One Year Before Dean's Arrival...
Gus the Griffon was not having a good time. The cold bit at his feathers, seeped in through his coat of fur, and stung his eyes. For three long months he had sat in this trench, and for three long months had the enemy done the same. Snow caked the war torn fields of which they sat, and silence permeated the air.
Gus glanced to his left and saw three of his fellow Griffons sitting idly by a small fire. They shivered, with only one of them having a scarf wrapped around his neck. The one furthest away coughed.
"It's way too bloody cold."
The voice was young, and Gus had no doubt that this was a new recruit brought to the front. His eyes softened, and the older Griffon winced. Such a sorry state they were in. No one talked about it, but the new conscription law put into place was putting a dampener on everyone. Griffons as old as Gus's father, and as young as his fourteen year old son were being forced into service. The reason for this being the Dark Elves and their relentless onslaught. Their technology had been superior, their tactics far above anything the Griffons had seen, but still they continued. The Kaiser and his council had deduced early on that what Gryphonia lacked in firepower, it could make up for in numbers.
Gus turned back towards the enemy entrenchment, and his gaze hardened slightly. The war was at a standstill, with the Elves obviously waiting for something. They had failed time and time again to break the line, and Gus had no doubt they would be trying again very soon.
'If only it wasn't on Eyrie's Accord."
Eyrie's Accord was a special day for all of Griffon-kind. The ponies called it Hearthswarming, and the Yaks called it Snowstomp (typical). Eyrie's Accord marked the founding of the Gryphonian Empire, and the day that all stood in Unity under the Idol of Boreas for the first time. In that Era, the many fiefs and factions sent their leaders to the small town of Eyrie. For months, the snows had killed crops and caused famine. The many became one in an attempt to better the chances of their people. As the last signature was put down, an explosion of magic had burst forth and lit the sky. Thousands witnessed an end to what was predicted to be an eternal winter, and for the first time, all of Griffonkind was united.
Of course, over the centuries, the Empire had broken apart, reformed, and broken again, but through it all, the tradition still stood.
Gus took a moment and reached a claw into his dull gray jacket. His claws fished around for a moment, and he slung his rifle against the edge of the trench in order to get a better grasp. Finding what he was searching for, Gus pulled a picture from an inner pocket.
His wife, son, and baby daughter stared up at him, wide smiles as they looked at the camera. It had cost quite a bit to get the picture taken, but in Gus's mind, it was worth it. He dragged a claw against his wife's face, and a small graced his beak for what felt like the first time in weeks.
A soft sound met his ears, and Gus slowly turned to regard the three Griffons near the fire. He narrowed his eyes, noticing that the young Griffon from before was softly singing under his breath. His voice wavered, timid and uncertain, as though he expected someone to chastise him for it.
Gus tilted his head, his sharp hearing catching fragments of the tune. It wasn’t one he immediately recognized, but it had the unmistakable cadence of an old Gryphonian song. Something nostalgic, from a time before war had become their daily reality.
The older Griffon closest to the fire—the one with the scarf—snorted and shook his head. "What’s that supposed to do?" he grumbled, though his tone was more weary than harsh.
The younger Griffon shrank slightly, his voice faltering for a moment before he resumed. This time, his words were a little clearer, his tone carrying a note of defiance beneath the tremor.
Gus watched, his sharp eyes softening as the young recruit continued. One of the other Griffons, who had been idly poking the fire, finally looked up. His ears twitched, and his beak parted in what could have been surprise--or faint amusement.
“Hey,” the second Griffon muttered, his voice rough but not unkind. “I know that one." He sat back, rubbed his claws together for warmth, and then added his voice to the song. It was scratchy at first, more spoken than sung, but as the notes stretched on, the melody grew steadier.
Gus couldn’t help but feel a pang of something he hadn’t allowed himself in weeks—hope, faint but insistent. He turned his gaze back to the enemy trench, his talons gripping the edges of the picture in his hand.
“They’ll hear you," he muttered, his words barely audible.
The young Griffon faltered, his feathers puffing slightly in embarrassment. But before he could stop, the second Griffon, now emboldened, laughed under his breath. “Let ‘em hear. Maybe they’ll be so moved they’ll surrender."
