Hall of Memories: Page

It had been years- strolling down the carefully cultivated halls of the Zodiac, hooves barely making a sound as Abbadon made his way slowly down the dark hall, bathed in the moonlight that shone through the stained glass windows that told storied history- ancient history. And gave spotlight to yet more, each artifact in it’s place and perfected, each tapestry painstakenly cared for.

 

It was grand, when one did not live in the over-saturation of nobility. The house of thirteen- the twelve, and their dark regret. Abbadon had long since committed every story, every note to memory… Both acknowledged and secret, his father had left no question to his excellence in that regard… Or any other.

 

Strolling down the hall of dusty memories, the unicorn couldn’t help but fall to a silent halt in front of one of the more recent monuments- a dark helm with the symbol of Ares emblazoned upon it, dark and slightly shimmering with it’s latent magics. Apollyon’s helm- his helm, now, technically. His to keep and to safeguard, though he had his own made the moment his hooves filled the lofty Lordship, as was tradition. Even so, as intimidating the thing was even now- making him feel like a blasted colt and not a long since grown stallion- he could remember when he was just a page, not yet even a squire…

 

The helm had been held in his own gangly hooves. It was his duty, as his father’s page, to care for the stallion’s armor, and that included his helm- the crown of the Lord Ares, for what was a noble general without his shield, his head? Though long since the family had lost such lofty titles, now just old and storied, power in reputation and fortune rather than royal ties.

 

Still, the way they carried on, one would wonder if the Lords and Ladies Zodiac were aware of the fact- A fact not even Abbadon’s best friend, Southern Gothic, missed, though she herself was a lowly serving girl. Not that it stopped the hot headed bat pony, even at that moment who sneakily shirked her duties to smuggle sweetrolls to Abbadon, a delightful distraction to his own work- though he’d nearly finished, and still half-heartedly worked on polishing his father’s helm in the process of enjoying the few stolen moments with his young friend, while they lasted.

 

“I hear Princess Luster Dawn disappeared to end the Wild Magic plague once and for all,” She said between mouthfuls of sweet, eager to give what knowledge she, as the elder, had discovered from her privileged position as a trusted servant- she had always been so proud of that, the power that the invisibility gave her, though not so clever not to regularly brag about it to her younger friend, “And I believe it’s so. Why else would she have left? Canterlot is safe, sure, but I don’t think the Princess would abandon Ponyville so easy, and one Princess can hardly keep both places safe at once. They’re too far.”

 

It certainly made sense, a young Abbadon had supposed, but still… “Father says she wouldn’t have left without a word, if she had any plan. One Princess can’t keep the whole kingdom, you’re right- and taming Magic… That would be… more than just protecting Equestria. It would need more, and even two Princesses struggle with keeping the Magic at bay. Surely a plan would have been shared, and we’d know something,” he was echoing the words of his elders, and he knew it- even for all his education, he’d hardly been able to make sense of the debate himself, and besides… his father and the Lords surely knew more than he about what was going on. They were the Zodiacs for a reason, after all.

 

“Oh, Abbadon- ye of little faith, I’m older than you, remember?” Gothic giggled, reaching out with a hoof to boop his nose most inelegantly- even if he stood a few inches taller even at his young age, she could still reach for a few years, yet, “That means I know more. Besides, you only know what your dad and uncles tell you- I hear a lot more. Now…”

 

She’d leaned in, almost nose to nose, with her bright golden eyes twinkling with mischief, “You’re done with your oh-so-important kightly duties, right? Because I have something really cool to show you… if you’re not too busy with your lordly duties, oh highness…”

 

He’d pouted at that, setting aside his father’s helm with magic. It was… Fine. It could be better, but it could be a lot worse, too, and Gothic’s secrets were always the very best temptations… Somehow she’d always found the best hidden nooks and crannies around the manor. His father would probably not even notice he could have been a teensie bit more through, Abbadon figured as he directed the helm back to it’s spot on Apollyon’s armor mount, cleaning supplies neatly shuffled away with pink and orange magic, “Alright, but we must hurry- I have studies soon….”

 

The memory was fond, if sad- Looking back, Abbadon’s low chuckle broke the silence of the hall in present- Apollyon most certainly had noticed his son’s lack of diligence, and he’d been properly disciplined for it. A knight and a Lord was only as good as his works, he’d said- and Abbadon had been sentenced to manual labours for the next two months in due retribution, not that it’d been the last time the stubborn colt had cut corners.

 

Southern Gothic had always been worth it, though none of her works had left lasting mark in the hall of memories. No, her presence didn’t linger with any ominous and momentous mementos- but instead in the memories of adventure and punishment. He could almost sense her in those secret, shadowed corners they’d explored in their youth- when she’d tempted him away from his proper duties, running amuck as children were wont to do. Thank Luna she’d never attached herself to Wabi Sabi- Abbadon could only imagine the trouble the two headstrong mares could have gotten into.

 

She would have liked his cousin’s son, however. He could feel it in the currents of magic that thrummed in his veins- she’d always had a fondness for the odd and the macabre, true, but he could sense a kind streak in the strange boy that Abbadon could imagine Gothic would have adored- she’d have been just as fond of leading that boy astray of his duties as she’d been of leading Abbadon himself astray, he was certain of it as he continued his stroll, leaving the main hall for his own wing.

 

Hevel and Southern Gothic would have been odd birds of a feather, he was certain. Perhaps he should try and rope the boy into polishing his own armor… Though he’d be a far older page than Abbadon had ever been… Though perhaps not older a squire.