Freebie Mondays: My Little Domerin – Episode 1: Act 2

I promised my twitch chat I would take Domerin, the grumpy elf main character from the Aruvalia Chronicles, and turn him into a pony if they helped me pay for my replacement computer. I never thought we’d reach that goal – but of course we did. Because my twitch chat continues to be the most generous community out there.

For more details on the project, check the intro. (There are pictures of my characters converted into ponies there as well.)

This story is meant to take place in the same world as “My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic,” though it’s unlikely any of the characters from the show will appear in the story. I have attempted to adopt the style of storytelling used by the show (including an episodic format and a ‘season’ instead of chapters in a novel). And some of the ponies that appear were created by donators from my chat. VoDs of the writing sessions are available on my youtube channel!

I hope you enjoy this crazy, silly little romp!
. . .

“We’ve been through this before,” Gregory Barrow barked in his usual gruff growl. “Even the roving stands need to stay in the areas of town designated as food courts.” The graying Earth Pony tapped his hooves impatiently against the cobblestones of the street and fixed the errant pony he had cornered in the center of his glare.

Domerin bit the inside of his bottom lip to keep from smirking, especially after he took note of the target of Greg’s ire. The pony in question bore a sprinkle of popcorn as his cutiemark – a symbol that had become somewhat infamous around Silvergarden in recent weeks.

The stallion bowed his head but also pawed nervously at the ground with his front hooves. “I didn’t mean to break the rules, officer,” he insisted. “I thought it would be all right if I did house calls.”

Domerin followed Greg’s gaze to the stand crammed onto the corner of the crosswalk. The wheels had gouged deep ruts into the front lawn of the house that rested just behind the stand’s resting point – likely the cause of all the trouble in the first place.

The popcorn pony cringed when Greg shifted his gaze back in his direction. “House calls involve going to the front door, kid,” the constable declared curtly. “If I catch you setting up on residential streets one more time-“

“Don’t worry, officer,” the popcorn stand’s owner insisted with a weary grin, “it won’t happen again. You have my word.”

Domerin had never seen a pony skitter so quickly out of sight, especially not pushing an entire popcorn stand in front of him.

“That pony is going to be the death of me,” Greg muttered as he spun to greet Domerin. “If he doesn’t drive me into retirement first.”

Domerin chuckled. “Is he really all that bad? Half the stories I’ve heard can’t possibly be true.”

“Have you heard the one about him spitting popcorn at kid’s heads? Because we caught him in the act of that one.” Greg stuck out his tongue to express his displeasure. Then he corrected the way his hat sat atop his head with one hoof and offered Domerin a muted smile. “How’s it going, Captain? And what can I do for you today?”

“This is more of a social call than a work query,” Domerin replied and patted the air with one of his front hooves. He didn’t mind being called captain, even while he was off duty, but he didn’t want his friend to get the wrong impression.

Greg frowned and glanced up at the sky, no doubt noting the position of the sun. Then he shot a suspicious look in Domerin’s direction. “There are still at least three hours before sunset,” he quipped. “You’re telling me you’ve already gone off the clock for the day?”

“Princess’s orders,” Domerin admitted sheepishly. “But while you drive the pony away from work-“

“You can’t drive the work out of the pony,” Greg finished and chuckled. “Seriously, Domerin, what’s bothering you? You don’t have to act coy about it with me, you know.”

Domerin sighed but also allowed the tension to leak from his muscles. There were few people in Silvergarden in which Domerin felt comfortable confiding – mostly because most of the citizens relied on him for their safety and security. But Greg was one of the few people he trusted implicitly.

If ever he needed someone to watch his back in a life or death situation, Greg was near the top of the short list of people Domerin trusted.

“That’s just it,” he admitted and shook his head. “I’m not sure there’s anything to really talk about. As far as I can tell, nothing is amiss. Nothing I should really worry about. And yet, I have this strange feeling deep in the pit of my stomach…”

He let the statement drift away. There was nothing more really to say. Yet his friend shot him a knowing look accompanied by a sage nod.