A snort of laughter escaped the scarf-wearing Griffon despite himself. He rolled his eyes, shaking his head, but after a moment, even he began to hum along, the low tone blending with the growing harmony.
Gus sighed, turning back toward his comrades as the melody began to rise. His talons brushed the edge of the photograph one last time before he tucked it away. With a glance at the fire, he closed his eyes and let a soft hum escape his throat.
The others noticed, but no one said a word. The song grew stronger, the faint beginnings of a chorus echoing softly through the snow-laden trench.
It wasn’t loud enough to reach the enemy. Not yet. But the warmth it brought to the Griffons huddled by the fire—however fleeting—was enough. For the first time in months, Gus felt like the cold couldn’t quite touch them.
As the melody filled the air, Gus found himself mouthing the words he had learned long ago, from his father’s stories of Eyrie’s Accord:
"Raise your voice, Griffons, high,
Wings of Eyrie, touch the sky…"
His voice joined the others, low and steady, carrying a weight that only years of battle could bring. The younger Griffon glanced at him, eyes wide with something almost like gratitude, and Gus gave a small nod in return.
The song swelled in strength, their voices weaving together in imperfect harmony, a patchwork of tones and emotions that spoke of resilience. The melody seemed to hang in the air, carried on the biting wind that swirled through the trench.
The others at the fire sat up straighter, their initial hesitations melting away. The youngest among them, emboldened by the growing strength of the song, raised his voice higher, clear and sure, as if determined to prove he belonged.
Gus felt his chest tighten—not from the cold, but from something far deeper. The words of the song carried memories of a time before this endless war. A time when the stories of Eyrie’s Accord had inspired pride and hope, not the bitter resolve to survive.
Footsteps crunching in the snow caught his attention, and he glanced toward the edge of the trench. A shadow moved there—then another. Gus’s claws instinctively shifted toward his rifle, but the tension ebbed when he saw who it was.
Two more Griffons approached, their feathers dusted with frost and their breaths visible in the freezing air. They paused at the edge of the firelight, their expressions unreadable as they watched the small group.
“What’s this, then?” one of them asked, his voice rough from disuse.
The scarfed Griffon grunted, gesturing with a claw. “Just a song. You remember Eyrie’s Accord, don’t you?”
The newcomer raised an eyebrow, his gaze shifting to the younger Griffon, who was still singing with an intensity that defied his small frame. The older Griffon’s expression softened, and without a word, he stepped closer, his wings rustling as he settled near the fire.
“I remember,” he murmured, and then, as if testing the words, he joined in, his deep baritone adding a new layer to the melody.
The second Griffon who had arrived hesitated, his claws clenching and unclenching at his sides. Finally, with a sigh that carried the weight of exhaustion and perhaps a touch of embarrassment, he added his voice as well.
The song grew louder.
Gus glanced around, noticing other shapes emerging from holes, sleeping quarters, and other sections. Heads peeked over the edges and around corners, their expressions curious, their breathless silence filled with cautious wonder.
One by one, they came closer, drawn by the sound that cut through the oppressive stillness of the battlefield. Griffons of all ages and ranks gathered around the fire, their battered uniforms and weary faces illuminated by the flickering light.
Some joined in immediately, their voices shaky but determined. Others stood on the side, humming softly or simply listening. The song became a beacon, drawing more and more from their frozen solitude, the cold and silence no longer an unbroken barrier.
“Raise your voice, Griffons, high,
Wings of Eyrie, touch the sky.
Through the storm, we’ll find our way,
For Eyrie’s Accord, we sing this day.”
The words rolled through the trenches, reverberating like the echo of a distant dream.
Gus’s voice faltered for a moment as he took it all in--the unity, the defiance. For the first time in months, he felt something he hadn’t dared to consider.
Hope.
And for a brief, fleeting moment, it didn’t matter that the enemy was out there, waiting. It didn’t matter that the war seemed endless.
In that moment, they were Griffons, standing together. And that was enough.
