the bucket... especially compared to what Whitefeather was offering him. "Before we go gallivanting off, we might as well see if we have anything here," the Archivist mused. "Girls, see if you-"

"Oh, I think I know!" Spearmint cried, climbing behind the couch into another pile of books. A few tomes were tossed onto the cushions before the filly resurfaced with a thick tome clasped in her magic. She deposited it in front of her father, and he glanced at the front cover before opening.

"...find anything regarding Whitefeather," the Archivist finished lamely. "Huh, good job. Whinnyson's Idylls of the King," the Archivist explained to the griffons as he skimmed the pages. "A much more.... fantastical and romantic retelling of your ancestor's story. Though... not much on the Lady," he muttered, his brow furrowing. He was silent for a few moments, reading pages to himself until he came across a calligraphic image of a beautiful sea pony grasping a sword close to her chest. "Here's something... Dame of the snow down, of night and the slaughter, Whose wisdom her untested youth will belie, Will wake from her slumber the lake's only daughter, To answer the calling she cannot deny. Wrought by a king for the hand of the chosen, From fishscales and currents and winter's reply, Brought from the deep by a prophet who knows, In the arms of the water again it will lie. The Kingsword will stand in its scabbard of granite, The quicksilver forged in the pools of the sky, A rumour explained by the one who began it, A fledgling's claw will grasp it, a Queen's raise it high... Considering this was written only three hundred years ago, I don't think it'll do us much good." 

The Archivist leaned back in his seat, rubbing at his now sore eyes. Lantern light did him little good these days. What he'd give for a good glowing crystal...

"...I can't believe I'm even considering this. Right. Off the top of my head, and without the full catalog in front of me, I can think of three books which MIGHT have what you'd be looking for," the Archivist told the griffons. "One is a history book written by a pony scribe who lived during the reign of one Gareth Whitefeather," he said, glancing at Stygg. "Another is the personal journal of an ambassador to the griffin clans; if I'm not mistaken, one hundred years after Gareth's death. The third... a book written by the Kelpie in Atlantean. Only one of its kind in pony possession, and IF memory served right... had everything from their mythology and stories in it. Those three would be as good a book as any," he admitted.


A thin film of translucent gold energy coated the Archivist’s horn, and the area above the table was filled with yellow lines. The ghostly lines traced an enormous, three dimensional blueprint above them, the Archivist gestured with his hoof.

“To my knowledge, there is only one known entryway into the Archives.” A red mark appeared on the ghostly map. “Which is located beneath the Castle Library. Even if the Library itself was destroyed in Blackmane's blast, the Archives should have remained relatively untouched due to their depth and wards.” The Archivist picked up the book in his magic and began to flip through it,  reading what little they had to go on as the map continued to draw itself. “There are a couple of things that we need to go over," he informed Stygg. "Unless we are able to find any sort of cave-ins or collapsed ceilings, which we shouldn't," he stressed pointedly as though offended by the thought, "You will first have to remove any physical debris impeding our path, both on the surface and inside. My personal wards, at the very least, will recognize me and allow me entry. I will be able to rewrite them to permit you as we come across them. There are also the more subtle ones that are only activated when the Archives sense intruders. Magical traps, binding circles, automatic barriers; different kettle of fish entirely. Its easier for me to disarm them before they're triggered, and disarming and then rearming them takes time we don't have." A bitter look crossed the Archivist's face as he realized how quickly Whitefeather would try to assert this was a military operation. "You know what, we'll make this simple; you do NOT touch ANYTHING without my say so."

The mapped stopped growing, leaving a sprawling four-tiered complex of bookcases, aisles and study rooms. 

It was then that the Archivist noticed that everyone in the room was looking at him with some sort of surprise—even his children. He gave a huff of irritation. "What, did you think I was looking after a tree house or something?" he asked sarcastically, as the map lit up with several motes. "The books I have in mind would be in the History, Biographies, and Rare Works sections. If the index catalogs and search spells are still functioning, we can find additional works that mention this Siren of yours."

The Archivist frowned, eyes scanning the grid work. A pang of nostalgia tugged at him as he looked over the once familiar halls. He had spent nearly thirty years slowly adding his own runes and wards to the web that ensnared the halls, adding bits and pieces of himself to the great tapestry of spells that lay sleeping. He knew where each one had been placed and why it did what it did, for he had been the one to do it.