“I know the feeling well,” Greg said softly. He even shuffled a few steps closer so that no one would overhear the next part of their conversation. “But if you’re looking for some sign from the city that confirms what you’re feeling, I’ve got nothing. Today has been filled with the usual suspects, a few minor infractions, people starting a tussle here and there. But nothing that would give me the impression something big was on the horizon.”

Domerin sighed again and glanced toward the sky. He agreed with his friend’s assessment that there were a few hours left before the sun began to sink beneath the horizon. He could use that time to suss out the source of his unease and hopefully put his instincts to rest. But it would be in direct violation of Rose’s insistence that he take some time to relax.

“I won’t say I’m sure it’s nothing,” Greg’s softly reassuring voice murmured close to his ear. “I know you better than that. But whatever it is, I’m sure you’ll figure it out, Domerin. You always do.”

That made him feel better. Crescent had been right; a chat with Greg was almost always the cure for his restless instincts.

“Tell me more about this nefarious popcorn vender,” he suggested as a wicked grin spread across his lips. “It’d be nice to tell Crescent which are the rumors and which are the truths.”

Greg snorted. “Honestly, I don’t think you really want to know. The rumors are tame in comparison. But here’s the rundown…”

Domerin fell into step beside his oldest and best friend as Silvergarden’s constable continued to make his rounds. They were interrupted occasionally by shouts around a corner or a call that came across Greg’s radio. But for the most part, they spent a quiet hour scanning the city streets and enjoying the relatively normal bustle of a weekday afternoon.

Domerin might work at the palace, and thus spend the bulk of his days there. But he enjoyed every part of Silvergarden and was always happy for an opportunity to experience its serenity. He took in the sights, the sounds – and the people going about their day to day business while he let the quiet chatter of his friend wash over him.

They parted ways near the police station, but Domerin spent most of another hour wandering the familiar streets of his home, noting the familiar signs of open businesses and the smiling faces of the ponies who patroned them.

Most ponies were probably fond of their home, be it where they were born or where they had chosen to settle. In Domerin’s case, it was the latter. Silvergarden was home because it was the place where he settled after he left his childhood home. It was the place he protected, and each of the people occupying it were the reasons he worked so hard to accomplish that task. But there was something special about this place, some unique pull that Domerin thought made it worth all of the extra effort.

After all, there were few places that ponies had fought so hard to defend since its earliest history.

Eventually, the shadows grew long. The wind rustled the leaves of the trees that lined the city streets, and Domerin’s hooves carried him back to the palace where he and Crescent shared a suite not far from the barracks. He regaled his partner with the stories Greg had shared with him about the strange popcorn maker and other antics in the city. Then the two of them curled up to sleep beside each other.

Though not before Domerin took one last trip to the courtyard, to gaze with admiration at the statue that loomed above the carefully manicured grass.

Nirem Truestrike, Domerin murmured the name in his head almost as if it was a prayer. The warrior had been granted the moniker because, according to legend, his sword always struck true, never once missing its intended target.

It was unlikely to be true. Even the greatest warrior sometimes struggled to connect their blade with their target. It was the kind of whimsy always infused in old faerie tales to make people feel good about the darkness people sometimes had to endure.

Still, as Domerin gazed up at the strong jaw and fierce eyes of his childhood hero, he hoped there was some hint of truth to all the old stories about this warrior. Because, for the first time in a long time, he felt like Silvergarden needed someone like Nirem to watch over it.

Keep them safe, he prayed silently to the soul of the long dead warrior. Or help me keep them safe.

Domerin drew one last deep breath of the chill night air before he turned and trotted back to his quarters, his partner and the warm, welcoming bed waiting for them both.

*   *   *

It started in the hour just before sunrise. At first, it was nothing more than a low sound in the distance, like the roll of thunder on a stormy day. But the sky was clear of clouds and the wind was still, making it difficult to place the source of the odd cloud of dust that rose in the distance.