The night only got livelier from there. Other soldiers along the miles of trench line stood and sang in merriment and joy. Wreaths were fashioned from scraps of wood and fallen leaves, and many were set along the top of the trench. One troop of soldiers from northern Gryphonia even brought out an instrument from their home: a bagpipe.
Truly, the spirit of the holiday was with the Gryphons.
*****
Icarus was a younger fellow, a Dark Elf straight from the academy. Him and his friends had thought to themselves that joining the army and crushing the enemies of the Emperor would bring them glory and treasure.
What a fool he was.
They sat in their trenches, clinging to whatever blankets, scarfs, mittens, and other garments they could. They magic spears hurt to touch, their metal bodies frosted over from the intense cold of the Gryphonian winter.
'I wish Rod was still here.' Icarus thought solemnly. Rod had been Icarus' closest friend, and it had nearly broken him when he found half of his dead body, the other half having been vaporized in an artillery strike. It was there that Icarus had realized that this war was not glorious, nor full of adventure and treasure. No, it was Tartarus.
"Glare at the wall any harder and you might melt it." Came a gruff voice from behind him. Rod jumped slightly, but upon hearing Arnie's chuckle, he scowled.
Icarus tightened his scarf and leaned closer to the pitiful fire that flickered in the center of the trench. Arnie, always the joker, gave him a crooked grin and nudged him with an elbow.
The sounds of singing carried over no-elves-land, and Arnie's scowl deepened. Oh, how he wished he was back home. His sister, mother, and father would be sitting around the fire. They would look through the picture books, laugh and sing. All in celebration of the Night of Unity.
Not many Elves celebrated it these days, and even fewer believed in the legends that carried it through the generations. Icarus knew it well, for his mother would read him the story before bed every Unity. She would tell of the Dark Elves and their various groups, how they were split apart and divided. A time of strife and suffering followed, and the Elven lands were bathed in an eternal snow. Mother told how three Elves, Dresdon Graysword, Elmslee the Charmer, and Baron Rutherford, the three rulers of the divided land, met in a small village at the crossroads of their three kingdoms. Their hearts were cold, but for the betterment of their people, and for the continued existence of the Elven race, they would unite under one banner, forming the Elven Republic.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Icarus sighed. He hated the singing from the enemy, because he himself could not participate. They were probably all sitting around a comfortable fire, their smiles breaking the cold that threatened Icarus's own trench. He imagined the food being exchanged, and the lack of care for a single night that a war of devastating proportions was happening at this very moment.
"Icarus, Arnie, come quick!"
Icarus was broken from his reverie as a fellow soldier, nicknamed Mustard by the rest of the battalion for his polished gold coloured armour, ran into his and Arnie's section of the trench.
"What's wrong, Mustard? Are the Griff's attacking?!" Arnie show to his feet and held his spear at the ready.
"No, no! Tomlin's sister snuck to the front! Apparently, she and him are going to play some songs!" Mustered than bolted back they way he came, leaving a baffled Icarus and amused Arnie behind.
"Well, I'd say this is our chance for a bit of home, dontcha' think? I met Tomlin's sister when we were being shipped out, and she was awfully skilled on that harmonica of hers. Come on."
Icarus did not hesitate. He quickly stood, leaving his supplies and weapon on the seat behind him. He followed Arnie, and the two soon came to a wider section of the trench.
"Where's the Commissar?" Icarus asked a fellow to his right. The only response he got was a shrug, so Icarus remained silent.
Icarus and Arnie pushed their way further through the gathered soldiers, their breaths visible in the frigid air. Soldiers sat on crates, leaned against the frozen walls, and huddled together for warmth, their faces a mixture of curiosity and weariness. Icarus' eye's widened upon seeing the mass of bodies and Elven soldiers sitting around. It was as though the entirety of B-Company was gathered in this one spot.
At the center of the crowd stood Tomlin, a wiry young Elf with sharp features and a nervous energy. Beside him was a taller figure, bundled in a thick cloak. As she lowered her hood, the dim light from the flickering fires revealed her pale blue skin and striking, angular features--a mirror of Tomlin’s own. In her hands, she cradled a small wooden harmonica, worn but polished.
