Freebie Mondays: My Little Domerin – Episode 8: Act 1

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!
. . .

“What did you do?”

The words were a scathing hiss as they escaped Crescent’s lips, so forceful they caused Domerin to rock backwards on his hooves.

He had seen his partner act like this before. The head-down, nose-forward posture he’d adopted for this particular round of close-circle pacing was neither new or unfamiliar.

But Domerin’s dedicated partner had never leveled this much fury in the warrior’s direction. He had overstepped in the past, of course. He was far from perfect, and he had a bad tendency to stick a leg so far down his throat, he didn’t realize what was happening until he started to choke.

But this was different. There was more than just anger in Crescent’s voice, and more than just concern.

Domerin got the impression the earth pony was speaking around a lump in his throat and fighting back tears – and he couldn’t say he blamed him.

“It just kind of happened, Crescent,” Domerin protested, his voice so small and quiet, it was a wonder his partner could hear over the clomping of his own hooves.

But Crescent did hear. Because he froze and spun to level such a glower in Domerin’s direction, it would have frozen the blood of a lesser man.

“You assumed the name of one of our history’s greatest legends. Has it even occurred to you to think about what’s going to happen when he shows up?”

“I don’t think he’s going to show up, Crescent. That’s the thing.”

Crescent frowned, and Domerin sighed. He slipped tentatively forward so he could nuzzle the side of Crescent’s neck, then he said, “Think about it. His name is Nirem. And the name I thought to give – the name I planned to give – was my name backward.”

He could see the gears turning in Crescent’s head as he mentally traced the letters and rearranged their order. His eyes rolled upward and shifted a few times before he gasped and shot a wide-eyed glance in Domerin’s direction.

All the warrior could think to do was nod slowly.

“But this is-” Crescent started and clearly couldn’t think how to finish the statement.

“Insane?” Domerin replied. “Oh yeah. My head hasn’t stopped spinning since I said it.”

“But this doesn’t make any sense!” Crescent insisted. He lifted one hoof, pressed it to his forehead, and leaned into the stance for several long seconds before he growled in frustration and stalked to the bed so he could throw himself onto his belly. “All of these events originally took place hundreds of years before either of us was ever born. How could you possibly have been Aruvalia’s greatest hero all along?”

“That’s what I can’t figure out,” Domerin admitted as he took up his partner’s pacing. What he wanted to do was burst through the door, run down the hallway and exit the inn in a similarly spectacular fashion. He wanted to run laps around this small mountain town until the feverish activity cleared his head and settled his thoughts in a proper order – but that would have drawn far too much attention. “But it’s too great a coincidence to ignore. And it’s been staring me in my face for my entire life!”

It was Domerin’s turn to utter a growl of frustration.

Crescent pushed up from his sprawl on the bed, his expression finally transforming from one of anger and confusion to one of concern.

“Didn’t you worship this Nirem Truestrike from the time you were young?” he prodded gently.

Domerin gritted his teeth and just barely managed to avoid biting his tongue. “He was the one who inspired me to become a guard, yes. And his memory is the one I look to whenever I feel I’m not quite good enough to do my job.”

Crescent pursed his lips. Domerin knew exactly what he was thinking and sincerely hoped he wouldn’t say it.

But his partner’s anger must have been great because, after a moment, his expression grew coy and he said, “So you have essentially been admiring yourself all this time.”

The audacity of it and the arrogance transformed into a sour sensation in the pit of Domerin’s stomach. “It’s perverse, isn’t it?” he barked with disgust.

Something about his tone must have shocked Crescent from his anger. His expression softened and he murmured, “No, Domerin. You didn’t know.”

But he should have known. At some point during his rabid studies of this time period, knowing he was going to step back through a portal and arrive at this moment, he should have put together the fact that his name was so similar to the one borne by Aruvalia’s greatest hero.

There was no way his parents had seen that name in a history book and chosen it for him. He knew exactly where his name came from – it was a combination of his mother’s and father’s names, shortened so that didn’t stick on the tongue. So he couldn’t imagine Nirem had come from anything other than his desperate act to provide a convincing name when he hadn’t taken the time to think of one.