Domerin wasn’t aware anything was wrong until he heard the first alarm, a shrill blast that filled his ears and rang in his skull until he thought the bones might crack apart. He recognized the sound, of course. Every soldier was trained to respond to it. But he hadn’t heard it since his training – and never in the palace proper.

The piercing wail stopped him dead in his tracks. He had been in the middle of his morning run – a series of laps around the barracks training field. At this time of morning, there were few ponies active in the palace proper, and most of those moving about were guards assigned to various posts by him. There were still three hours left before the shift changeover was supposed to happen. Three hours left before he was supposed to begin his duty shift and before most of the ponies that occupied the palace would even rouse from their beds.

It took several seconds for Domerin to realize that the sound which echoed in his ears after the first wail of the siren was his own heartbeat, thumping madly as if it had become the drum backbeat of a marching army.

When the second screech pierced the air, Domerin realized it was no fluke, no mistake, no dream and no drill.

Someone had spotted danger on the horizon, fast approaching if the earlier dust cloud was any indication.

“No!”

The single word tore from his throat as half a plea and half a denial of the dread reality, but there was no way to change what was happening.

This had been the source of his odd restlessness the day before. He could see that now with blinding clarity. And if he had only obeyed its pull instead of going to bed to enjoy the warmth of the moment…

Domerin shook his head. There was no point thinking like that now.

Now there were other tasks that needed to be tended.

The captain of the royal guard lurched back into motion. Turning on his back heels, he charged headlong toward the central portion of the palace, gaining speed with each surge of his powerful leg muscles. “Wake the princess,” he roared as he passed the places where he’d stashed the royal guard for nightly patrols. “Rouse the guard. Half to the walls, half to the evacuation tunnels.

“Move!” he added as stunned faces emerged from shaded hiding places to stare at him in awed disbelief.

Whoever was moving on the palace, whoever was about to attack, they had chosen their timing well. The majority of the morning shift were unlikely to wake for another hour or so, and the night guard would be tired from long hours spent mostly doing nothing.

It was only sheer dumb luck that Domerin didn’t sleep much, that he was always awake before the sun and had already been on his feet for most of an hour before the alarm sounded. But he wasn’t wearing his uniform, even though he did have his weapons with him.

All he could think was how horribly wrong it might have gone if he was just now stirring from his bed. And he didn’t know how much of an advantage his wakeful state was going to provide.

Luckily, his troops were well trained. At the sound of his voice, they snapped into motion. Secondary calls echoed up and down the hallways as his orders were transmitted and followed. Doors flew open. Bleary-eyed guards emerged from their quarters, and those who had been walking patrols surged toward their ruler’s private chambers to ensure the most important member of their government was whisked to safety.

Domerin’s heart ached to speed back to the humble quarters he shared with his partner. He wanted to see to Crescent’s safety, wanted to confirm with his own eyes that he was going to make it to where he needed to go in one piece. But there wasn’t time, not even to divert for his uniform.

His first priority was the princess and her safety.

The princess’s private wing was already alive with activity by the time Domerin arrived. One of his guards intercepted him with his own armor, claimed from his private quarters and delivered in haste – probably at Crescent’s behest – and Domerin uttered a quick thank you while he hastily donned it over top of his running outfit. It wasn’t his uniform, and the fit was slightly off, but it would have to do. At least now, he would be protected from whatever was coming.

He was fully ready to kick down the doors to the princess’s sleeping chamber when he arrived, but it opened of its own accord and the princess stumbled into the hallway. Her mane and tail flowed in a mass of half-curls, half-tangles in her wake, and her eyes were bleary and bloodshot when they met Domerin’s.

“They’ve come from over the hills,” she hissed, and Domerin was surprised to note that there was no hint of panic in either her words or her gaze. She merely seemed as frantic as he felt to deal with the situation.

Calm momentarily washed away the mad rush of thoughts swirling through Domerin’s head. It was the calm of coming battle, a familiar sensation, and Domerin leaned into it to get what he needed.