“Right, you lot,” Tomlin called out, his voice carrying just enough authority to quiet the murmurs. “This here is my sister, Caila. She’s traveled all the way from the capital to see her idiot brother—and, I suppose, the rest of you as well.”
A few chuckles rippled through the crowd, though the humor was muted by exhaustion. Icarus felt a pang of envy. To see family again… the thought alone felt like a luxury he couldn’t afford.
Caila smiled, her gaze steady despite the sea of faces before her. “Tomlin’s told me about all of you,” she began, her voice soft but clear. “And I’ve heard enough to know you’re not just soldiers, but survivors. Fighters. And tonight…” She paused, holding up the harmonica with a faint smile. “Tonight, we’ll forget the war, just for a little while.”
A wave of murmured agreement swept through the crowd, but it was cut short by the sharp bark of a voice.
“What is this insubordination?”
The crowd parted like a wave as the Commissar approached, his black armor gleaming even in the dim light. His piercing gaze swept over the gathered soldiers, lingering briefly on Tomlin and Caila. “This is not a tavern, nor is it a festival. You are soldiers of the Empire, and this… display is unbecoming.” he raised an arm halfheartedly, though it did not have the intended effect.
A tense silence followed, the weight of his words settling over the group like a leaden shroud. Icarus felt his heart sink. Of course, they couldn’t have even a moment of reprieve. War didn’t allow it.
“Commissar,” Caila said, stepping forward with surprising calm. “I understand your concern, but morale is as vital as rations on the front lines. Let me play one song...just one. And if you think it a waste of time, I’ll leave immediately.”
The Commissar’s gaze flicked between her and the assembled soldiers. For a moment, Icarus thought he might deny her outright. But then, the man’s rigid expression softened, just a fraction, and he gave a curt nod.
“One song,” he said gruffly. “But make it count.”
Caila inclined her head, the barest hint of a smile gracing her lips. As the Commissar stepped back, she raised the harmonica to her lips and began to play.
The first notes were soft, almost hesitant, but they carried a haunting melody that echoed through the trench like a whisper from another time. The soldiers fell silent, their breath visible in the cold air as they listened.
Tomlin joined in with a quiet, steady hum, his voice blending seamlessly with the harmonica’s tune. Others followed, one by one, until the air was filled with a harmony that seemed to defy the biting cold and the weight of the war.
The song they sang was an old one, known across the Empire as The Binding Frost. Its lyrics told the tale of the three leaders who had come together in the harshest of winters, their unity bringing warmth and salvation to their fractured people.
“Through frost and flame, we rise as one,
The battle fought, heralding the sun.
In darkest night, our bond shall hold,
Together we stand, both brave and bold.”
The melody swelled, each voice adding to the tapestry of sound. Icarus felt a lump rise in his throat as he joined in, his voice shaky at first but growing stronger with each verse.
The Commissar stood at the edge of the group, his arms crossed, but even he seemed moved. His rigid posture relaxed slightly, and though his face remained impassive, there was a softness in his eyes that hadn’t been there before.
As the final notes of the harmonica faded into the night, a hush fell over the trench. For a brief moment, the war felt distant--a shadow on the edge of their shared light.
Caila lowered the harmonica, her breath visible as she looked out at the gathered soldiers. “Thank you,” she said simply.
The crowd didn’t cheer. It didn’t need to. The warmth that lingered in the air was enough.
And then, from the distance, faint but unmistakable, came another sound.
Music.
It wasn’t anyone from their lines--it was the Griffons. Their bagpipes carried across no-elf’s-land, their own melody weaving through the night like a thread of fragile hope. The song was familiar, and it wasn't just Icarus who recognized it. born from the Night of Unity. Glancing around, he to saw the shocked faces. Where had the Griffons learned 'The Flame of Unity'?
For a moment, Icarus thought he might be dreaming. But no, it was real. The same melody played. He felt something in the air; magic, he deduced. Something was compelling him to sing, but Tomlin beat him to it. When a lull in the music entered, Tomlin began to sing.
'When frost and shadow gripped the land,
And hope was slipping through our hands,
Three hearts divided, cold as stone,
Stood at the edge, but not alone.'