“The implications are immense, staggering,” he muttered as all the concerns he had worked so hard to bury so he could sleep last night flared to life with more force than before.

“What are you going to do?” Crescent asked softly, and Domerin could tell this was really what he had wanted to ask all along. Not what were you thinking? Or how the hell do we get out of this? But what in the name of all the gods are we supposed to do now?

“We follow history,” Domerin replied with a shrug as he came to a halt and settled on his hindquarters. “We know how things are supposed to go. And when it comes to the history of Nirem Truestrike, I think I can quote every battle he participated in and every outcome it resulted in. We make sure it happens exactly according to what we know. No alterations.”

“You say that as if it’s going to be easy,” Crescent protested as he pushed off of the bed and back onto his feet. “What do we do about the warband that a knight is supposed to bring with them? The armor? The equipment?”

“I have my armor and equipment,” Domerin retorted and motioned to the corner of the room where both had been neatly stacked before the two of them fell into bed too exhausted to contemplate the implications of the battle’s outcome the night before. “And Nirem never had a band of warriors who followed him,” he added as that part of history suddenly made new and shocking sense. “Not until later. His warband was formed during the war, made up of knights and other soldiers who admired his work and wanted to follow him.

“But when he arrived to fight in the war, Nirem was a wandering soldier, a knight so far from his home base that he traveled and acted of his own accord. History claims he joined the war because he wanted to support the efforts of Aruvalia’s fledging queen, but most of the early actions and motivations associated with him are rumor and romance.”

So many stories had been told about the legendary Nirem Truestrike, that it was hard to separate the fact from the fiction. Lots of poets liked to claim that he was destined to lead Aruvalia’s newly formed military into battle in order to secure victory. Others claimed that he chose his warband from the downtrodden, lifting up the war’s greatest victims so they could seek redemption and revenge. Still others like to claim that he was a divine messenger, sent from an other-worldly realm to ensure that destiny took its proper course.

Domerin didn’t like how close that last one struck to the truth.

“Perhaps the most convenient aspect of Nirem’s history is that he disappeared under mysterious circumstances at the end of the war,” Domerin added when Crescent didn’t speak. “Most people assumed that he fell in the final battle and his body was never found, but the more romantic stories claim that either he returned to whatever magical realm he came from or he was taken by the gods into their custody so that he could serve forever at their sides – or some nonsense like that.”

In truth, Domerin would have to return through the time portal to his own place and his own timeline, hopefully leaving the rest of history intact.

“So we’re committed to staying here for the duration of the war,” Crescent concluded, finally accepting the inevitable outcome of Domerin’s actions.

Not that he felt like he had a choice anymore. The failure of Nirem Truestrike to melt out of the woodwork the first time was probably what had caused Aruvalia to fail to properly form.

“Well, I’m committed to that course of action,” Domerin agreed. “You aren’t necessarily. Nothing I’ve ever read suggested that Nirem had a partner.”

“That could just be a convenient omission,” Crescent pointed out. “It’s easier to write tales about a knight if he can woe all the women in the countryside with his deeds.”

That caused Domerin to roll his eyes. He didn’t even want to think about the number of romantic tales that were, evidently, written about him.

“Or,” he suggested soberly, “it’s because you’re going to go back.”

“Excuse me?” Crescent demanded primly and advanced half a step in Domerin’s direction.

The warrior shot his partner an acid look. “You heard me,” he replied sternly. “You’re going to go back to the present. That’s why you aren’t in the tales.”

“I most certainly am not,” Crescent snarled.

Domerin got the distinct impression he should back away from this conversation before it got messy – but he couldn’t.

“One of us needs to go back and check on the progress of our mission,” he insisted. “If the kingdom hasn’t returned to its original state, then we’re in deeper water than we can imagine. And we need to know if returning that child to his family fixed the problem of the assault on the capital or if we need to keep our eye out for other little nudges that will better improve our relationship with the hillfolk when this struggle is finished. As we’ve established, I can’t go back. So it has to be you.”

“I am not going to return to the future and leave you alone here to fend for yourself,” Crescent replied in a tone that suggested if Domerin so much as thought about suggesting this again, his head would be removed. “Have you forgotten that there’s only one remote? If I use it to go back to the future you’d be stuck here forever. I am not letting that happen.”