A curse flowed from his lips. He didn’t need to ask for more information; he knew exactly which hills the princess meant. If one left Silvergarden and headed west, back toward the Griffinstone Mountains and the coast, they would encounter one of Aruvalia’s most ancient enemies.

They still lived in clans in the highlands and deep valleys beyond the roads that made up Aruvalia’s trade routes. For most of the kingdom’s history, they had been a mere thorn in the princess’s side, occasionally interrupting or diverting a trade caravan or causing a skirmish along the border. There had long been speculation that the clans might one day unite and attack in force, but it hadn’t happened since the Cataclysm – since the days of Nirem Truestrike.

Domerin realized he was gritting his teeth so hard, it was a wonder they didn’t crack. But there was no time for panic or even to wonder how this might have happened so suddenly or out of the blue. He had his priorities, he needed to obey the training that could make each task happen.

“We need to get you out of the city,” he informed his ruler in no uncertain terms. And before she had a chance to answer, he motioned to the Royal Guard who had converged on his position to form ranks around the princess and guide her through the hallways.

“I’ll get you to the tunnels,” Domerin declared, even as chaos erupted beyond the confines of the wide corridor. The shouts and bangs indicated that the defense had probably begun. “Then I’ll return to assist with the rest of the evacuation and defense efforts.”

Protest was on Rose’s lips, but Domerin didn’t give her a chance to speak it. His people flowed in perfect unison, adopting a hasty canter as they navigated the hallways of the princess’s private wing to emerge in the courtyard that held Domerin’s favorite statue.

There was no time to stop and admire it today, no opportunity even to glance in the carving’s direction. Smoke already rose in the distance, it’s sharp, cloying scent close enough to clog Domerin’s nostrils and choke his throat. Dark fingers reached for the sky from various points throughout the city, indicating where their enemy had breached Silvergarden’s defenses, but the chaos hadn’t yet made it past the main gates. Most of the banging was against the walls. Most of the cries were rallies of the defenders.

But that wasn’t going to be true for long.

Domerin kept the formation of the Royal Guard tight as they reached the far end of the courtyard and ducked into a narrower corridor. Instantly, they wound down a wide ramp to a storage cellar and, from there, Domerin hurried ahead.

There were many tunnels dug beneath Silvergarden and most specifically the palace at its center. If Domerin had been confident they could have turned the tide of the battle, he might have taken the princess to the secure bunker that rested near the heart of that underground labyrinth. But his instincts warned that stashing the princess inside the palace would only preserve her for their enemies – and he was determined to listen to those instincts today after practically ignoring them yesterday.

When he reached the dim outline of the hidden passage, Domerin lifted his front hoof and smacked it against the stone that would activate the release. Then he spun to hurry his charge through the widening arch.

The sounds of battle were muted down here, but the racing of Domerin’s heart and the few stray shouts he managed to identify warned him that things were getting intense outside. It was only a matter of time before the clans breached their walls, and there were still several things he needed to do before that happened.

By the time he spun back toward the princess, she had closed the gap between them. Half of her protectors slid into the still-opening doorway to check the tunnel and light the torches lining the wall while the other half halted near the entrance to the cellar to make certain no one followed them down here.

“Go,” Domerin told his charge sharply before she had a chance to say what he knew she was about to say.

The princess’s eyes flashed between anger and sorrow, then she tensed her muscles and extended her neck. It was clear she was about to say something she shouldn’t, but then a gasp tore from her throat.

“The box,” she breathed. “Domerin, did you get it?”

He blinked at her, uncomprehending for several moments before he remembered the meeting in her office the day before. He could still see the glimmering crystal and the contents locked within it, though he had no idea what any of it could possibly be used for.

Still, if the princess said it was important, it was important. Domerin wouldn’t question that.

He shook his head. “I haven’t had time yet. I needed to see to your safety first.”

“Domerin, without the thing inside that box-“

“Go,” Domerin insisted again, and this time he lifted both of his front hooves to catch her face between them. “I will get it,” he pledged, each word firm and spoken with great confidence.