A tense silence descended, and Icarus feared they had drawn the attention of the Griffons. Any second now, Icarus would hear the war cries as they rushed over the edge of the trench, their bayonets fixed, and their foreign words piercing the sky.
It never came.
The bagpipes started once again, and a collective sight of relief swept the assembled Elves. Tomlin continued to sing.
'The flame of unity, it burns bright and true,
Guiding the lost, bringing strength anew.
Though storms may shatter, and darkness descend,
Together we’ll rise, our bonds never bend.'
The voice of the Elven soldier, and music of the bagpipes worked in tandem, like a beating heart. The chords of the song struck the assembled soldiers, and a fiery passion ignited in their chests. Other hummed, and everyone had a smile, but all watched as Tomlin grabbed a torch sitting to his right.
Slowly, still singing and with the bagpipes backing him up, Tomlin slowly scaled the hastily made wooden stairs. He stood tall and proud, turning to face his fellow Elves has he continued to belt out the song at the top of his lungs. His voice, and the harmony of the music never once faltered.
'The flame of unity, it burns bright and true,
Guiding the lost, bringing strength anew.
Though storms may shatter, and darkness descend,
Together we’ll rise, our bonds never bend.'
The song finally ended, and every Elf stared up at Tomlin in shocked silence. His chest heaved from the singing, but his smile slowly fell upon seeing the faces below him.
Before so much as a word, order, or thought could be passed, thunderous applause echoed through the night. A few whoops and hollers followed suit. Tomlin turned, facing the lines of Griffon soldiers who stood, weaponless along their trenches. A few sat upon the banks, and many held smiles of their own.
The bagpiper, a graying, heavily muscled Griffon, adjusted his rig and began the process. Icarus stepped forward and peeked over the edge; many others following suit as the music began. They instantly recognized the song as 'Come Stand Together.'
The first section of the music was played, but Tomlin did not sing. There was an awkward silence that followed, and many elves began to mutter to each other. Icarus tensed, preparing for the worst once again. Perhaps Tomlin was afraid of offending them with the different language, or perhaps he had gotten stage fright.
(To the Cadence of 'Oh Come, all Ye Faithful)
'Through the storms and endless winter,
Hearts grew cold, the world turned gray.
Yet from darkness, hope was kindled,
Guiding light to show the way.'
Tomlin's piercing voice broke the quiet once again, causing everyone to jump. However, it seemed to bagpiper was ready, and after only a slight hesitation, began playing anew.
Icarus was in awe, and he felt the urge to stand and walk with his fellow elf. Looking left and right, he noticed others held the same sentiment. In a moment of courage, Icarus was the first to slowly climb out of the trench and stand to his full height. He noticed a Griffon on the other side do the same, followed by another and another. Icarus heard his fellows following his lead, and they slowly began to walk behind Tomlin, who had not stopped singing.
'Three great hearts with wisdom guided,
Set their pride and pain aside.
For their people, lands united,
Peace and strength redefined.
Come, stand together,
Bound in strength forever,
Raise our voices, never falter,
Raise our voices, never falter,
Raise our voices, never falter,
Unity will see us through.
Through the frost, we found each other,
Forged a bond no force can break.
Now we carry forth their banner,
For our future’s hope’s own sake.
Come, let us stand together,
Bound in strength forever,
Raise our voices, never falter,
Raise our voices, never falter,
Raise our voices, never falter,
Unity will see us through.
Come, let us stand together,
For the land we treasure.
Side by side, now and forever,
Unity will see us through.'
The song was finished; silence reigned across the land once again. Snow had begun to fall at some point, the little flakes twinkling in the firelight of the torches. The two sides stood naught but two meters apart. Icarus saw every detail on the Griffon across from him. The weary look, the scar across his right eye, and his red-tinged plumage clashing with the brown. Some wore helmets, some wore caps or just scarves.
Icarus gulped, and could only watch as the Bagpiper and Tomlin regarded each other with warm smiles. He noticed the Commissar pushing his way to the front, and also noticed a Griffon with an odd headdress doing the same on their side. What was about to happen could define their two cultures, and Icarus could only pray that cooler heads prevailed.