Domerin swallowed hard. Again, he sensed that he should stop talking before he crossed a line his partner wouldn’t soon forgive him for. But instead he said softly, “I did assume that you would come back. I’d need to know what was happening at some point.”

But he knew better than to push. Crescent had made up his mind, and there were times he could be as stubborn as his partner when it came to a decision. Besides, Domerin could hardly be angry at Crescent for fulfilling a role he himself had asked his partner to assume.

Crescent’s eyes remained narrowed for several long seconds, and all the while the jade orbs bored invisible holes through Domerin’s soul. The warrior shifted uncomfortably, feeling as though he was caught in the sights of a sniper and unable to escape their targeting reticule.

But at last, Crescent heaved a sigh and relaxed. Having achieved victory by confirming his choice was the one they would be abiding, he evidently decided to put the rest behind him. Water under the proverbial bridge – for now.

“Has it occurred to you,” he demanded, “that the fact that you are, evidently, this man – and have always, evidently, been this man – means that you always somehow had occasion to travel back in time?”

Domerin groaned and sank to the floor. He even went so far as to fold both of his front legs over his head as if that would block out the words flowing from his lover’s lips.

This was torment, plain and simple. Payback for trying to get Crescent to do something – or multiple somethings – he didn’t want to do.

“I wonder what it was that drove you back here in the first place,” Crescent mused idly as his hooves tapped against the floor to indicate his advance toward Domerin’s slumped position.

“And what we messed up the first time?” Domerin finished, shooting his partner a glare.

But when Crescent reached Domerin’s side, he lightly nuzzled the side of his neck, encouraging the warrior to relax.

It took a moment to release the tension that had settled into his shoulders. But Domerin drew a deep breath and pushed back to his feet. “I would rather not think about the finer details of how this situation came to be. I’m starting to feel like a walking paradox.

“But I suppose the only thing we really can do at this point is try to guide history along the path we know its meant to take and keep an eye out for anything that might subtly adjust our standing with the hillfolk of the future.”

It was going to be dreadfully difficult without news from their present. But their time to discuss this matter had evidently run out.

A soft knock sounded at the door.

Domerin and Crescent glanced between each other. The warrior worried for a moment they had allowed their conversation to grow too loud and someone might have overheard their musing. But after a moment, Crescent shrugged, crossed the room and opened the door.

Ryland waited on the other side with a huge grin on his face.

“Nirem!” he exclaimed as he brushed past Crescent and practically pranced into the room. “It’s good to see you’re awake. A truly massive breakfast has been gathered and presented in the tavern below. I wanted to make sure the two of you were aware so that you could come and eat your fill. After what you did to assist us yesterday, you certainly deserve it.”

Ryland’s good humor faltered for a moment and he glanced curiously at Crescent. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I’m not sure I got your name in all the chaos of yester evening.”

“It’s Tencer,” Crescent declared, and shot Domerin a smug grin.

Either his partner was far more adept at rearranging the letters of his name on the fly than Domerin proved to be, or he had been planning for some time to use this name – no doubt as a stab at Domerin’s actions.

This one he would simply have to swallow.

“Tencer,” Ryland repeated warmly. “Well, you shall have to regale me with your origins someday. From what I understand, you are mighty adept with a thrown blade.” The knight’s gaze drifted back toward Domerin, and his grin returned. “There is a great deal to be discussed this morning, but you should fill your stomachs first. War isn’t the kind of work that can be conducted on an empty stomach. And there’s no telling how long an interval we’ll receive before the hillfolk strike again.”

Domerin swallowed the urge to provide insight on that. As far as he was aware, at least three days were likely to pass before the next major struggle of this war took place. But he didn’t know if there would be smaller skirmishes in the meantime, nor how they would arrive at the position of the next strike – and he was going to have to tread carefully less he inadvertently prevent another important event.

“I will happily fill my stomach,” he informed their host, “and we are both grateful to be included in such a generous offer. But before we join the rest of the soldiers downstairs, there is something I wish to speak with you about.”