Another round of protest died on her lips as the shuffle of hooves and sharply exchanged words reached them from the head of the cellar. Domerin stepped back and spun to rush toward the disturbance, but a blur of gold and jade eyes reached him first.

“Thank whatever gods there are!” Domerin breathed as Crescent nearly barreled head first into him. The Earth Pony dug his hooves into the floor and screeched to a halt only a few inches from making contact, and the two ponies quickly pressed their foreheads against each other.

“They’re inside the walls,” Crescent breathed, obviously out of breath from the journey that brought him here. “The guard has mustered to repel them, but it’s only a matter of time before the entire palace is overrun. I don’t know about the city-“

“It’s okay,” Domerin insisted, his voice hushed. “I’m sure you’ve done what you can. Now, I need to ask a favor of you.”

“Anything,” Crescent pledged as he stepped back and lifted his shimmering eyes to meet Domerin’s.

The captain of the Royal Guard knew what Crescent expected him to say; his partner wanted to fight by his side as he navigated the deadly gauntlet this place had become to serve the rest of his duties. But instead, Domerin said, “Go with the princess. Guard her until she reaches safety.”

Instantly, Crescent’s eyes widened and Domerin could tell his response was about to be, anything but that!

“What about you?” his partner demanded, his tone and eyes defiant.

Domerin didn’t say he would be safe; no one could make that pledge on a day like today. Instead he said, “The princess has tasked me with retrieving something, and I think it will be best if I go alone. It will draw less attention.” Besides, he still needed to make the best attempt to stall this invasion and, if possible, make sure certain secrets didn’t fall into enemy hands if they did manage to seize and occupy the castle.

“Domerin-” Crescent started, but the captain of the Royal Guard cut him off.

“She needs you more than I do, love. And I need to know that you’ll be as safe as you possibly can. Give me that, will you? Let me fight without having my heart torn in two directions.”

It was a dirty plea to make in the heat of a moment like this. He was asking Crescent to abide his emotions while discarding the worry the Earth Pony no doubt felt for him. But he could tell his words had the desired effect.

Crescent deflated, sighed and nodded. “But if you don’t make it out of here alive,” he retorted, his voice a low growl, “I swear to all the spirits, I will find some way to summon and torment your soul, Domerin Lorehooves.”

A faint smile brushed Domerin’s lips, and he pressed his forehead to Crescent’s again. “Get the princess to safety. I will fetch what I need to and meet you.”

That, at least, was a promise he believed he could safely make.

There were so many other things he wanted to say, so many actions he wished he dared take the time to complete. But the banging above had grown frantic now, and so loud it filled the cellar with an endless buzz of noise.

“Go,” Domerin commanded as he spun back to the doorway. “I will break the mechanism in your wake.”

It meant he would have to find his own way out; but that had always been the plan.

Galvanized by the strength of his command, the remaining Royal Guard formed ranks around Rose and Crescent. Crescent pressed his nose to the side of the princess’s neck and, together, they bent their heads and rushed into the dimly lit corridors beyond.

As soon as the last pony moved beyond the threshold, Domerin slammed his hoof against the hidden stone that would once again hide the exit from view. He listened as the hoofbeats of his people vanished into the distance and, the second the corridor was once again concealed, he summoned his sword from its sheath with the power of a Unicorn’s telepathy.

He struck strong and he struck true, using a single thrust to penetrate and shatter the hidden mechanism that controlled the tunnel.

Under ideal circumstances, he would have lingered long enough to push some crates in front of the small seam in the wall that indicated the passage, but there wasn’t time.

Chaos waited for him at the top of the stairs, and Domerin had to wade through a sea of it to reach the concealed compartment in the princess’s study.

He had to hope the enemy wouldn’t focus on that wing of the palace when they realized their target had already been spirited away. Because if they did, he would be hard-pressed to fulfill his duty.

But Rose said everything depended on that crystal vial. So whatever Domerin did, he must not fail.