There were centuries worth that were not his, however, and therein lay the unspoken dilemna. Those great spells of Archivists past. There were many that he knew of, taught by the Archivist before him and mentioned in the tomes read in younger year. There were undoubtedly many more that he was ignorant of, hidden away in secret, to be triggered when they were needed most.

They would be troublesome.

"We shall keep this fair. We will first reach the index, and see what else can be found. From there, you will aid me in collecting a dividable portion of material before I lead you to one of the books you are looking for," he said, as he extinguished his horn. The image of the Archives lasted for but a moment longer before fading away in wisps of gold ether. He placed both hooves on top of the table, looking dead at Stygg. "Afterwards, you will assist in attaining a proper storage facility for myself and my daughters, and whatever we manage to salvage," he said firmly. By the tone of his voice, it was clear this was the one thing he would never budge on.

"Frankly, I'm tired of sleeping on the floor," the Archivist admitted, as Peppermint hoped down from his lap. "These three munchkins hog the entire couch."

"We do not!" Wintergreen protested with a pout.

[Stygg Whitefeather]

Stygg retained her bearing as The Archivist went into his beratement of the plan, of her and her kind and his accosting her that this was purely out of military gain. He wasn’t entirely right nor was he entirely wrong. She was had her own people to consider and if that meant stepping on a few ponies to do it, then so be it. She would expect the same from them and wouldn’t blame them for doing it. This was politics, it was give and take, and as both a branch of government and its talon, she perched on a most precarious spot in a never-ending balancing act. However, her political grooming had taken a back seat to her military training – her graceful use of heroic imagery may work on soldiers and peasants, but academics and intellectuals were an entirely other matter. She had resolved herself to the fact this plan was now floundering, it was a shaky plot but it was not as if she had more than a few hours to develop it and put it into motion.

Just as she was about to interrupt the old pony, say her apologies for troubling him with the matter and leave to figure out what to do next, support came from a most unexpected source. As the three fillies piped up, speaking for the pony and accepting on his behalf, she found herself taken back and, though she didn’t show it, was even more surprised that the Archivist agreed. Perhaps, the she was actually in her ancestors favor. She let him finish before she chimed in again.

“You have my thanks for agreeing to this, and you have my thanks for convincing him to do so.” She gratefully addressed both the stallion and his three fillies. “To reiterate, I’m aware of the legends concerning the Lady, the question I need to answer is how to snatch Hephaestus’ sword from her grasp, killing her if I must, of course any griffon who has tried has never returned. And to further reiterate, the sword is a right to rule, not a weapon of destruction. That’s the extent of my concern regarding it.”

She motioned to Le Goff and whispered a command to him; he saluted in reply, turned and made for the door – though stopped short, having recalled what befell Stygg just minutes before. He reluctantly reached for the door with a talon as he warily eyed Stygg and The Archivist.

“My subordinate needs to make contact with our vessel, is it safe for him to pass?” She cordially inquired.

After that was situated, Stygg continued with the plan. “That’s acceptable,” Regarding The Archivist’s demands, “None of my soldiers will touch anything without your permission, and as for clearing the library, we are aware that a good portion of the location was cleared during early cleanup – Twilight Sparkle had personally oversaw the cleanup and rebuilding of that section. Hopefully, there will be nothing blocking our path forward into the archives, if so, we have tools to assist us should we need them.” She continued, “Once we have materials, I have arranged their receiving with an officer in the Equestrian military here in Fillydelphia. If you need new housing arrangements, they can be made then.”

Stygg tapped on her talon on the table, “Now for my conditions. This is time sensitive, when I say we pull out, we pull out. No qualms, no ‘one more minute’, you throw up whatever wards you can as we retreat and we’re gone. This is to protect my birds and you. Drakes would only take minutes to be at Canterlot from Whitetail. Anypony, griffon – well, I hope I don’t have to go into detail what will happen. If you hold up my soldiers, I won’t hesitate to leave you behind. Is that clear?”

She tapped the table once more, “Next, if we have to combat engage anything, for whatever reason, my orders trump yours regarding the archives. I won’t directly risk lives for books and scrolls. If you can assist in any way, it would be appreciated, but do not risk yourself unnecessarily. I don’t need to explain how this operation relies solely on you getting us in and out. Lastly, you will update me as we move, the wards, the security measures, and what you’re doing to nullify or by-pass them. I don’t want any surprises. Are these terms agreeable?” She paused, “Cadet, I’m not overlooking anything am I?”