Crescent shot Domerin a hard look over Ryland’s shoulder, perhaps warning him against what he was about to do.

But he was locked into this course now. He had to let it play out – unless someone else named Nirem actually showed up.

“What is it?” their host asked, his tone growing concerned.

“It’s about the hillfolk, actually,” Domerin replied, choosing each word with great care. “I suspect that they will summon more clans to swell their ranks. So I suggest we do the same, so to speak, by sending messengers to every colony and outpost in the region and request that they join the queen’s banner.”

“I have already prepared the dispatch,” Ryland replied, and Crescent relaxed. “But I am curious… Do you really think the hillfolk can muster a larger force? I was under the idea that they had already rallied as many clans as were available.”

Domerin hesitated a moment before responding. This was another moment where he had to tread carefully, lest his knowledge of the future cause harm. “I believe the forces we faced yesterday were merely one extended family group. Hillfolk tend to fracture slightly as their families grow large and intermarry. Those we faced on the battlefield were likely all distant cousins. But now that their push has failed, they will avail the full might of the hill lands. And while it may take a few days for them to travel from farther afield-“

“Ah, I see your point,” Ryland interjected. He frowned for a moment before he added, “Perhaps we shall have to make slightly more haste than I anticipated. Please excuse me.”

The knight spun and hurried from the room, though he left the door open in his wake.

Crescent glanced at Domerin again, though this time there was no hint of accusation or question in his eyes.

That was good. Domerin wasn’t going to be able to justify every little decision all the time – and he was going to have to make a lot of them to get through this.

“Shall we eat?” Crescent asked.

The rumble of Domerin’s stomach answered for him.

*   *   *

Only long years of practice allowed Crescent to roll free of the bed he shared with Domerin without disturbing the warrior. With instincts honed to a fine point and able to detect even the smallest shift in the environment while fast asleep, it was nigh impossible to slip past his notice even when he was in a state of ragged exhaustion.

But Crescent had devoted a significant portion of his life to perfecting the art of stealth, and he also had the benefit of Domerin’s trust.

So with painstaking care and minute movements, he was able to slip out from under the covers and tiptoe across the room to the table where they had stashed the remote that would allow them to travel to the future.

Crescent mostly insisted on carrying it on his person when they were out and about, but both men had agreed they should leave it elsewhere while they slept so no one rolled onto it and activated it accidentally.

As angry and frustrated as he was with the situation, he felt guilty for directing those feelings toward Domerin. The man had, after all, only been doing what felt right in the moment for the survival of their kingdom and the completion of their mission. The unicorn he loved might be both stubborn and irrational at times, with a tendency to act before he fully thought things through – but he would never do anything he felt would be a direct detriment to the people he cared about.

Still, Crescent was forced to begrudgingly admit the man had a point. There was no way for either of them to know if their actions had successfully shaped the future they were hoping to achieve unless one of them returned to the present to check.

Having successfully slid the time remote from its hiding space, Crescent bowed his head and slunk back across the room. It would have looked silly if someone had witnessed what he did next but, luckily, there was no one awake to see.

Like a snake, he slithered up the wall and pushed his head under the curtains so he wouldn’t part them and create a tiny splash of moonlight within the room. Even the smallest change to their surrounding environment was likely to rouse Domerin, and Crescent didn’t want to take that risk.

Luckily, his eyes were already adjusted so it was easy to survey the streets of the small village spread out below the window where he perched.

Small lamps with weak, shivering flames had been erected at irregular intervals throughout the village and as Crescent watched, they illuminated a series of dark-cloaked figures sliding through the door to the tavern below. He recognized these instantly as messengers from the patches strapped to their upper right forelegs.

Each messenger bowed curtly to the figure that led them through the door, then slid down a different street in a different direction – all except north, toward the mountains.

These were the ponies that would carry word of events here to every other town, village and outpost throughout the land that would one day become Aruvalia. One would even reach the eyes of their would-be first queen, which was somewhat exciting to think about.

Those messages would summon knights from the far reaches of the kingdom and the near to swell the ranks of defenders fighting beneath Aruvalia’s banner. And when they had all assembled a few days hence, the war would begin in earnest.

Crescent shimmied out from under the curtain and turned so he could look at Domerin.