*****
Gus did not know how the Elves were familiar with songs from their heartland, but he did not care. Pride swelled in the hearts of everygriff present, and he knew that something truly special was taking place. He did not understand their versions of 'Wings of Harmony' or 'The Accords Melody,' but he and everybody else paid that no mind as well.
Gus could only watch as their kommandant strode forward, his few metals clinking as he stepped up beside Guzzy the Piper. The Elf that had caused this all stood before them, and Gus watched as their leader, wearing a black trenchcoat, jackboots, and oddly enough, a Schirmmütze. It was amusing that their Kommandant and the Elvish leader had a similar taste in wardrobe.
He, along with the Elf directly across from him, watched as their leaders exchanged words. Gus couldn't hear a word, but after a few tense moments, the two shook, claw and hand. In their own languages, they addressed their troops.
"Soldaten des Imperiums! Wir halten jetzt bis morgen früh um acht einen Waffenstillstand mit diesen Elfen!" (Soldiers of the Empire! We now hold a truce with these Elves until eight tomorrow morning!)
"Warriors of the Elven Empire, we have agreed to a ceasefire until eight-o'clock tomorrow morning!"
The echo of their voices seemed to leave a void to fill, and neither side really knew what to do. Looking down the line, Gus felt compelled to step forward. Without hesitation, he did so. He felt dozens of eyes on him, but he was determined to do what was right.
The Elf ahead of him did the same, and the two met in the middle. Neither said a word, and Gus slowly reached into his pocket. He saw the Elf tense up slightly, but upon slipping the photo from his pocket, the biped seemed to relax.
"Das ist meine Familie. Meine wundervolle daughter, mein Sohn and meine liebevolle waife." his english was broken, and Gus unternally winced at his butchered pronunciation. He felt the Elf gently grasp his photo, and he watched as it smiled at the photo. After merely a second of analyzing, the Elf slowly handed it back.
"This is... This is uh, Wunder--er wunderbar?" He raised an eyebrow. Gus chuckled and nodded. The Elf smiled brightly and turned to look between the Griffons and his fellow soldiers. "Wunderbar! My friends, this is wonderful! Ha, ha! Wunderbar!"
A cheer rose among the two sides, and they both stepped forward. Gus couldn’t help but feel a warmth spread through his chest that no fire could replicate. For the first time in months, the oppressive weight of war seemed to lift, if only for this fleeting moment. Griffons and Elves mingled, their differences forgotten in the camaraderie of shared songs, stories, and smiles.
Gus watched as the younger Griffons introduced themselves to Elven recruits, the language barrier bridged by gestures and the universal language of good-natured laughter. An older Griffon handed a strip of dried meat to an Elf, who reciprocated with a small tin of preserved fruit. Nearby, a makeshift game of hoofball had begun, the soldiers cheering as the ball skidded across the snow.
The Elf who had admired Gus’s photo turned back to him, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Maybe,” the Elf began slowly, his broken Griffonian thick but his tone sincere, “one day, no...war. Just... this.”
Gus blinked, the simple words striking deeper than he expected. He glanced down at the photograph in his talons, his family’s smiling faces looking back at him. “Ja,” he murmured, nodding slowly. “un day.”
For a moment, the two stood in silence, watching their comrades laugh and play as if they weren’t surrounded by trenches and the threat of death. The snow continued to fall gently, dusting their uniforms and softening the harsh lines of the battlefield.
As the makeshift game grew more energetic, Gus noticed a young Elf and a Griffon working together to repair a torn ball. The sight made him smile. Perhaps, if only for this night, there was a glimmer of hope for something better.
“Frohe Eyries Zustimmung,” Gus said softly, raising his talons in a simple gesture of goodwill.
The Elf hesitated, then mirrored the gesture with a smile. “Happy Night of Unity.”
And for the first time, amidst the cold and chaos, there was warmth on the battlefield. Two sides of a war, brought together not by orders or strategy, but by the shared desire to be more than enemies.
For one magical night, the trenches became a place of unity, not division, and the echoes of their laughter and songs carried through the snow, a reminder that even in the darkest times, the light of understanding could still shine.