The warrior looked peaceful in his sleep, as if the weight of an entire kingdom’s future didn’t currently rest on his shoulders. With his eyes now slightly adjusted to the brighter light outside, Domerin’s figure looked dim and darker than usual – but still every bit as beautiful as Crescent had always considered it.

His beloved would be one of the knights that gathered in those ranks during the coming weeks. And though history suggested that he survived the worst of it, that didn’t mean his life wouldn’t be in real danger every time he engaged against the hillfolk clans.

Crescent didn’t have to worry that Domerin would regard his mortality as fragile in exactly the same way Crescent did. Arrogant assumption that a specific predestined outcome would protect him was not the kind of defense on which a warrior like Domerin would rely.

Yet Crescent couldn’t dismiss his greatest fear – which was that he would have to return here to the past alone and rescue Domerin from an untimely death.

He didn’t even know if the machine would work that way. They were outside the bubble of protection provided by the princess’s time barrier here. Which meant anything that happened to either of them would become part of the regular timeline without any form of delay to account for adjustments.

And whatever else happened, however they ended up fulfilling this mission, Crescent could not allow harm to come to Domerin. Nirem Truestrike’s death under mysterious circumstances could not be allowed to become true death for his lover – he must do whatever it took to prevent that.

So the earth pony steeled himself, drew a deep breath and scurried back across the room.

What he really wanted to do was slip outside, down the hallway and out the door into some back alley or even back into the treeline so his activities would be truly concealed. But if he did that, he would have to take the time remote with him – and that would defeat the purpose of leaving it behind.

His plan was to activate the portal and walk through just as Domerin suggested – but to leave the time remote behind so that Domerin could make use of it at need. That way he could check on the future and hopefully have Rose send him back to just a few moments from now without risk of Domerin being stranded in the past – just in case he had to be gone longer than anticipated.

This time travel stuff was all new to him. He wasn’t going to pretend he really knew how it worked. But he understood the risks and that it was unlikely to go the way he wanted it to go.

Luckily, the portal made no sound when it was activated. It did cast a bright splash of light across the room; but Crescent got lucky. Domerin merely grunted and rolled over so that the heavy blanket atop their bed covered his eyes and blocked out the light.

Perhaps he assumed Crescent had gotten up to use the privy or fetch some more food from the kitchen. Or perhaps he was so tired he wasn’t really aware of what was going on and assumed he was safe enough to rest.

Either way, Crescent wouldn’t question the blessing. He set the time remote back on the table and strode toward the portal.

He could see a shimmering image of the princess’s workroom beyond the slim arch of the oval. He was tempted to poke his head through and then back out, but he’d always felt sucked in the second he stepped across the time threshold, suggesting that the travel had to be complete and one way in order for him to interact with the world on the other side.

Still, he held the hope that this would be a quick jaunt in his heart as he strode up to the brightly glowing circle.

Two more steps and it would all be over.

Except the moment his front hoof tried to cross the threshold, it bounced backward. Crescent frowned and tried to step forward faster, throwing himself against the image of the princess’s workroom.

A great force repelled him, and Crescent was nearly thrown across the room. It was all he could do to halt his momentum by digging his hooves into the floor – and the scratch they produced drew another questioning snort from Domerin’s throat.

What in the?

He had never had trouble entering the portal before.

He tried one last time, sweeping his front toe carefully across the threshold so he wouldn’t be thrown aside. But again, some invisible force bounced him aside.

He glanced over his shoulder at the table and the remote it held, and it was all he could do not to scream with frustration.

Every other time they had returned, he had carried the remote with him. And he had always gone first.

Perhaps the return portal required the remote in order to work. That would make sense. Perhaps it was even needed to initiate the original portal that brought them here – that, too, would make sense. Certainly it would prevent a time machine from being abused in numerous ways.

But it also meant the only way he could go back and check on the future really was to abandon Domerin. And with the words died under mysterious circumstances dancing through his head, there was no way he was willing to do that.

So Crescent deactivated the portal and returned the remote to its hiding place. Then he slunk back into bed and curled at Domerin’s side – but all the while, a string of vile curses filled his head.